#despite there also being straight sex scenes in the show

[dream-launch]

Had to listen to my mum go on a homophobic rant cause a character in a show she liked turned out to be queer. Might go drown myself in the river.

[nellasbookplanet]

'Enjoy it despite its flaws' is one thing, but Mass Effect somehow invented its own category: 'simultaneously one of the most flawed and the most well-crafted sci-fi stories I've ever experienced'. These games are incredible. They’re the worst. All the women are sexualized. All the women have deeply flawed and complex personalities without being either demonized or romanticized. The first available f/f ship seems to be written along the guidelines of 'what would a straight man find hot'. As the games go on, they effortlessly include multiple same sex romance options given just as much care and development as the the opposite sex ones. You can play as a xenophobic murderhobo asshole. You can play as someone genuinely caring but also harsh, who inspires growth and co-operation wherever you go but who makes hard choices when you have to. You can kill civilians and punch reporters and commit genocide. You can stop a generational war and mediate peace and save several species from extinction. The robots are stereotypically evil cannon fodder. The robots are deeply complex with a tragic history. Your team mates are assholes with xenophobic opinions or justifications for police brutality and genocide, or they just want excuses to Do Murder. You team mates are deeply flawed and can be urged to grow alongside you. The most important aliens are all humanoids. There are plant aliens and jellyfish aliens and insect aliens and elephant aliens and aliens who can’t share an atmosphere with us. You have to drive around countless identically boring planets with little to show for it. You get to discover hidden secrets and civilisations millions of years old and live through some of the most emotionally harrowing scenes in storytelling history. I am going absolutely insane about it.

[saintobio]

blank canvas. (3)

in an attempt to rekindle an already fractured relationship, you open your eyes to the harsh reality that some things, once broken, can no longer be repaired.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, degradation, explicit smut, toxic relationship

notes. 8.3k wc. here’s the last part !! although there will still be an epilogue, which will be posted a few days from now (let’s not jinx it lol). but thank you for supporting this three-part fic :’) feedback and reblogs are most appreciated!

part 2 | epilogue

He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. 

Sighing, you stood behind the counter of your floral shop, absentmindedly picking on the rose petals like an infatuated teenager. It was almost ridiculous what you were doing out of boredom. And although the sweet scent of the flowers surrounding you were supposed to feel calming, it did little to lift the terrible weight on your chest. 

Two weeks had passed since you had given your virginity to Satoru. Two weeks since you tried to move on from Sukuna.

Others might say you were too irrational with it. Others might say you did the right thing. But honestly, what was so good about having sex with a guy you barely knew when you spent years refusing to do it with your actual boyfriend? 

Yes, you were definitely, undeniably irrational with it. You realized it all too late after you had already given your virginity to another guy. You weren’t even sure what compelled you to ask Satoru to do it with you, but at the time, it felt right. It felt reasonable that you were trying to get over an ex-boyfriend, out of spite, for not setting boundaries with other women while you were still together. You thought it would be fair to play a similar part in this tragic tale, that it wouldn’t be too bad not to set boundaries with other men who showed attraction to you, too. 

After all, Sukuna had countless women constantly latching onto him, while Satoru was the first guy within your past relationship who developed an interest in you. 

Besides, it wasn’t some kind of fairytale scene when you two slept together. Because to Satoru, it was nothing but a casual encounter. He did his best to make sure that you enjoyed it from finish to end, and you appreciated his sincerity in guiding you throughout, yet you couldn’t deny to yourself that all you had been thinking of at the time was Sukuna. You contrasted everything Satoru did with Sukuna—like how Satoru was slow and sensual, while Sukuna was rough and vulgar. Satoru enjoyed cuddling afterward, whereas Sukuna would likely go straight to sleep. Satoru was too clingy and playful, while Sukuna was more reserved and mature.

The worst part was, your heart still preferred one over the other. And it wasn’t the guy with the white hair and blue eyes. 

Satoru was a good guy, and he had genuine intentions, but after being intimate with someone you weren’t in love with, you understood that your potential relationship would never be as good as your previous one. You longed for a man like Sukuna, because despite his typical bad boy persona, he was anything but boring. Being with him was a thrill, and no matter how toxic it was, you were addicted to him.

And that’s wrong. Your lips curled into a frown. 

You glanced out the window for what felt like the hundredth time that day, your eyes drawn across the street to Sukuna’s tattoo shop. The neon sign that once buzzed with life now hung dark and lifeless. Every now and then, you could see some of his old clients passing by the shop, hoping for a chance that their favorite tattoo artist was back in business. But Sukuna still hadn’t reopened the shop in days, for almost a month now as a matter of fact, and his absence filled you with a gnawing sense of worry and longing. 

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, while that was certainly true, it also drove you crazy. Why hasn’t he opened his shop? you wondered, biting your lip. Did he move out? Did he forget about me entirely?

You turned back to your flowers, but your hands stilled as your thoughts consumed you. What would Sukuna think if he knew someone else had taken your virginity? The thought made your stomach twist. You could already hear his voice telling you that you had given yourself to someone else out of desperation, but it clearly didn’t work. If anything, it only made you miss him even more.

Your fingers traced the petals of a rose as memories flooded your mind. The way Sukuna used to look at you, his intense eyes softening just for you. The way his laugh would rumble through his chest when you said something funny. You missed him. You missed everything about him, even the way he could infuriate you with his arrogance.

A sigh escaped your lips as you placed the finished bouquet in a vase. The floral shop was quiet today, save for the distant hum of traffic outside. The city would be busy again during rush hour, but for now, you leaned against the counter, your gaze drifting back to the tattoo shop across. He’s probably with his ex, you thought, feeling a lump form in your throat. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if he still thought about you. Did he miss me too? Or had he moved on completely?

You pressed your hand to your heart. You wanted to be with him. You wanted to tell him how much you missed him, how much you regretted trying to move on so quickly, how much you wished you didn’t break up with him. You had no backbone when it came to Sukuna. But the fear of rejection, the fear that he no longer cared, kept you rooted in place.

Pushing yourself off the counter, you walked to the front door and flipped the sign to “Closed.” It was best to close off early today. You needed a moment to yourself, a moment to clear your head in the safety of your bedroom. But as you locked the door, you couldn’t stop yourself from stealing one last glance at Sukuna’s shop. The light flickered at first, making you wonder whether you had just imagined it, but then your heart skipped a beat when you saw the lights completely turning on inside.

Your pulse quickened, and you found yourself drawn to the sight. If it was him in there, maybe this was your chance to talk and clear the air. Or maybe, it wouldn’t be wrong to simply check on him since he had been away for almost a month. What if something terrible had happened to him during those past weeks? What if he had gotten sick? With hesitant steps, you eventually crossed the street and approached his shop. There, you could see him through the window as you got closer, shirtless and his rib wrapped in a bandage, clearly covering a fresh new tattoo. In seeing your presence, he looked up, but his eyes passed over you as if you weren’t even there.

You knocked lightly on the glass door, and he glanced up again, but his expression remained indifferent, like he was trying to suppress his emotions. He didn’t move to open the door as you expected. In fact, he seemed to be arguing with himself in his head.

“Hey,” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “Can we talk?”

Sukuna didn’t respond right away when he wiped his hands on a rag, still not meeting your eyes. Your heart ached from the heavy silence, but before you could say anything more, the sound of a car engine broke the stillness of that scene. 

An expensive McLaren car pulled up to the curb, and you were quick to recognize its owner. 

It was Satoru rolling down his window, a bright smile on his face as he looked at you. His beam was almost blinding, distracting you from the presently awkward situation you had placed yourself in.

“Y/N,” he greeted cheerfully, completely oblivious to the tension. “Did you miss me?”

Oh, Jesus. 

The words hung in the air like a bomb, and you felt the color drain from your face as you thought of how dangerous this situation would be for you. When you saw Sukuna’s eyes flicker with interest, his posture stiffened as he finally paid attention, and you realized it was too late. Way too late. 

“Is that guy bothering you?” Sukuna finally asked, his voice unusually calm as he approached the door. The closer the proximity, the more your heart started to race. It was running at 250 km/h like it was on track. 

Satoru’s smile then faltered, now sensing the shift in the atmosphere. It was his first time meeting Sukuna, and based on the stories you had shared with him and Suguru, he was smart enough to recognize that the tattooed man was your ex. 

“I got what you asked for.” Satoru ignored Sukuna and looked back at you, holding up a small bag. “Birth control, right?”

Never in your life did you want to disappear like a puff of smoke. The sudden turn of events was so wild and unexpected. You could see that Satoru was enjoying provoking your ex-boyfriend, but the whole exchange was making you feel nauseous. The tension was so overwhelming that you couldn’t speak, or move, or do anything at all. You were simply frozen. 

It was also at that time when Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his gaze moving between you and Satoru. The pieces began to click into place, and a dark realization settled over his features. “You slept with him?” he asked, his voice low and accusatory.

“Sukuna, I…” Your breath caught in your throat because you couldn’t find the damn words to respond. Should you deny it? Should you say it wasn’t anything like that? There was no way you could get out of this situation even if you wanted to. 

But Satoru stepped out of his car in your defense. “It’s none of your business what she does—”

“Shut up, you douchebag,” Sukuna snapped, his glare turning deadly. He looked at you with sharp eyes, ones filled with a mixture of hurt and fury. With the way he was glaring, you knew he was murdering you in his head. “So this is how you move on?”

Your eyes stung from the incoming tears. You wanted to explain, to tell him that you only did it out of spite, but the words just wouldn’t come. You knew it was still wrong and that it would be a huge slap to his face hearing that you had hooked up with someone else before him. You hadn’t even confirmed anything, yet the intensity of Sukuna’s gaze already made you feel like you were suffocating. 

As the two men stood there, locked in a silent standoff, you recognized it as the loudest silence you had experienced in your life. That was, until Satoru broke that silence by reaching for your hand. “Let’s go,” he said gently, guiding you towards his car.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes lingering on Sukuna, but the look of betrayal on his face was too much to bear. It was either you turn away and leave him behind or you stay there and explain to him. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the courage to do the latter. 

— —

The roar of Sukuna’s bike echoed through the night, slicing through the darkness as he raced down the highway like a motorcycle racer on a professional track. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, jealousy and rage fueling his every movement. With every thought of you, his knuckles felt cold. 

Look, he wasn’t planning to pursue you after you left with that guy, but his ego just wouldn’t allow it. After piecing the situation together, something inside him just snapped. Like a timebomb. A very dangerous one. He couldn’t control his emotions, and he couldn’t just let you go like that. Damn it. Almost two years of forcing him into celibacy, and you suddenly threw yourself at a guy you just met?

He revved his motorbike, scoffing bitterly behind his helmet. He was riding recklessly, without a care to the other vehicles he almost crashed into. Fuck. He had spent nearly a month sulking over your pathetic breakup, he had tried his hardest to avoid you, when all this time, you were out there offering your virginity to some random trust fund-looking guy. How ridiculous was that? How utterly, goddamn ridiculous was it? Maybe you had just revealed your true colors right there. You had always felt uncertain about Sukuna because he had nothing but a tattoo shop and a decent motorbike. Now, you’ve met the picture-perfect guy your parents always wanted for you, so you found it easy to spread your legs open and allow some other guy’s dick inside.

You were worse than a whore. 

The wind whipped against his bare chest, but he paid no mind to the cold. He didn’t care anymore. Even if the police were to chase after him, he didn’t fucking care. His focus was on the red taillights of your new guy’s McLaren car ahead of him. Sukuna pushed the throttle, his bike accelerating with a ferocious growl, causing a scene along the highway. 

He mapped the situation in his head. Who was faster in this highway chase; the McLaren or his bike? While the McLaren 720 had a higher top speed, Sukuna’s Yamaha YZF-R1 was highly agile and could be more maneuverable in tight spaces. In a straight-line chase, the McLaren would eventually outpace his bike, but in scenarios involving a lot of maneuvering, he could have an advantage.

Too bad for you and your new guy though, since this highway was Sukuna’s domain. His superbike had already passed through the tightest of spaces in the midst of traffic during rush hour, so he was a clear winner here. 

And in saying that, the distance between you closed rapidly, and soon he was right behind the car, the bike’s engine roaring like a beast unleashed. With a piercing screech of tires, Sukuna maneuvered his bike alongside Satoru’s car, forcing him to pull over by kicking the driver’s side door. The car drifted and screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the highway, and Sukuna followed suit, cutting the engine and dismounting in one fluid motion. His precious bike, now discarded on the floor, all for the sake of confronting the woman he thought had loved him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Satoru demanded, stepping out of the car with a confident swing. He tried to look tough by using their height differences against him, but he wasn’t intimidating to Sukuna at all. 

“Get out, Y/N,” Sukuna ordered, his voice dangerously low as he ignored Satoru and the countless cars honking behind them. His eyes were locked on the passenger side where you sat, your expression an amalgam of fear and hesitation. “I said get the fuck out!” 

“Dude, chill out.” Satoru tried to put a hand on his shoulder, only to have his hand swiftly rebuffed. “I’m not letting her go with a man who’s clearly upset.”

“Stay the fuck outta this,” Sukuna growled, his fists clenched at his sides. The white-haired punk should take that as a warning. He should back out before his fist lands on his precious face. Plastic surgery isn’t cheap nowadays. “Y/N, if you don’t wanna cause a scene, I suggest you get the fuck outta there.”

**

Your chest rose and fell as you looked between the two men. You knew Sukuna well enough to understand that he wasn’t going to back down. And with a line of angry cars honking at the unnecessary traffic jam you were causing, you had no other choice but to open the door and step out.

Satoru's first instinct was to gesture for you to stay back. “Y/N—”

“Satoru, it’s okay,” you said softly. “I need to talk to him.”

The white-haired man hesitated at first, clearly worried for your safety, but with your insistence, he eventually nodded and stepped back to give you space. Sukuna’s eyes burned with intensity as he watched that interaction between you two.

“‘Kuna, can we at least pull over on the side and not talk in the middle of the highway?” you practically begged, your voice trembling as a few cars managed to squeeze their way between the McLaren and the YZF-R1, throwing harsh curse words towards you and your ex-boyfriend for the road blockage you had caused. Sukuna didn’t even flinch. All you could see was the anger in his eyes, and the pain lurking just beneath his irises.

“I’m perfectly fine talking here,” was Sukuna’s reply, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me why you’re with that douche. I think you owe me a damn good explanation, angel.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. You just wanted to get this conversation over with. “W-We broke up. It shouldn’t matter to you anymore.”

Beep. Beep. “Get off the road, you idiots! You’re holding everyone up!”

Beep. Beep. “Who do you think you are, blocking traffic like this?”

“Is that so?” Sukuna scoffed, taking a step closer as he cornered you. “You moved on pretty quickly, didn’t you?”

You flinched at his tone, but you knew you had to tell him the truth. You knew you would not be able to escape this situation if you didn’t admit it sooner or later. “Something did happen between me and Satoru,” you finally confessed, feeling uneasy from the lingering eyes of the heated drivers. “I didn’t plan it, it was just…”

Beep. Beep. “This is a highway, not a soap opera set!”

Beep. Beep. “Take your drama somewhere else!”

Sukuna’s eyes were clouded in disgust, the color of his lenses becoming red from the fire of his fury. “So you really gave it to him?!” he demanded, his voice rising. He looked like he could punch someone at this rate. “After everything we had, you gave yourself to someone else?!”

Beep. Beep. “Learn to drive and pull over if you want to argue!”

You could feel your entire body shaking, but you tried to hold your ground. “I-I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought it would help me forget about you.”

“Forget about me?” Sukuna’s laugh was harsh, almost maniacal, because he was truly losing his shit. “You think you can forget about me by sleeping with some random guy?” He took another step closer, his presence far more overwhelming than the rest of the vehicle surrounding you. “You’re nothing to me now,” he snarled at your face, the reality of his words cutting through your heart like a knife. “You’re just another girl who threw herself away.”

Tears spilled over as you watched him turn his back on you, preparing to mount his bike again. “And what about you, Sukuna?” you challenged, despite his obvious departure. “Do you think you’re any better? You act as if you wouldn’t have cheated on me if I hadn’t confronted you about it!”

For a moment, Sukuna was silent, his anger and pain warring within him. Then he shook his head, his expression hardening as he pulled down the visor of his helmet. “But I never cheated,” he said that fact coldly, “So, don’t expect me to stick around and pick up the pieces. You’re just somebody’s leftover now.”

He turned away, the finality of his words hanging in the air to wreck you in half. As soon as he sped up the bike, he vanished into the highway, accelerating from 0 to 60 mph in 2 seconds. The roar of his bike was louder than a thunderstorm. He didn’t even care for his own safety. And as you watched him go, you could feel the rain pouring out with your heart breaking all over again, like a vase cracking against the floor, its pieces forever irreparable. 

His words hurt more than his actions ever did. And you were never one to handle it as good as you thought you would be.

— —

“I’m not trying to be biased here or anything,” Choso said, lighting his cigarette as he leaned against his Harley Davidson bike. “But even if you weren’t my step-bro, I still think you did the right thing. I wouldn’t be able to stomach hearing my ex-girlfriend be fucked by some dude after years of not giving it to me.”

Sukuna crouched next to his R1, the polished bike gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the garage. He had his shirt lay discarded nearby, leaving his toned torso exposed as he worked on changing oil. Sweat mixed with grease smudged across his chest and arms, emphasizing the taut muscles and the intricate tattoos that covered his skin. If he had women here, they would have fainted already. The sight of him sweaty and shirtless while working on his bike would have been an eye candy for them, but he didn’t need to think of that now. He merely focused on moving his hands deftly, loosening bolts and draining the old oil into a container. The methodical process offered him a momentary distraction from the chaos in his mind.

“It’s simple,” Sukuna spoke, pausing to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand and inadvertently spreading more grease, “The albino guy looks rich. She just proved to me she’s nowhere near being a good girl when a rich guy’s involved.” 

The memory of his ex-girlfriend as she was picked up by another man replayed in his head. He couldn’t stop imagining how your first night went on. Did you let him fuck you raw? Did you let him hit you from the back? Did you let him cum inside? Did you go for round two? Did you choke on his cock like a good girl? 

He remembered what your naked body looked like. How soft your breasts felt like. How sweet your pussy tasted like. Now, another man had a taste of it, and he couldn’t be any more disgusted. It was sickening to think that another man’s cock got to feel you inside before he did. And that you willingly allowed it. 

“Fuck that,” he muttered to himself, tightening the new oil filter. His eyes narrowed in concentration, but his mind drifted back to the breakup. He’d always prided himself on being in control, on not letting himself be caught in temptation. But you had pushed his buttons too far, and even though he still never betrayed you, he was sick in the stomach to see that you were the first one who did. 

“Women,” Choso agreed, grinning as he shook his head. “If she wasn’t Yuki’s friend, I would’ve cut her off.” 

The wrench slipped from Sukuna's hand, leaving it to clatter to the ground. He cursed under his breath, bending down to retrieve it, his movements were fluid and graceful despite the tension in his body. “You don’t need to cut her off. It’s between me and her. She still treated you like a brother.”

The younger man raked his fingers through his raven hair, checking himself out on the bike’s mirror. “Nah. She was closer to Yuuji than me, anyway.” 

Sukuna stood up, wiped his hands on a rag, and poured fresh oil into the engine. The task was almost done, but his thoughts remained tangled. Seeing you with someone else couldn’t stop igniting a fire in him, a possessive rage he couldn’t quite shake. He missed the way you two were before, the way you couldn't get enough of each other when you were together. He missed the connection you shared, because it was something he hadn’t felt with anyone else.

Finishing the oil change, he straightened up, staring at his reflection in the bike’s mirror. The man looking back at him seemed foreign, his usual arrogance tempered by a vulnerability he didn’t care to acknowledge. He then ran a hand through his hair, smearing more grease, and sighed.

“Maybe it’s time to go back to the old times,” Sukuna spoke his thoughts out loud, with his step-brother merely staring at him. “I’m single now.” 

With a final glance at the bike, Sukuna grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, the fabric sticking to his damp skin. He needed a ride to clear his head, to feel the rush of the wind against his face. As he swung a leg over the R1, threw his helmet on, and revved the engine, the powerful roar echoed through the space, drowning out his thoughts for a moment.

“Be careful out there!” was Choso’s last reminder.

He sped off, the world blurring around him, but no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t escape the image of your face or the sting of jealousy that burned in his chest. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, and your face haunted him at every turn. 

As he rode, his anger simmered, his frustration building with each passing moment. The pain of betrayal gnawed at him, further fueling his reckless impulses. You’re such a piece of shit. All this time, you were claiming to be this too good of a girl who was as innocent as a bunny. When, as a matter of fact, you and your new boy toy were fucking each other like rabbits. It was funny, really, how you made him wait two years for nothing. He was your boyfriend, and yet you deprived him of sexual pleasure by pretending you were scared of it. What kind of stupid virgin would throw herself to a random guy when she’s scared to lose her virginity to her own boyfriend? 

Such bullshit. With a growl of frustration, Sukuna veered off course, his bike skidding to a stop in front of a familiar building. The apartment loomed before him as a dark silhouette against the night sky. It had been several weeks since he had seen her, but tonight, he didn’t care.

His fists clenched at his sides as he marched up the steps to her door. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of anger and desperation swirling inside him. He was going crazy and he wanted to blow off steam. He wanted to let his frustration out, so he banged on the door, the sound of his fist colliding with the wood echoing through the quiet street.

After a moment, the door swung open, and a stunned Yorozu stood before him, bleary-eyed and disheveled. Surprise flickered across her face as she took in his appearance, his eyes burning with intensity.

“Ryo… What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. The last time they spoke, he was very vocal about having a girlfriend and wanting to keep things professional. 

Sukuna, this time around, didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need you.”

Yorozu’s eyes widened in surprise. “But you—”

“Please, Yorozu.” He pressed a hand against the door, cornering her in between. “I really, really need you right now.” 

She wasn’t naive. She understood his implication, and he had certainly conveyed that he was no longer with you. And without hesitation, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter without a word. Sukuna felt a rush of adrenaline as soon as he was inside her place, his mind consumed by the need to forget, if only for a moment.

The door closed behind him, and in the darkness of the apartment, Sukuna grabbed Yorozu’s face and kissed her lips, drowning her in the heat of passion. Things were a blur after that, because he wasn’t thinking clearly. Because he wasn’t in his proper mind. He was letting his rage cloud his thoughts, his bitterness driving his every movement. The next thing he knew, they were stumbling into her room, unable to break their intense kiss. He had kissed her like there was no tomorrow, like her mouth was suction that he couldn’t escape. 

And soon enough, she was naked in her room, knelt before him as he forced his cock inside her mouth. He couldn’t get a sense of time. He couldn’t even tell if it was already midnight. All he knew was that his next few hours were spent with Yorozu, this time around, with him burying his digits in and out of her soaking pussy. 

“Haaah!” She arched her back as an intense wave of pleasure hit her insides. “R-Ryo!” 

Fuck. Fuck it. Sukuna, without warning, put his cock inside her cunt. And her fucked her with rage, jostled her body like a sex doll, while her eyes rolled backwards in overwhelming satisfaction. She was grinning in absolute ecstasy, her breasts bouncing wildly as he continued to hit her sensitive spot before he leaned forward to suck her perfectly round breast. 

Listen, he blacked out after that. So, if you were to ask him what happened after that session with Yorozu, he wouldn’t be able to answer you because he genuinely passed out from exhaustion. All he remembered was them fucking each other’s daylights out, and the next morning, she took good care of him like she was his girlfriend again. 

No, she wasn’t. 

In fact, Sukuna was labeled an asshole for ghosting her. He didn’t contact her after that night, nor did he have any further encounter with her. Instead, he went back to his old life way before you. An addict, an alcoholic, a womanizer. 

For the next few months, that became his life without you. 

He slept with different girls every few nights, especially his clients. It got to a point where he couldn’t even recall their names, and he couldn’t remember having brought them to his apartment the night prior, because he was often too high off his mind. Every girl who came to his tattoo shop for an appointment became his companion during the night. And today, one of those girls was among the many who annoyed him afterward.

“Hey,” the girl spoke in a lascivious manner, running her slender fingers through his hair. He wasn’t sure if her name was Rina or Kiko. “You slept throughout the afternoon. Do you wanna go grab something to eat?” 

Sukuna groaned, covering his head with a duvet. “Why are you still here?” 

He didn’t need to see her face to know that confusion settled her delicate features. “But I thought we were…” 

“Leave,” was his harsh reply. “You’re just a one-night stand to me.” 

— —

“So, Y/N,” Suguru began with a playful twinkle in his eye. “Why haven’t you made Satoru yours yet?” 

You rolled your eyes at Getou’s antics. He was clearly on it with his best friend, and their goal today seemed to be to tease the heck out of you. “Maybe I like to keep him guessing,” you retorted with a smirk, though your mind was far from the playful banter. 

“But there’s nothing to guess!” Satoru, on the other hand, protested. He was even displaying a childish pout. “We’ve seen each other naked, you know—”

Before he could finish his sentence, you swiftly covered his mouth with your hand, earning a cackle from Suguru in return. Thank goodness there weren’t that many people in the cafe today, because you were never safe around those two. They were inseparable, like two peas in a pod, sharing one brain cell. Like yin yang.

“Shut up,” you merely replied. 

“Baby, don’t be shy,” Satoru teased again, giggling like an immature child together with Suguru. “You’re an adult who did adult things.” 

You sighed, wondering if you would ever get a break from these idiots. “This is exactly why I don’t date you.” 

It was a joke, of course. The delivery, however, was a bit dry. But nonetheless, your statement caused Suguru to laugh at his best friend who, in his defense, tried to recover his trampled ego by denying your statement. 

“She’s lying,” Satoru denied, as if convincing Suguru was his top priority, “You never told me your cousin’s hard-to-get.” 

 “Yeah,” agreed Suguru, playfully, “Definitely hard-to-get. The only girl who can make Sukuna pussy-less for two years.”

“Hey!” It was Yuki who intervened, knowing full well that Getou was below the belt on that joke. “Enough of that.”

In truth, you felt it was a touchy subject for you. Anything related to Sukuna, especially that aspect of your past relationship, was something you avoided like a plague. You wanted no mentions of him, and of what he did, and of what you didn’t do. He had simply become that person who can’t be named, like Voldemort. 

But the thing was, it was unavoidable sometimes. You weren’t mad at Suguru for bringing him up. You knew that him and Satoru, ever mischievous, were just playfully ribbing at you, but you couldn’t muster up the same enthusiasm to banter back. You were just upset because hearing Sukuna’s name reminded you of the very reason why you hadn’t been in the happiest mood today.

If it wasn’t obvious to them, your mind had been elsewhere since this morning, too fixated on the influx of girls you noticed had been frequently visiting Sukuna’s tattoo shop lately. You knew you didn’t have the right to feel jealous anymore, you knew you should no longer care about what he does with his life, but you couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that something was off.

And Yuki, sensing your distraction, gently pulled you to the side for a private conversation away from the chatter of your friends. 

“Hey, Y/N. Everything okay?” Yuki asked, her tone soft and understanding. She wasn’t forcing you to open up, rather, she was allowing you to share only what you wanted to. 

You did hesitate for a moment before finding it safe to confide in her. “I just can’t stop thinking about him. And those girls at his shop... I don’t know, it’s just been bothering me."

Yuki listened attentively, her expression empathetic. “Y/N, I know this might be hard to hear, but have you considered that Sukuna might be seeing other people?”

Your heart sank at Yuki’s words. You had entertained the thought before, but hearing it from someone else made it feel more real. “Is… Is he?” 

“Well, not exactly,” she admitted reluctantly. “But Choso told me he’s been sleeping around.” Yuki then placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, anticipating your heartbreak from the news she delivered. And she was right. In just a few words, it felt like someone had stabbed you with a knife on the chest. “I'm sorry, Y/N. I agree, you deserve someone who respects and cherishes you. If Sukuna isn’t that person, then maybe it’s time to let go.”

You forced a nod, feeling a mix of sadness and regret wash over you, but you didn’t want to break down in front of Yuki. You definitely didn’t want to cry with Satoru and Suguru around. You knew deep down that Yuki was right, but accepting it was just another matter entirely and you weren’t sure if you were prepared for it.

“Listen, why don’t we go out?” she offered, a smile of encouragement spreading on her peachy lips, “Let’s have a drink or something. Anything just to keep your mind off of him. What do you say?” 

— —

It was a mistake. 

You fidgeted uncomfortably on the barstool, feeling out of place amidst the pulsating music and the raucous laughter that filled the rooftop bar. Yuki, Getou, and Gojou seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, chatting animatedly over their drinks like it was a scene that they were used to. But for you, this environment was foreign territory. You weren’t accustomed to the loudness, the crowdedness, the palpable energy that thrummed through the air. Heck, you didn’t even drink alcohol. You couldn’t stand the taste nor could you see the benefit of drinking. 

But you didn’t want to be a party pooper. Yuki did you a favor here, and it was for you to get your mind off the man who kept torturing your soul over and over. If you were to leave now, it would just beat Yuki’s purpose of tagging you along. 

You were supposed to enjoy it. You were supposed to have fun, dancing with them, singing along to the music. They weren’t even the type of music Sukuna listened to. 

“Y/N, bottoms up!” You weren’t sure if it was Satoru or Suguru who said that, but they both offered you a small glass of vodka, urging you to drink it in one shot. 

As much as you wanted to, you had to refuse, speaking over the loud music. “I’m good, thank you.” 

And as you scanned the room, your eyes inadvertently locked onto a figure across the bar. 

Amidst the throng of people. 

The one person you wanted to avoid. 

Sukuna. 

He stood out effortlessly in the crowd, exuding an aura of confidence and charisma that drew your gaze like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t believe it. No, you just couldn’t believe it. You could be hallucinating because it would be too much of a coincidence for him to be here. 

But as soon as his eyes met yours, you knew he wasn’t just a figure of your imagination. Deep in your heart, you knew it was him. You couldn’t be mistaken when those eyes, those lips, those goddamn tattoos, were all him.

Though, as you two locked gaze, his expression told a different story. They were a jumble of surprise, guilt, and bitterness. He seemed just as startled to see you as you were to see him. But beneath it all, there was an undeniable tension, a silent acknowledgment of unfinished business between you.

No, you can’t walk away from me. Excusing yourself quietly, you slipped away from the table, unnoticed by your friends, and made your way through the crowd of people towards him. He was already walking away at that point, ready to avoid your presence as if seeing you was torture for him. But didn’t he know? You were too stubborn for your own good. You relentlessly followed him, squeezing in between a drunken crowd, realizing that Sukuna was heading down. 

In the abandoned part of the building’s parking lot, you finally caught up to him, your heart pounding in your chest as you faced him. 

“‘Kuna,” you called out, “Please.” 

Sukuna turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with dark, intense eyes. “Hey,” he replied coolly, his voice a low rumble in the night air as he walked closer to his bike.

“You’re not supposed to ride when you’re drunk,” you began. 

To which he sneered at. “Why? You think I’m here to offer you a ride back home, angel?” 

Aggravating as ever. He was still that arrogant bastard you knew, and loved. “No, you’re probably doing that to someone else.” 

“Why don’t you go back to your filthy rich boyfriend?” 

“Are you jealous?” you bit back, now feeling a palpable tension transpiring between you, but you tried not to let it stop you from speaking to him. “Whatever happened to me and Satoru was just one time.” 

Sukuna scoffed at your statement. “I didn’t ask, angel.” 

Truthfully, he was the most frustrating man in the world right now. And dealing with him was definitely the hardest job ever, but your purpose of running after him wasn’t to bicker. All you wanted was to confirm something that had been bothering you. So you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. “Have you been sleeping around?” 

His expression remained stoic, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of defiance. “Are you jealous?” he mocked, returning the same question back to you. “So what if I am?” 

You couldn’t tell what overcame you more; was it the pain or the anger? But surely, a hundred percent, your frustration was definitely boiling over. “So you are,” you huffed, “See, that wasn’t so hard to admit, isn’t it? This is what you’ve always wanted to do! To sleep with those girls!” 

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, the tension was crackling in the air like electricity. Then, without warning, Sukuna closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to grab your jaw.

“You don’t get to turn this back around on me,” he spat, swallowing the obvious pain in his voice, “You’re the one who started it all.”  

Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt the heat of his body so close to yours, his touch igniting an altogether new fire within you. Despite the anger building inside your heart, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt towards him, the magnetic attraction that seemed to draw you together like two black holes ready to destroy one another. 

“I fucking waited for you,” he continued, his voice now deepening in a more sincere tone, “I know I was wrong for not setting boundaries, but I never, not once, cheated on you. I never fucking did! But you couldn’t trust me, right? You couldn’t fuckin’ trust me.” His pupils dilated as he raised his voice. “You’re so caught up in being too goddamn insecure about yourself when all I wanted was to have intimacy with you—”

“All you wanted was sex, just admit that!” you yelled back, jerking his hand away as tears began to fill your eyes. “And maybe I was right for giving my first to someone else, because you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it when you’ve always pressured me into giving it to you.”

Sukuna’s laughter filled the air, a disbelieving chuckle that bordered on frustration. He threw his head back, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Without hesitation, he snatched his helmet and hurled it across the floor, the sound of impact startling you.

“I never fucking pressured you!” His voice was raw with emotion as he walked back towards you, frustration and hurt evident in every step. “You’re the only girl I genuinely respected. You think I enjoyed being celibate for two fucking years?! No, the fuck, I didn’t! But I waited. I waited because I didn't want you to feel forced! It was all in your fucking head, Y/N. Your doubts, your uncertainties about me. I’m a man too, damn it! Of course, it frustrated me, but that doesn’t mean I would ever leave you or cheat on you.” And just when you thought it was over, he spoke again, his words now silencing into a painful tone, his eyes shining from the tears blanketing his gaze, “Did you think you were the only one who was insecure? Every damn day, Y/N, I was scared you were gonna leave me. That you were gonna find some other guy, someone who could give you everything you want—a big house, a nice car, a successful life. I didn’t have all that. And it kills me every single day knowing that that’s exactly the type of guy you went after the moment we broke up.” 

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, as Sukuna’s words replayed in your mind like a broken record. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, couldn’t find the words to refute his accusations. Because deep down, you knew he had a point. Your doubts, your insecurities—they had clouded your judgment, poisoned your perception of Sukuna. And now, faced with his raw honesty, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

But accepting that truth was a bitter pill to swallow. It meant acknowledging your own flaws, your own role in the breakdown of your relationship. And it meant coming to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe, you had let your fears drive you to push away the person who had truly cared for you.

As Sukuna stood before you, frustration and hurt etched into every line of his face, you felt a pang of regret twist in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to apologize, to admit that you had your wrongs, too. But no words came out, choked by the weight of your own self-doubt.

“I…” you struggled to respond. It was a battle you weren’t ready to fight, so your only option was to run away. To turn away like a coward, and to flee the agonizing reality of your relationship. 

But Sukuna didn’t let you. Instead, he closed the remaining space between you, his lips crashing down on yours in a hungry, desperate kiss.

In that moment, all thoughts of anger and confrontation melted away as you surrendered to the intoxicating allure of Sukuna’s touch. Lost in the heat of the moment, lost in a puddle of strong emotions. You fell deeper into the trap of your undeniable sexual tension, your bodies becoming entwined in a passionate embrace in the empty parking lot. 

His lips were soft against yours, his tongue rolling in the opposite motion as you kissed him deeper. More, more. He was hungry for more. And so were you. 

So when he kissed your neck, you allowed it. 

When he squeezed your breast, you allowed it. 

When he raised your skirt, you allowed it. 

You released a moan into his mouth as he sat you on top of his motorbike, standing in between your legs as he reattached his lips back to yours. Your mouths enveloped each other perfectly. The bittersweet taste of his tongue, now moving south down your neck. 

“Sukuna…” 

While his mouth was busy doing its own work, his hands too were occupied in touching areas he had once explored. One hand travelled to your thigh, squeezing your flesh before he reached your crotch. Two fingers touched your underwear, as if he was checking if you were wet, before he pushed them onto the side to set your cunt free. 

You ended up wrapping your arms around his neck, a gasp escaping your lips as his fingers played with your entrance. Your clit, your sensitive bud, also wasn’t ignored when he began moving his fingers in a circular motion. 

“Mmmh!” 

What was going through his head? You knew he was aroused, but why did his gaze look so dark? It was too grim, to the point where it scared you. But you were far too distracted when his other hand went to grab a hold of your tit, squeezing your mound, and kneading the soft skin. He had pulled down your neckline to release your tits in the air, quickly attaching his mouth onto one breast as soon as they were out in the open. 

“Haaah!” 

You were going crazy, both from the fingers that were entering your cunt, and the mouth that was sucking your tit. You had your back arched into a C, your arms grabbing onto his shoulder as he became more and more aggressive with his touch. 

And you weren’t exaggerating when you said he was being more aggressive with it, because when he pulled himself away from you, it only lasted for a few seconds before he grabbed your waist and twisted your body around. In a blink of an eye, he had you position against his motorbike, with your body leaning against the seat and your ass high enough for his crotch. 

“S-Sukuna, s-someone might walk in—”

He had pulled your underwear down, letting it stay in between your knees, before rubbing your pussy from behind. His breath was warm when he whispered into your ear, “Don’t act like you hate it.” 

He wasn’t wrong with that either. Because while he was touching your entrance, testing if the tip of his cock would smoothly glide in, you became an animal in heat, ready to be devoured by him. You had to cover your mouth, forcing yourself to keep your voice down as he finally buried his cock six inches deep inside of you. 

“A-Aah!” your body jerked forward as Sukuna rawdogged you from behind. “S-Sukuna, aah!”

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he cussed under his breath, feeling a painful stretch on your scalp as he pulled your hair, “Did he fuck you this good?” 

“Mmh—no!” 

The sound of skin-slapping was reverberating across the empty lot.

“Did you let him cum inside?”

“N-No…!”

He was insatiable. He couldn’t get enough of the tightness of your cunt. He, too, was moaning from the feeling of your velvet walls milking his cock like a warm glove. So he continued to thrust inside you, his hands on your hips, keeping you steady as he rammed his cock inside faster, and harder, and deeper. 

Your buttocks were becoming too sore, the stretch of skin on your bum vibrating in waves every time he hit you balls deep inside.

And while you were a moaning hot mess below him, a realization suddenly hit you in the face like a truck. Throughout your relationship, this was all he had ever wanted to do with you. He had always talked about doing it slowly, in a romantic set up with candles lit and petals around, in a place where you can lay yourself comfortably. You dreamed of him whispering I love you’s into your mouth as you two made love. You fantasized about him lovingly looking into your eyes as he reached his high. You used to picture him out, intertwining his hands with yours as he tells you you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

Yet now, you were doing it in the basement parking lot. In a dark, dirty place. Bent over against the uncomfortable seat of his bike. 

And more importantly, he was treating you like a whore. 

Tears welled up your eyes as you felt Sukuna pull out after finishing. For a minute, he gathered himself together, his head pressed against your nape as he sighed. 

“It’s not working, Y/N,” he mumbled against your skin, voicing the exact words you were afraid to hear.

“I know…” You sniffed, pulling the strap of your dress back up and adjusting your skirt back down.

He didn’t need to say anything more. When he gave you one last kiss on the forehead and wrapped you in his jacket, you understood the full weight of his words. It wasn’t just about this moment; it was about everything that had led you here. 

It didn’t work because you had already shattered your perceptions of each other. Both tarnished the way you saw one another. He would never come to terms with the fact that you gave yourself to another guy, just as you could never accept that he had slept with the same girls you had always warned him about. It would only lead to a constant game of back-and-forths, of pointing fingers, of toxic love.

So you watched him mount his bike, rev the engine, and look at you one last time before speeding away. His figure disappeared into the dark like a shadow, like a dream you only once knew. 

That was the last time you ever saw Ryomen Sukuna in your lifetime.

[dark-konohagakure2]

can i request a brother!sasuke + his friend naruto x (younger) sis!reader where sasuke decides to invite naruto over for a threesome? ( preferably, the reader + sasuke have a pre-established relationship)

tw: incest, sibling incest, dubcon, sex toys, bondage threesome, implied abuse, implied grooming, pre-established Sasuke x reader, praise, spitroasting

All characters depicted are 18+

Naruto has been getting very suspicious of Sasuke as of late. Naruto keeps asking to come over to Sasuke's house to hang out, but the Uchiha has been refusing to let him come over as of late, saying that he's busy 'training his little sister'. Naruto is pretty annoyed that his best friend is ignoring him seemingly only to teach his sister some new jutsus, so he asks if he can help with the training, and much to the blonde's shock; Sasuke agrees.

Naruto is really excited to hang out with his best friend, and he hasn't seen the youngest Uchiha sibling in a while, so he's excited to catch up with her! Sasuke also seems to be in a bit of a rush to get home. When they get to Sasuke's room, the brunette tells his friend that's he's going to show off the results of his sister's training, and Naruto is innocently excited! Until Sasuke opens his closet door...

Sasuke's younger sister is tied up and gagged, with sex toys turned on and stuffed into both of her holes, and she looks scared too, like a scene straight out of a smut novel. When Naruto gets incredibly flustered and asks Sasuke what the hell is going on, Sasuke simply shrugs and says that this is the 'training' that he was putting her through.

Naruto watches, mouth agape and pants tented as Sasuke handles his sister with uncharacteristic gentleness, sitting her down on his bed and untying her, removing the sex toys and a slow and torturous pace. Sasuke will speak to his sister in the softest tone Naruto has ever heard from the Uchiha's mouth, despite the words he's saying being less than soft and gentle.

"Cmon baby, it's time to show Onii-Chan's friend how well he's trained you... Can you do that? Hmm? That's my girl, now hurry it up, slut."

The younger woman looks nervous and hesitant, but Sasuke's encouragement wins out in the end and she obeys him. Naruto can barely look at her when she starts undoing his pants and stroking his cock with an almost practiced precision, like she'd been made to do it before. Naruto is shocked that the innocent girl who he almost views as a little sister figure is now taking his entire cock now like a trained slut, but despite his shock he isn't exactly complaining either.

The blonde's shock suddenly increases tenfold when Sasuke starts positioning himself behind his very own sister, and before Naruto can even ask what he's doing, Sasuke is already thrusting inside his sister, but the raven haired male assures Naruto that it's okay, and that she likes it, in fact; she's the one forcing Sasuke to do it with how adorably irresistible she's being on purpose.

Sasuke is nowhere near as gentle as Naruto, he'll praise her occasionally, but other then that he's just downright mean, thrusting into her roughly and smacking her around if he thinks she's being a bad girl. Naruto will call him out on this, but Sasuke shuts him up quickly by saying that this is just how big brother's play with their little sisters.

Naruto feels a little bit bad when he sees tears filling her eyes, although he can't tell if it's from pleasure or her current situation. Regardless, the Uzumaki comforts her, telling her that she did a good job and that her big bro taught her very well.

"A-Ah... There there, y-you're a good girl, just like Sasuke said, ya know? You're swallowing everything I shoot... I'm gonna go again, I'm sure that's okay with you..!"

The two friends are going to keep going at it with her regardless, and whenever she looks like she's about to say or do something out of line, Sasuke gives her a sharp look that shuts her up almost immediately, a look that tells her that she's gonna get punished again if she ruins the fun. Naruto is oblivious to these dynamics however, and just thinks to himself that he needs to go to Sasuke's house much more often now.

[theoddest1]

Okay so this new episode that came out (Episode 4) was poorly handled.

TW /// SA

- No warning before the show starts...why? And even if there is no way for Viv to add one, for some stupid ass reason, why didn't she announce to the fandom properly "Hey, this will have very deep topics and imagery that may not be suitable for all audiences."? Why have arguments on threads and fail to do this very easy thing. At least if the episode came out, people would get a heads up, and the word would spread faster PLUS people would see that you at least TRIED

- The episode opens up with a scene of CNC porno played for laughs in an episode that tackles SA. Complete tonal whiplash. Why did it have to open up with Angel showing everyone a porno? It serves no purpose other than to get a cheap laugh (that never came) out of me or anyone else who watches and because of the topic of the episode revolved around it. I'msure that if the episode WASN'T ABOUT SA, that joke would not have been there....but it is. There was legit no good reason to start this fiasco off with such a tone deaf opening.

- Charlie is actually fucking useless and a burden in this episode, serving no other purpose other than being the gateway to further the issues that befall Angel when "trying" to help. This all screams forced. Worse of all, Charlie does nothing to actually HELP Angel out of this, even though he has a clear black eye thanks to it all and literal mirrors breaking as a result of the abuse. We never see an actual development between the two thanks to her foolishness and garbage writing, and it's resolved easily as if this is some early Disney cartoon season that's on a strict deadline. Regardless of whether she apologized or not, she essentially caused the issue and did NOTHING to actually clean her mess. The goddamn B A R T E N D E R had to be used to salvage the pieces. So far, Charlie, as a character, is utterly pathetic and has been a burden to the cast twice so far. Vaggie, who tried to prove herself (moreso Vaggie's fault for going the extra mile for no reason but an obstacle nonetheless), also had an issue that involved Charlie's utter lack of a backbone. Hey, what was it that Charlie said in the pilot that her dad taught her and one of the only thingsshe learned from him? "You don't take shit from other demons"

- Only one scene from the abuse shown was handled well, and it was when Charlie visited, screwed everything up, and Val asked Angel to come to his dressing room. Aside from that, the whole SA imagery is jarring. While this time, the fast pace of it all is not bad, the quick shift into it all with Angel switching from enjoying to hating, to smiling, to frowning, ALONG with the quick pace of it all with the PRIOR KNOWLEDGE SHOWN and the SONG PLAYING, I am getting mixed messages here. Imagery? Shows Angel getting assaulted multiple times with either a forced smile or for some reason ENJOYING sex with Val and the role play situations showcased, is he INTO his abuse? Lyrics? He seems to find arousal in Val controlling him. The song legit reads as follows

"Addicted to this feeling, I can't help but swallow"

This doesn't read like he is "forced" it reads like he is yearning the toxic relationship. Now if this was one of the main issues with the abusive relationship, where it was a codependency built on romanticising the abuser and Angel learning to break free from that horrible view of someone who never loved him and actively harms him, this lyric would make a lot of sense....but that's not what we are shown at all. From the jump, we are shown that Angel HATES being with Val, to the point of him straight up avoiding his texts and voice messages, they actually do an okay job (despite the shoddy voice work) on showcasing how manipulative Val is and his outright explosive temper through this scene in episode 2. We see that Angel does NOT wanna have association with Val, is tired of it all, and even got drunk to down his sorrows. Yet these lyrics present it all as though it's just a very rocky love life like those songs you hear on the radio with the singer lamenting about how awful their relationship was but still miss their toxic boo-boo. It just...doesn't read like an SA song and could mean anything regarding the type of abuse he is facing. It's kinda vague in hindsight. That's MY take on the lyrics, though.

- Husk's song is a trash fire. He sees Angel is down in the dumps and proceeds to talk shit about him pretty much relaying his sorrows, saying it's okay to feed into your vices, and downplaying the actual situation at hand. So let's get this straight.

Angel- A sexual abuse victim forced into sex slavery to appease all sorts of people's sexual desires whether he likes it or not, including pleasuring his pimp who physically abuses him often all cause he sold his soul

Husk- Gambled his life away and lost his title as overlord, serves under Alastor all cause he sold his soul.

How is this even...the same at all? Even if Husk is lacking some context, he SEES that Angel normalized drinking roofied drinks and works for Val SOMEONE HUSK SHOULD KNOW ABOUT AND WHAT HE DOES but nah, screw Angel. Even if he honest to God (irony) wanted to actually help, why tf would Husk think this was sound advice? Why does Husk just SUDDENLY care? No build up, no memorable dynamic, no nothing. Realistically, CHARLIE should be the one singing with Angel or maybe Vaggie because she heard the story from Charlie. Not Husk. He is self aware enough where he knows this "advice" wouldn't work but nah. Nothing about the song makes sense. Telling someone going through it that "you're a loser" pretty much a no one, an insignificant individual, when VAL has made it clear that Angel would be nothing without him...yeah no the only reason why this whole song "worked" was cause the writers wanted it to, so Angel is happy with being a loser for being a victim of SA and selling his soul to someone who abuses him in various ways consistently.

This episode is terrible

Jarring for any newcomers

Who have no idea who these characters are

[hard-core-super-star]

a kiss to every scar [H.Steinfeld]

pairing: servicetop!hailee steinfeld x [inexperienced] bottom!reader

summary: hailee sets out to show you the ropes of acting on a tv show...unfortunately, your very obvious crush on her distracts her enough to stop being so professional.

warnings: smut -> no minors allowed [this is technically porn with plot but the plot isn't important; fingering [R receiving]; praise + petnames; needy hailee [yes, this deserves a warning]; technically public sex but not really [aka sex in hailee's trailer but she forgets to lock the door]; hailee being overly protective but also very horny; R is technically younger than hailee but the age gap isn't that important, the height gap is though :) [sorry to my tall peeps]]

wordcount: 2.4k

a/n: this request comes to you straight from our beloved 🧞‍♀️ anon! i tried to balance the fluff and the smut but well...you already know i always end up getting carried away. i TRIED, though. i'm going to make an announcement soon regarding writing hailee so stay tuned for that because it's going to be important. anywho, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

You’re no stranger to surreal experiences. 

It seems like your entire life ever since being cast in your first TV role has been a series of unbelievable experiences after the other. Most of said experiences have been due to the overall excitement that comes with learning lines, going to outfit fittings, and talking through scenes with amazing directors and producers. 

However, the biggest, most surreal, of all the amazing things you’ve done has been meeting, working, and getting to know Hailee Steinfeld herself. The reasons for that are endless since you’re not only a genuine fan of her but you also have a not-so-small crush on her.

A crush that has thankfully managed to pass by undetected considering your overall awe at the work you get to do every day. It’s managed to be so undetected that you haven’t noticed how mutual the admiration that flows between the two of you actually is.

You’re not totally oblivious so you have picked up on some of the looks she sends your way and on the way she’s so adamant about helping you maneuver through the many obstacles that come with being on set all day. None of that seems like anything more than her being nice since you’re so new to a life that she’s lived for so long so you’ve never questioned it.

Plus, you like the feeling of her hand on your waist way more than you’re willing to admit to anyone. (Especially her)

Which is how you ended up getting talked into staying on set to watch Hailee finish her last scene of the day. It’s not something completely uncommon since you love watching her and the director in action but the brunette promised to buy you dinner afterward, something that’s never happened before. 

Your heart and mind have already made up more than enough excuses to overshadow the very clear intentions behind Hailee’s invitation but nothing can take away the pure joy you feel from being near her. 

A joy that draws in the actress like nothing else.

“What’d you think?” Hailee asks as she approaches you, her face lit up by a smile you know all too well.

“You’re incredible,” you reply the same way you always do and successfully draw a little chuckle out of her. “Seriously, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Practice…and way too much free time.”

She reaches a hand out to you, an unspoken question lingering in the air between you. You waste no time in taking her hand and letting her guide you toward her trailer so she can change back into her normal clothes. 

The walk is spent in the comfortable silence that always seems to follow the two of you and you pretend not to notice the way she keeps looking over at you with every few steps. You know exactly why her eyes keep shifting over to you but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed about it. 

Despite how used to being on set you might be by now, you still admire each and every detail as if it was the first day again. Part of it comes from how unbelievable it all still is and another part of it comes from how cool everything is. There’s always so much to take in and it’s become a habit of yours to be present and grateful for every moment.

A habit that, unbeknownst to you, Hailee finds really adorable.

The list of things she likes about you is quite long but at the top of the list are your wide-eyed looks of wonder and the smile on your face nothing seems to wipe away.

It’s no secret that the brunette has taken a liking to you, especially in her attempts to make sure nothing snuffs out the bright beams of sunlight you carry inside of yourself. She knows exactly what that’s like and she’d sooner lose her role as Kate Bishop than let you fall into any dark spirals.

“So…” She speaks up, gently pulling you closer to her side. “Did anything exciting happen besides watching me?”

Your cheeks flush at her words which makes her grin. “Sort of. Florence and I talked about walking around New York tomorrow since it’s just going to be you and Jeremy filming scenes.”

“Oh, yeah? Where are you thinking of going?” She leads you into her trailer while you launch into the specifics of all the places you want to visit and the things you want to see.

The brunette watches you intently, although her attention slips from the words you say to the genuine excitement your body language conveys. You’re too busy talking to notice the way she’s eying you or the way she keeps licking her lips.

You finish your explanation only to be met with complete silence and Hailee’s tall frame leaning comfortably against the door to her trailer. 

“Lee? Were you even listening?”

The tiniest of pouts tugs at your lips and the actress is quick to make her way over to you, completely forgetting about the unlocked door and her promise of taking you to dinner. “I’m sorry, baby, you’re just too cute, I got distracted.”

The “apology” makes your heart skip a couple of beats and you’re sure she notices your flustered state. “I guess that’s fine. I should probably go anyway so you can change.”

You look away from her and attempt to walk away but she stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. The contact makes you stiffen, not because it’s unwelcome but because it sends an overwhelming amount of feelings through your entire body. “You okay, y/n? I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?”

Your eyes remain locked on the ground below you as you shake your head. The lack of a verbal response only serves to worry the brunette further and her free hand quickly tilts your chin up until her warm eyes meet yours. 

She doesn’t say anything but the question on her face is obvious.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you force yourself to answer. “I just…I think I like it too much.”

The concern in her eyes shifts to something else, something bordering on passion, but you’re far too embarrassed to question it. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be nervous. I like you too.”

The words don’t fully register in your brain at first. Sure, you’ve lived through a lot of unbelievable moments but this is something right out of those dreams you can never tell a single soul about. 

“You…you what?”

Hailee chuckles, taking the smallest of steps forward so your bodies are practically touching. “I like you too, baby. I hate to break it to you but you’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Neither are you,” you blurt out.

She leans in a little and your eyes instantly drop down to her lips. “I know.”

Her whispered words are the only warning you have before she claims your mouth with her own. Whatever shock you feel fades away almost instantly and you can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around her and pulling her closer.

You’re so caught up in her kiss that you don’t fully register the way she gently pushes you up against the nearest wall and presses herself as close to you as physically possible. You don’t register anything besides the feeling of her lips and the way your hands tangle in her hair so easily.

Hailee’s not as zoned out as you are, though, and her ears pick up on the muffled sounds trying to escape you. She instantly pulls away from you, staring down at you with blown-out pupils. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Your response doesn’t seem to convince her but at least she doesn’t notice the way you’re clenching your thighs together. “We can stop if you want, I’m not looking for a one-night stand or anything.”

The sincerity in her voice is almost too much to handle and the truth slips out of your lips before you can stop it. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

She blinks a few times and you practically watch as the wheels turn inside her brain. “You’ve never…oh. Oh, wow.”

Her response isn’t bad but it leaves you flustered all the same so you lean forward and hide your face in her shoulder. “Hailee…”

“Hey, hey, look at me, baby.”

A few seconds pass before you follow her instructions and she instantly melts your worries away with a soft kiss. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s cute.”

“It’s cute that I have no idea what I’m doing?” You question.

“Yeah, it just means I’ll have to show you. I mean, um…if you want, of course. There’s no rush.”

All you can do is stare up at her while you think things over. There’s no denying how nervous you are but you trust Hailee more than anyone you’ve ever met before. So, maybe it’s time to take a small leap of faith with her.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

The brunette groans in response and the sound goes straight to the growing heat between your legs. She wastes no time in attaching herself to your neck, kissing and sucking every inch she can find.

The sensation is so pleasurable, it borders on overwhelming and your hands grip her shoulders in search of the stability you lost the day you met her.

“You're so pretty,” she murmurs against your skin. “You don't know how long I’ve wanted you for.”

“Hailee-” You gasp as her hands find their way under your shirt.

“I know, let me make you feel good, sweetheart. Can I?”

The answer is more than obvious but you find yourself nodding desperately anyway. You know deep down everything about what you're doing is desperate and yet you can't find it in yourself to want to stop. Maybe it's unconventional but you don't need anything more than the brunette to make your first time unforgettable.

Hailee detaches herself from you long enough to help you shed your shirt, her eyes swooping down to take in every inch of you. Your knees buckle under her gaze and all she does is grin. “You're fucking perfect, baby.”

The words themselves are enough to make you burn a few degrees hotter but then her hands are removing your bra and you're quickly standing topless in front of her appreciative eyes.

Her fingers soon follow the path her eyes trace and you shudder in ways you can't describe. Her thumbs gently rub against your nipples, your back arching almost instantly as you turn into putty in her hands.

“Does that feel good, darling?” All you can offer is a moan and she chuckles. “Gonna need some words.”

“Yes. Feels so fucking good.”

“There you go,” she murmurs, swooping in to litter kisses along your jawline. “Good girl.”

She pinches your nipples right as the words escape her lips and you're sure you almost pass out from the pleasure. “Oh- please.”

“Begging already?” Despite her question, one of her hands leaves your sensitive nipples to trail down the front of your body. “Do you think you're wet enough for me to touch you yet?”

You hum in response and attempt to keep your hips under control. “So wet for you.”

“Look at you,” she coos while her hand slips under the waistband of both your jeans and your underwear. “You’re already an expert at getting what you want from me.”

“Lee,” you whine. “Don’t tease, babe.”

“I’m sorry, you're just so cute like this.” She rests her forehead against yours, everything about her seemingly cool and collected while you're burning up and panting. “We’ll take it slow, okay? Tell me if it hurts too much.”

Your inexperience leaves you a little clueless…until she starts to slip one finger inside your tight cunt. You gasp almost instantly, your body tensing at the intrusion.

“Relax, baby. I've got you.”

It's hard to fully relax but Hailee does her best to keep you distracted by murmuring soft praises and keeping up her gentle touches to your breasts. The full length of her finger sinks inside and she gives you a moment to breathe and adjust.

“How’re you feeling?” She asks, warm eyes searching your face for signs of unease or pain.

“Full,” you mumble with a smile.

She lets out a sound somewhere between a moan and a whine. “Fuck. That's so hot.”

The brunette leans in to kiss you before you can reply and you happily melt into the contact. You don't realize it’s yet another loving distraction until she starts to slowly pump her finger in and out of you.

You moan against her lips, the sound coming out muffled but no less desperate. Your walls clench almost uncontrollably with every move she makes which only fuels her need to pleasure you.

“You're doing so well for me,” she mumbles. “Taking me so well, aren't you, baby?”

Her words cause an unfamiliar feeling to start to rise from deep within you that only gets stronger once her thumb finds your sensitive clit. Your hips buck into her hand and she ends up burying her face into your neck to stop herself from getting too wild.

She somehow manages to keep her slow pace, fucking you nice and gentle to build up your orgasm and prolong your pleasure. At the end of the day, all she wants is to keep you happy.

“You’re so close, aren't you, sweetheart? I can feel it, the way you can’t stop clenching around me. God, it makes me so wet.”

You don't know what triggers it, maybe it's her words or her thrusts or the tight circles around your clit, but you fall over the edge instantly with a cry so loud, she has to kiss you to drown it out.

It’s impossible to describe how you feel. It's like you're floating and underwater and in the heart of the sun all at the same time. All you know is you've never felt pleasure like this and it's all thanks to Hailee freaking Steinfeld.

Hailee holds you close until your body stops shaking and you slump forward into her. “Hey, welcome back, y/n.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, every muscle in your body feeling absolutely spent yet satisfied.

She doesn't reply. She merely removes her hand from your sensitive center and kisses the side of your head.

“So…are you still up for dinner or…?”

“You're the worst.”

[steddiebang2024]

STEVE AND EDDIE MAKE A PORNO  |  Explicit  |  55k

Author: @hitlikehammers

Artist: @hagnoart

Beta Reader: @dontwasteyourchances

[Link to fic]  |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, (background Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Nancy Wheeler/Barbara Holland, Jonathan Byers/Argyle; porn film scene pairings indicated in the relevant chapters)

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Chrissy Cunningham, Jonathan Byers, Barbara Holland, Argyle

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Nay: oblivious!BEST friends to lovers, Romcom, Porn, Y’know because shooting a porno is the orienting plot device, Humor, General Shenanigans, Coffee-related Innuendos Abound, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending (not THAT kind), (…okay also a lot of that kind because again: THEY ARE SHOOTING A PORNO)

Trigger Warnings: This fic is inspired by a film where the filming of a porno is a central plot device; sex positivity, orientation positivity, sex-and-pairings-for-aesthetic-appeal-NOT-for-endgame-purposes are the name of the game.

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Unlikely but inseparable best-friends-since-middle-school Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson move in together after graduation and, honestly? Lead a semi-stable if generally-uneventful life (or not-entirely uneventful, fine, because Eddie takes personal offense to that characterization of anything involving himself): but they make a decent living as minimum wage grunts and they never starve, which of course counts as a win in late-stage capitalism. So what if it’s always been paycheck to paycheck and they’ve only just made it outside their hometown: they still do earn their paychecks, Eddie’s booking more weekend shows to pad his kinda-pitiful record store wages, the cafe Steve works at is expanding and a promotion to senior manager isn’t wholly out of the question, and they did make it out of their back-assward hometown, no matter how far they got. Most of all, through better or worse, bound thicker than blood: they’ve got each other. It’s not the life Steve was raised to expect, but it’s not one he’s trade for anything in the world. 

Which is still true when, due to a very unfortunate lack of communication—with good intentions! It honestly was all above-board and stupidly well-intentioned—they may have entirely unwittingly paved their way into bills-so-overdue-the-utilities-are-canceled. Like: bye-bye-water-mid-shower-canceled. 

Which: fucking late-stage capitalism. Ruining everything. 

And it is ruined: it’s the holidays, which means there are extra hours but they’re being vied for Hunger Games style, and the lack-of-heating thing’s going to be a real problem with the Midwest winter that’s creeping up quick. Basically: ‘up shit creek without a paddle’ is an understatement. 

But then, opportunity presents itself in the most time-honored of professions when they run into the shocker (or: not-really-a-shocker, dude was hella repressed) partner of a straight-laced douchebag classmate at their ten-year-reunion: an adult film star who reveals $100k could be within their grasps—bills paid, debt cleared, money to spare for the first time in forever—if the form of...well.

Shooting their own porno. 

So umm...fucking late stage capitalism? 

And honestly it’s a solid plan, despite being absolute insanity (though that’s honestly unsurprising because, again: nothing’s uneventful when Eddie Munson’s your best friend), but the question that rears its head ultimately isn’t one of revenue, but one they probably should have thought through a little harder from the get-go: when budget’s tight, cast is limited, and promotional value is crucial—alongside everyone banging everyone? 

You’re also probably gonna have to fuck your best friend on camera for cash in the process.

(Goddamn previously unrealized and unacknowledged feelings late stage capitalism, man. Fucks up everything.)

[bl-bracket]

Horny on Main Finals: Kinn (Kinnporsche: The Series) vs Boston (Only Friends)

[Submitted Reasons Under Cut]

Kinn: "Despite his entire fucking home and mafia compound being straight up invaded by the minor family, his life threatened, his brothers' lives threatened, his beloved bodyguards' lives threatened, several dead and more wounded... this man is immediately down to fuck when his boyfie says "give me your gun". Dickstracted. Dicklirious. Dickmatized. Time and place, ya horndog! See also: every other scene with Kinn."

Boston: "Literally the slut of the show even if they could have had him score more ass not gonna lie still he got 5 on screen sex partners with sex scenes with all of them, needless to say more? that boy is horny 24/7 and only thinks with his "magical dick that turn everybody gay" as invented by my friend Joni literally the main conflict of the show starts cuz this horny bastard cannot deal with his ex hook up actually liking his nerdy virgin friend

So I think this is enough as a presentation and if it isn't look up his tumblr hashtag to see for yourself"

[notafunkiller]

sweet nothing

Summary: Bucky and you attend an awards show, but an interviewer makes sure to ruin your night before it even starts. The loss of your project makes you have a breakdown when you get home, and Bucky does his best to comfort you.

Pairing: director!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 24, Bucky is 36), teasing, dirty talk, language, pet names, fingering, oral sex (the reader receiving), clit play, come eating, a little metal arm kink, daddy kink, no condom (but they are both clean and the reader is on birth control), no mention of y/n

Word Count: 4.2K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: Bucky’s look is obviously inspired by Sebastian’s appearance at D23 Expo in 2022. Also, this happens a few months after the second part, in October.

An extra thank you to @marvelouslizzie and @lavenderhaze967​ for being my beta readers and for the endless support.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You really can’t decide what to say. The remark came so unexpectedly, you were taken aback.

You don’t know how they knew about your vacation. The photos and some false info were spread all over the internet, and you found out only after you came back home.

You expected things to calm down from July until now, though, but they didn’t. They actually became worse and worse. But despite that, you didn’t even think you were going to get this type of comment tonight, especially since you announced you refuse to talk about your personal life. You should have known better… Bucky was right, you can never trust the press and you should never have expectations.

“Even though this has nothing to do with tonight and I said I won’t talk about anything related to my personal life multiple times...”

“I wasn’t-” The interviewer tries to interrupt you, surprised by your cold tone, but you don’t let her. If they want to speculate, then at least you can let it out now. They can do whatever they want after.

“To make things clear, Mr. Barnes is actually one of the most professional people I’ve ever worked with… one of the best: kind and supportive, and he always gives the best feedback.”

“Miss-”

You ignore her once again, raising your hand to stop her. “He is blunt, honest, and hasn’t been anything but professional the whole time. He made a massive contribution to the film industry and he’s been in the public eye for so long...  If you had done your research, you’d have known how everyone, especially the women he worked with, talked and talk about him.” You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure before you look straight at the camera. “Also, no, I did not sleep with him or anyone else to get any kind of role. Thank you!”

You don’t realize how much you’re shaking or how many tears you were holding back until you reach the bathroom. You’re thankful Bucky is inside already. He doesn’t deserve this shitty attitude, and you know he would have made a scene and stopped this on the spot if he’d witnessed it.

*

So you don’t tell Bucky about it, not wanting to give him bad vibes, especially since you know how he already feels about going to events in general. Your table is full when you get there: a part of the cast and the crew along with Bucky’s manager. Natasha couldn’t come this time, but you know everyone, so it’s better than you expected.

“Wine?” Bucky asks you softly, leaning in so only you can hear him.

“Later, please. I have a small headache.”

“Oh, no, baby.” He kisses your forehead as soon as you finish talking. “Do you need a pill?”

You love how he never hides or tries to keep his distance when you go out together. Maybe it’s nothing much after all, but you know how discreet he is, how much he values privacy, and it makes you truly feel a part of his life.

“Don’t worry, it will go away.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, yes.” You brush it off with a smile, and he nods, unsure, getting back in his chair properly.

You can’t let your emotions eat you alive, anger or nervousness... you just can’t. But it’s easier said than done because time passes so slowly until your categories are announced. Not even joking around with Bucky’s manager helps. She has such amazing vibes usually, but you are too deep in your thoughts to fully embrace them.

By the time the nominees in your category are announced, Bucky gets you all ice cream, making sure they put two spoons for you: one with chocolate and another with biscuits. It’s so delicious, but you instantly stop eating when the small video with a few of your scenes is projected. People around you clap loudly, but you can’t look around much, your cheeks so flushed when the camera stops on you again. Bucky even whistles using the index and middle fingers of his flash hand, which makes you giggle. He’s so cute!

“And the winner for Best Actress in a Drama is...”

It’s like the world stops for a second: the tension, the lack of air, the ringing in your ear... you can’t hear anything. But you can read body language and see everyone’s shoulders falling. You don’t dare to look at Bucky, only smiling in joy for whoever won and trying to hold back tears. Every woman on that list deserves it. They are all fantastic. You aren’t upset because someone else won. You just feel like a failure because you lost. It’s like you disappointed the people who care about you, who took a shot with you. Bucky... who saw something in you and risked it. You know how silly it is because he isn’t the type of person who would even think that, but you can’t just control the train of thoughts that keeps overwhelming you.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

You still can’t look at your sweet, comforting Bucky. Fuck, such a crybaby... You just nod and take your spoon with your right hand so you can have more ice cream.

He better wins!

The movie loses shortly after you, and it’s your turn to comfort him. You don’t pay attention to the camera focusing on you or Lucas tapping on his arm in a consolation gesture when you turn your face toward him and kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry, bubba.”

He melts instantly under your touch. “Don’t be.”

But how can you not be? It makes your insides burn. This man you know so well professionally and personally deserves every fucking award this industry has. He is fantastic! The movie was fantastic, too.

The urge to cry takes over you the moment the winner of the best director category is announced, but it’s not Bucky. And you think he senses it because he squeezes your thigh gently to assure you. You…

You cannot believe this.

You have a bitter taste in your mouth for the rest of the night there, which is short since Bucky suggests leaving earlier. You hate awards ceremonies officially, too.

The car ride is no better. You find it harder and harder to hold back your tears, and the last thing you want is Bucky to see. He asked you if you were hungry, and asked you to stay over at his place. How could you say no? No, Bucky, I want to go home and cry angry and disappointed. You spend most of your nights at his house anyway, so it would make him worry. Especially since the distance to your apartment is longer.

You let a deep breath out when he closes the door, turning on the lights as you start to take off your shoes.

“Home sweet home.” He gives you a tired smile.

“Ihm. Finally.” You don’t trust your voice to say more than that and you let your bag and phone on the small table before going straight to the kitchen.

“Next time we’re invited, we ditch to watch a movie or something and make love.”

His words are enough to send you over the edge somehow. When you hear his footsteps closer, you instantly turn around to face the sink, grabbing the kitchen counter in an attempt to hold back the tears. But it’s so hard…

“Baby?”

Fuck, he’s so close.

“Bubba?”

And that’s all you need to burst into tears. But you’re not just crying, you are fully sobbing when you feel his arms wrapping around you.

“Bubba, breathe, please.” He rests his head on your shoulder, and you feel so naked, so bare in a way... Something you feared for so long. You are vulnerable in a way you only let your family see you, not even them maybe. It’s like you’re giving him access to your inner child. And it’s terrifying.

“I-I’m ss-sorry.” You are gasping for air between words, and this makes you feel even worse. You sound so pathetic.

“What are you sorry for, bubba? Focus on breathing, please.” Bucky’s voice is so calm and soothing, you almost let yourself fall into his arms. You can’t believe this safe sensation you feel. It’s shocking to you. You trust him to hold you and comfort you even when you look this deplorable.

“In and out.” You breathe in and out every time he says the words and it slowly becomes easier; the air doesn’t feel like it burns your lungs anymore.

You feel his kisses on the back of your head. “Good girl, perfect. Just like that.”

You open your eyes as soon as your body stops trembling and turn to him instantly. You probably look like a wet raccoon, but you don’t care. You hug him so tight you wonder if he can even breathe. But you can’t let go.

Bucky’s glad he took off his jacket since the zipper would have hurt your face.

“I’m right here, not going anywhere.”

“I’m ss-sorry,” you say weakly, taking a step back. “It’s just so unfair!”

His whole face softens even more. He understands... your first nominee and your first loss. This is never easy, especially for someone ambitious and talented.

“I know it hurts, but I promise you more will come, and they will finally give you the awards you deserve. You were amazing.” He takes your hands into his and brings them to his mouth.

“It’s not about me!”

“What?”

“You deserved to win!” You can’t control the anger in your voice. “This movie, the whole concept, the team... Maybe it’s because of the way I-”

“Stop right there! You have nothing to blame yourself for. And you don’t have to feel bad for me, okay, bubba?” His mouth finds your forehead. “Of course, it bothers me a little, but these awards come and go. Sure, some bring more opportunities, but I don’t give a fuck about it. You were a fantastic lead. You are fantastic! But I promise you, you will get more awards because you deserve them. I was mad for you. Don’t worry about me, alright?”

“But you deserve it!”

“It’s just an award, baby. I am proud of this project and of everyone who was a part of it, especially you. It wasn’t easy and it was emotionally draining.”

He wipes your face, and you curse. You should have worn waterproof mascara.

“I just don’t...”

“Don’t ever blame yourself again.” He pauses. “Actually, you will because you can’t control that, it’s not a switch. What I mean is don’t try to hide from me, don’t let the thoughts overwhelm you before talking to me. Or someone... anyone: your sister, your mom, Natasha. I just want you to know I am here for you.” He kisses your lips shortly. “I got you, and you got me.”

He barely has time to finish his sentence before you grab his face and kiss him, your tongue immediately licking his bottom lip. It’s something about the way he reacted, about his permanent attitude and the way he looks that makes you dizzy. So dizzy that you easily switch from feeling anger and fear to sexual desire.

You keep kissing him until you two can’t breathe anymore. He’s so sweet, so good. You can’t help it...

“I want to suck your cock.”

He opens his eyes instantly.

“What?”

“Want to take you inside my mouth. Now.” You repeat with such urgency that his shock is increasing.

“Wait, you don’t have to-”

But his words die as your hands are already on his belt, taking it off in seconds. When it loudly hits the floor, you unzip the pants, dragging them down along with his boxers with force. So much force he gasps.

“Please, daddy.”

You drop to your knees in seconds, making sure to properly grab the base before leaning in to kiss his wet head.

“Jesus!”

He has to grab the kitchen counter behind you to stand still.

“Just me.” You smirk a little and take more of his cock inside your mouth. He’s getting harder little by little. When you start to move your hand , though? He finally gets in his usual horny mood, understanding you really want this.

“Fuck, look at you! On your knees just for me. So needy!”

You moan, bringing your left hand to his balls as you start to bob your head. You just want him to come.

“Baby, please. Fuck me!” He groans, and you suddenly feel your hair getting pulled hard as if he’s trying to get you away from his cock. You stop sucking just to snap:

“Why are you taking my cock from me?”

“Because it wants to be inside my pussy.”

You snort.

He helps you stand up and kisses you without any worry. You moan when you feel his hands on your breasts, then to your sides, and before you can even say anything, you hear the sound of the material ripping.

“Hurry up!” You complain, waiting for him to finish undressing you as you keep kissing his neck.

Your bra and underwear are next and you can’t believe how free you feel.

“You are so fucking beautiful!”

“Need you, please...”

He nods, immediately lifting you in his arms, and you don’t stop kissing him until your back hits the bed.

“How do you want me?” You ask, and he frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Position, Bucky.” You try to clean your face with the back of your hand as you wait for his answer.

“We can start like this.” He gets between your legs and lifts them on his shoulders. His hair is messy, all over his forehead, and you giggle, brushing it away from his eyes.

You’re so wet he gets inside you in one movement, and you both moan. The fullness is so good, you arch your back. Sex with Bucky will never get boring, you are sure of it. He’s a perfect combination between caring, desperate, and curious.

“Bucky!”

“Yes, bubba, I’m here.” He kisses you as he starts to thrust. “I’m right here.”

Your legs are wrapped around his ass, pushing him inside you harder every time he pulls almost completely out.

“God, I love your cock so much!”

“Just that?” He pouts, making you laugh. He’s a baby and a daddy at the same time.

“I love you, bubba, you know that.”

“And I” thrust “want” thrust “to hear” thrust “it again and again.”

“Fuck.” You close your eyes, turning your face to the side without realizing.

“Eyes on me, doll. Eyes on daddy.”

“It’s hard...” you cry out, even more turned on by him calling himself your daddy. It fits him so much!

“Fine.” He uses his metal arm to turn you around on your tummy.

“Bucky!” You scream because of the sudden movement and the empty feeling since he pulled out.

“Hands and knees since you don’t want to look at me.”

You shake your head, amused, but you get in the position, raising your ass as much as you can. You love when he fucks you like this. Everything feels deeper, and there’s no distance despite the fact you can’t properly see him or kiss him. “So dramatic of you.”

You flinch without realizing when you feel his palm connecting with your ass cheeks.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, no.” You quickly assure him, looking up when you hear his worried tone. He never spanks you too hard, and the amount of strength he uses makes you enjoy it. It always makes you wet. “Just didn’t expect it.”

“Good.” He kisses your forehead. “Ready?”

“Hurry!”

He quickly gets inside you as soon as you finish speaking, and you gasp. It takes your breath away, but you can’t help but wiggle your ass. His hands grab your hips and he finally starts to literally pound you just the way you both enjoy it. His cold metal fingers feel so good.

“B-Bucky!”

“Do you love it, baby?” You hear him, but you don’t understand how he expects you to answer. You can’t even breathe properly.

“Ihm.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet around me. I love you so much.”

You try to tell him you love him back, but the words are so distorted you give up.

You’re close already.

“Are you gonna come for me? Are you gonna be a good girl and let go? Make daddy prouder?”

And just like that, you come. You don’t hear anything anymore: you can’t distinguish the words, only his voice. You feel so good, so light, that you don’t realize the wave of tears that hits you.

Bucky smiles, knowing these are from so much pleasure, and doesn’t continue to thrust much until he comes inside you. You moan again, encouraging him to fill you. To give you as much come as he has.

“Yes, yes. Please, need your come.” And you know he loses his mind every time you do that. “Please, daddy.”

A few seconds later, you feel him move his hands.

“Fuck me, baby, this was incredible.”

You nod, trying to find your words again.

“Yes, it... it was.” He helps you turn around after he gets out of you and groans.

“You look so fucking good! Perfect to eat right now.”

He makes you laugh before you slowly kiss him, moaning when your tongues find each other. There is something unique about the way he uses that mouth.

“I mean it. Gonna eat you now, ok?”

It’s the only warning you get before your head drops to the bed again and his is between your legs. His shoulders are broad enough to keep your legs extra spread, and you try to keep your eyes open just to enjoy the sight.

But it’s hard. His tongue on your clit then at your entrance, licking and eating his own come combined with yours makes you so weak you have to grab his hair to have a focus point other than his mouth.

“Jamesss.”

Your hips move uncontrolled toward his mouth as soon as you feel him slowing down. He tries to keep your back on the bed by pushing your tummy down with his metal arm, but it’s impossible. The coldness on your skin makes you cry even more.

“Fuck, fuck, Bucky, please...”

You can’t believe how close you are again, but his tongue is always great. You don’t remember a single time he didn’t make you come like this.

You gasp when he moves his tongue up to your clit quickly, which you did not expect. Even though you should have... you should have expected him to bring two metal fingers to your mouth and command you to suck them, then to push them inside you at once as he sucks on your clit. And sucks. And sucks. And when he takes it between his teeth, grazing it just enough, you come.

You don’t even realize you are screaming, the pleasure so overwhelming you can’t think even for a second. And he doesn’t stop, he keeps using his tongue and fingers until you have to beg him to.

You’re trembling, absolutely consumed when he moves up to kiss you.

“Fuck, we taste so good, doll.”

You kiss him again, making sure to lick his lips before he opens his mouth. You taste amazing together, indeed.

“Yes.”

“Good. Are you feeling better now?”

“I can’t feel my body,” you say before laughing.

“Are you sore?”

You touch his face. “I feel well fucked, daddy, don’t worry.”

His face is priceless every time you call him that. It’s funny how a big man like him gets red so easily. You never get over this.

“You and that… name.”

You pinch his chin immediately, stroking his hair. “As if you don’t enjoy it.”

“I do. Look what you did to me!” He shakes his head in a disapproving way, and you feel happy. He makes everything lighter... easier for you. He learned when and how to push you, and it helps that you have a similar sense of humor.

“I’m better now, thank you. It’s just so unfair because you are a wonderful director.”

“Just director?”

You giggle, seeing his pouty mouth. “And writer.”

“And?”

“And?” You raise your eyebrow.

“What else?”

“I don’t-” You burst into laughter when you feel his hands tickling you. “Stop! Stop! F-fine! Best... best boyfriend.”

“What? Didn’t hear you.”

You roll your eyes. He’s so predictable sometimes.

“B-best boyfriend in the world. Now stop! You’re so unfair!”

“Alright.” He gives you a boyish grin, which makes him look so young. His smile never changed from what you saw. His childhood pictures, his college ones... he kept it and it makes him so adorable.

“I love you, old man.”

“Not this again.” He fake puffs before kissing you. “I love you, too.”

*

You wake up with a few notifications and a message from Bucky telling you he’s gone to do some grocery shopping. You were wondering why the house was silent. Even when he wakes up earlier than you and tries to be silent, there is a low sound from the TV or his music player.

What you don’t expect is to have thousands of DMS and following requests as soon as you open your Instagram.

You don’t understand at first, still sleepy and hungry, until you scroll through your feed and see Bucky’s post. You almost drop your phone.

There are two photos. The first is only with you, but you don’t remember when he took it. You’re not looking at the camera, staring at the sunset, so it’s clear he took it without you knowing. He’s had this for months... and he never showed it to you. God, you miss Italy!

When you swipe to the next pic, one with both of you as he’s biting your cheek, you laugh. You were being so silly that day. Your fourth date... He was ready to eat your whole face and he didn’t want to take no for an answer, so you started to bite and suck his chin in return. It was the first time you spent the night at his house. It feels like years ago...

Then your eyes finally drop to the description and you start crying a little.

I already won the best award that exists a few months ago❤️ Thank you for your support!

You notice he turned off the comments, but many common friends liked the post.

Fuck, that means you are officially together everywhere. Wow.

You can’t believe what you woke up to. You two never kept your relationship a secret, but you preferred being discreet. You are aware of how this looks from the outside, both of you do, but does it matter? At the end of the day, the people you care about know the truth, you work hard to get jobs, and that’s enough.

You immediately open your gallery and choose a couple of photos with you and him, then just with him: hugging, Bucky kissing your cheek, him making dance moves, his face up close... some random pics you love.

You choose to use only a red heart as your caption at first, but before you publish, you add a few words because it doesn’t feel enough and even tag him on your boobs.

What a view: @jbuckybarnes #photosdump

Happily, you let the comments on and look for a certain short video you absolutely adore from your vacation: he has his head on your lap, napping soundlessly while you run your hand through his hair. His face might not be visible, but it’s clear it’s him. His shoulders, his moles, and his hair...

You remember how he groaned and whined every time you stopped touching his curls, bringing your hand back to his head.

“Bubba, more...”

Smiling, you tag him in a small font, choosing a color to fit the yacht floor, and post it.

The next fifteen minutes you spend in the bathroom, taking a shower, doing your routine, and changing into some clothes you left here the last time.

“Baby?” You jump when you hear Bucky in the bedroom all of a sudden, but you don’t let the shock hold you back from jumping on him.

He catches you, thankfully, and holds you by the ass as you kiss him all over his face and neck before stopping on his lips. Your tongue finds his and you moan in his mouth shortly after, making him groan, too.

“Good morning!”

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head on his chest.

“I love you, too. Didn’t want to leave before you woke up, but we needed breakfast.”

“Can’t believe you did that.”

“What?” He asks genuinely confused.

“You know what!” You say, words muffled by the material of his T-shirt. You are surprised how this small normal thing made you so happy you can burst.

“Ah.” He realizes, leaning in a bit to kiss your hair. “I should have done it ages ago.”

You really hate how he tends to take the full blame when it’s not the case. “We then... but now it’s the perfect timing.”

“Yes, the perfect timing.” He carries you around until you are both back in bed.

The breakfast can wait, so can you to see his reaction when he finds your posts.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

ur my fav writer on heree <33333  could I request Agatha x female reader with they starting as a friends-with-benefits type of relationship

Both fall in love with each other but think they are not reciprocated. Agatha, despite appearing confidence, is afraid of rejection and ruining the relationship that keeps her close to reader so she doesn’t say anything until in one of her “dates” someone flirts with reader and Agatha gets jealous and marks territory.

They discuss and confess their feelings for each other and formalize their relationship and smutty. Can the request have fingering, oral and Agatha using a magic strap? Also: Agatha VERY excited because it’s her first time having sex as an official couple 

💋

pairing: agatha harkness x fem!reader

summary: friends-with-benefits to lovers

content warnings: ooh boy where do i start. smut obvi, choking, jealousy, possessiveness, hickeys, fingering, cunnilingus, strap-on, subspace. oh and a scene where reader gets anxious in a public setting. low-key angst at the beginning, but it gets better!

word count: 6k+

masterlist

A/N: thanks for the request!! i hope u like it hehe, i had fun and wrote more that i thought i would. ur so sweet, thank you! <3

Photo Cred: Me

Mine

Kicking off your shoes, you leaned against your front door, sighing in relief as you took your bag off your shoulders. Blinking in the dim lighting and realizing you’d probably forgotten to leave a lamp on, you stumbled towards the kitchen. Setting your bag down on the counter, you pulled your phone out and sent a quick text to your neighbor as you opened the fridge. 

‘Heyyy, my boss is being a huge dickwad atm. Wanna come over? I could use some stress relief, if ya know what I mean ;)’

Seeing that your neighbor had read your text, you looked up. Squinting slightly against the warm refrigerator light, your eyebrows steadily rose as you took stock of the contents.  Staring in disbelief at your barren fridge, you shot off another text. 

‘Bring food, I forgot to go shopping. Again.’

Closing the fridge, you grabbed a corkscrew as you pulled a bottle of wine from your pantry. Hopping onto the counter, you prepared two glasses while you waited, rubbing at your temples to get rid of the dull ache you’d had ever since your boss had opened his mouth this morning. The sound of a notification rang through your silent kitchen, and you smiled slightly as you read the text from your neighbor. 

‘On My Way!’

Then, another text appeared straight after. 

‘You have to show me how to get rid of that stupid auto correct. I do not use exclamation points.’

Smiling, you sent a text letting her know that the door was unlocked before hopping down from the counter and getting out two plates. While you absentmindedly prepared the table for a late dinner, you found yourself getting more and more excited with every second that passed. 

Honestly, how could you not. Agatha Harkness was the single most interesting person you'd ever met. With her endearing dark curls and piercing dark blue eyes, you’d developed a crush almost immediately. It must have been the way she grasped your hand firmly at the block barbeque, introducing herself with a raspy voice and teasing lilt, that had you giving up your body to her that same night. 

Ever since that warm summer evening, you’d been casually seeing her. It was mainly sex, and as smitten as you were with her, Agatha most definitely did not see you the same way. How could she? You were a twenty-two year old girl with a job you hated and no idea how to take care of yourself, and Agatha was a confident forty-three year old woman with a stable job, extensive hobbies, and rich tastes. 

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts and willing the stupid smile off your face at the sound of your front door opening, you leaned as casually as you could against the counter. Even in the dim lighting of your kitchen, Agatha looked like she’d just walked a runway. 

Okay, maybe that was excessive. But the dark dress slacks that hugged her hips, and the tucked in blouse that showed plenty of cleavage was definitely attractive. You could smell her lavender perfume wafting over to you as she set a paper bag full of food on your counter, and you let your eyes slide slowly up her body as she turned towards you. 

“My eyes are up here, sweet cheeks.” Agatha had a slight smirk on her face as she watched the way you shivered at her words. 

You let your eyes wander up to her face, feeling like she could see your very thoughts as those blue eyes pierced yours. Smiling, you made your way towards her as she reached for your waist. “Sorry, I’m just enjoying the view.”

Chuckling slightly, Agatha spun you around quickly, pressing your back against the counter as she laid her hands on either side of you. Thoroughly trapped between her and the counter, you took the opportunity to roll your hips into hers, smiling widely at her suppressed groan. 

Needy lips found yours, Agatha’s teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You let your mind drift, your shoulders relaxing for the first time that day as you let Agatha dominate the kiss. She pulled away far too soon for your liking, and you couldn’t help the pout that appeared on your face as you wrapped your arms around her waist. 

“Come on, I need to make you some food if you’re going to have enough energy for what I have planned later.” Agatha ended her sentence with a wink, pulling away from your grasp as your eyes went wide. She pulled out various food ingredients as you went to the sink and washed your hands, stealing one last final kiss from you before she turned her attention to the food. 

Giving you a few vegetables to cut up, Agatha pulled your hair into a ponytail for you, returning to the stove and shooting you an inquisitive look. “Tell me all about your asshole boss.”

—

You sat back, finally finishing your long winded rant about your overbearing boss. You stabbed the last piece of pasta on your plate, bringing the fork to your mouth as Agatha watched. She brought her glass of wine to her lips, processing the last ten minutes of your rambling. 

It had been hard for her to focus, truly, you just looked so perfect in the dim but warm lighting of your kitchen. She kept finding herself looking at the perfect curve of your neck, and the way your hair fell over your shoulders as you waved your hands to prove a point. The way your eyes bore into hers as you waited for a response wasn’t helping, and she gulped down the rest of her drink quickly. 

“Well, at this point you’ve got to be firm with your boundaries, hon,” She started, bringing her fingers to circle the rim of her wine glass as your eyes followed the movement. “I know that’s difficult, but your boss won’t ever learn to respect you if you don't communicate your boundaries with him.”

Nodding, you let out a noise of agreement, cracking your neck slightly as you eyed your computer bag. Agatha followed your line of sight, before turning back to you and raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously considering working right now?”

Scoffing slightly, you stood up and gathered up the dishes. As you moved to grab Agatha’s plate, you leaned over until her eyes were level with your chest. You’d unbuttoned your shirt slightly, and you smiled victoriously when her eyes locked on your purple bra. 

“And what if I am?” You whispered, your lips grazing her ear as you watched her fingers twitch slightly around her empty wine glass. 

Washing the dishes quickly, you could sense movement behind you as you placed the last plate on the drying rack. Turning, your mouth fell open at the sight of Agatha’s nude chest. Her fingers were toying with her belt as she placed her top and bra into the bag she’d brought with her. 

“Still thinking about work?” 

You felt your mouth go dry, your mind blanking as she sauntered up to you. Her fingers hooked in your belt loops, pulling you backwards towards your couch. Crossing the living room, your eyes remained on her chest as your hands wrapped around her neck.

The back of your knees met the couch, and Agatha partially pushed you down, positioning you until you were laying down. Slowly removing your shirt, button by button, she leaned down and let her lips graze your neck before murmuring, “You have a lot on your mind, today, I can practically see your brain overworking itself. Be a good girl and let me fuck all those thoughts right out of your pretty head.”

A low moan escaped you, and you felt yourself sink into the comfortable lavender-scented haze that you'd grown used to. Something about Agatha just felt safe, and while you were with her you felt that you could give her control. 

Agatha controlled your body, mind, and heart. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A hand cupped your cheek, and your eyes refocused to see blue eyes looking down on you with concern. “Is that alright, hon?” 

Blinking, you smiled, wrapping your hands around Agatha’s waist as you pulled her body flush against yours. “Yes, I just slipped into subspace for a second.”

Blue eyes darkened, and the hand on your cheek slid down to wrap around your throat as Agatha’s lips met yours. She whispered in between kissing you, “Good. That’s what I’m here for. You just let me have control for a little while, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

A whine left your throat, and Agatha gently grasped your wrists with her hand and held them above your head. Pressing them into the couch cushion, she wordlessly ordered you to stay put, before she was ripping off your bra and leaving marks all over your chest. 

You let your body go limp, your brain floating away as you breathed heavily beneath her. It just felt so good. The smell of Agatha’s perfume, her hands running over your waist as her lips sucked bruises into your skin. You felt her lips move up to your collarbone, squirming slightly as you opened your eyes. 

“Agatha.” Your voice was slightly hard, but breathy. 

A hum of acknowledgement sounded out, and you fought the urge to move your hands as her lips steadily made their way towards your neck. Your mind rose out of the haze it was in, sharpening when her teeth grazed a sensitive spot at the base of your throat. 

Pushing Agatha back by her shoulders, your lips parted at the hungry look in her eyes. She leaned in, her tongue swiping over her lips before a firm hand on her sternum stopped her. 

“No visible marks.” Your voice was cold, reminding her of the rules you both had agreed on. Agatha’s face dropped slightly, her hands stilling around your waist as your eyes flitted between her eyes and lips. 

“Fine.” Agatha said, her tone short. 

She could have kicked herself, of course you wouldn’t want anyone to know about this. You were a young woman with all the opportunities in the world, well-spoken and gentle with the brightest smile. Anyone could have you, could love you. Agatha reminded herself that she wasn’t special, at least not to you, as she slowly lowered you back against the couch, your hands digging into her hair. 

To her, you were a bright burning star. The only light she had, and although you threatened to burn her from the inside out, with your teasing smiles and glossy eyes, she couldn't help but get sucked into your orbit. It was a never ending dance, the two of you. Getting close enough to feel the scorching heat that guaranteed to consume her heart and soul, then pulling away before the feeling could grow into something that promised longevity. 

Your lips found hers, and they tasted like forgiveness. 

Agatha let herself get lost in you, in your high-pitched moans that washed over her, and the way your fingers tightened in her hair when she finally took your aching nipple between her lips. Your hips rose to meet hers, grinding your pelvis against hers as she groaned into your soft skin. 

The haze returned, thicker than before. Agatha’s lips were soft yet rough, lulling you into a state of bliss. Your clothes were off before you could process the action, your skin sliding against Agatha’s as she murmured praises into your ear. 

Her fingers entered you, and you saw stars. They curled, and your eyes rolled back. Agatha was there to catch you, bringing you down with soft words and firm hands that promised to mold you into something beautiful. 

When she eventually left for the night, promising to text you when she arrived home, you felt something empty settle in your chest. Shrugging it off, you smiled down at your phone as the notification sound rang. 

‘Dinner on me, this Friday? There’s a new restaurant I’ve been wanting to try.’

Biting your lip, you set your phone down as you turned on the shower. Inspecting your nude body, you ran your fingers over the marks Agatha had left on your chest. Your eyes rose slightly, imagining what some of those marks would look like on your neck. You shook your head, it would do no good to fantasize about things you couldn’t have. Picking up your phone, you responded. 

‘Sure! That sounds an awful lot like a date tho…’

You stepped into the shower, sighing as the hot water hit your aching muscles. Letting your mind drift, you started planning your outfit, knowing that you’d cave to Agatha’s request. 

Your phone buzzed, your eyes snapping open at the sound, your heart racing slightly. You paused, getting a grip and deciding to make her wait. Rubbing conditioner onto the ends of your hair, you glanced over at your phone, sitting innocently on the counter. Fuck it. 

Getting out of the shower, rinsing your hair and suds of soap off your body, you picked up your phone with damp fingers. 

‘It’s not a date, hon. It’s a nice dinner between two friends.’

You scoffed, something dropping in your chest as you reread the text. 

‘If you say so.’

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you wrapped your hair in a towel, pulling your laptop out. Scrolling, you found the latest email from your boss, asking you to complete a task before the next morning. Remembering what Agatha had told you, you composed an email of your own. 

‘Good evening, I will no longer respond to messages outside of my regular work hours. If there is a problem with this, please feel free to bring it up to our Human Resources department. I will see you tomorrow, Y/N Y/L/N.’

Sending it, you felt a shred of self respect enter your body as a proud feeling wormed its way into your heart. It reminded you of Agatha, and you closed your laptop before reaching for your phone. 

‘I do, I’ll pick you up at 6.’

Looks like you had an outfit to pick out.

—

You felt your heart drop as low as your bank statement as Agatha pulled up to the restaurant. You recognized the name, and knew that this was way too expensive to accept. 

“Agatha,” You began, your eyes wide as you took in the decorative entranceway. 

A hand on your thigh stopped more words from escaping your mouth, your mind scrambling for a solution. You looked down, admiring the short nails on Agatha’s long fingers as she tightened her grip, before raising your eyes to her own. 

“Let me take care of you.” Agatha said, her tone leaving no room for arguments. She could see your mind at war with itself, your lips parting as an argument sprung to your tongue. Before you could get any words out, she leaned in and kissed you. It was a short kiss, no more than two seconds, but it left you silent and wanting more. 

Elegant eyebrows rose, Agatha waiting for your response. Your eyes flicked down, resting on her lips. “Okay.”

At your resigned whisper, Agatha smiled widely. She quickly swept you out of your seat, her pace quick but leisurely as she ushered you inside, her hand resting on the small of your back. 

Your eyes were wide as you looked around the restaurant, taking in the chandelier and dark mahogany of the walls as the soft chatter of the patrons reached your ears. Although it was a rule to not touch each other in public, you ignored it in favor of leaning further into Agatha’s side, feeling slightly overwhelmed. 

A nice looking man approached the two of you, his uniform neatly pressed as he ushered for you to follow. He led you to a more secluded area of the restaurant, as per your reservation, and you felt a rush of warmth at the thought of Agatha meticulously planning this out. 

Pulling the chair out for you, Agatha let her eyes roam down the front of your dress as you sat down. Leaning in, she let her lips just barely graze your ear, “You look wonderful, by the way.”

A blush made its way onto your face, and a tendril of heat erupted in your core at the low tone. Picking up the menu to give your hands something to do, you felt your fingers shake as your eyes landed on the price tags for each item. 

Murmuring a wine selection to the hovering waiter, Agatha watched as your eyes rapidly scanned the paper in front of you. The man quickly left, and she sat back in her seat as she waited for your eyes to meet hers. 

“This feels like a date.” You said, your voice trembling slightly as you gingerly put down the menu. Looking up, you felt a small tendril of hope worm its way into your heart. Agatha’s blue eyes didn’t look quite as piercing in the dark atmosphere of your secluded corner, instead holding something unmistakably warm in them as she looked at you. 

“Would you like this to be a date?” Agatha simply asked, raising a single brow. 

You froze, the hope in your chest wrapping around your heart and squeezing. You willed your mouth to start working and respond, but all you could manage were a few blinks. Agatha sighed slightly, her eyes dropping from your face as she ran her fingers over her own menu. 

“Remember, this is on me. Don’t worry about the prices, hon.” Her voice was still low, but had lost its slight raspiness that you’d grown fond of. 

Before you could say anything in return, your mind and heart still waging a war against each other, the waiter returned. The silence stretched as he poured the wine, Agatha motioning for him to leave the bottle. Speaking softly, she ordered before turning to look at you. 

“And what would you like?” The waiter asked, his tone professional as you floundered. 

Panicking slightly, your fingers gripped the menu as you tried to skim the different options. The words started blurring together, and you felt your neck heat up at the expectant silence. You felt out of place, longing for a quiet bar with no manners to be seen, rather than this expensive restaurant that had dozens of rules you weren’t aware of. 

A cool hand placed itself on your trembling fingers, and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Agatha’s eyes as she ordered for you. The ringing in your ears grew louder as your heartbeat raced, and your eyes darted towards the restrooms. Taking a steadying breath, your eyes fell to Agatha’s hand, curled around your fingers as you clenched the menu.

The sound of a throat clearing caused your eyes to snap up, landing on the waiter's outstretched hand as he glanced at your menu. You smiled apologetically, watching him eye the slightly crumpled paper as you handed it to him. He walked away, and you sank into your seat. 

“Breathe for me.” Agatha’s voice washed over you, unraveling the tight knot in your chest as you took a few measured breaths. You looked anywhere but her eyes, annoyed with yourself and a bit embarrassed. The only other time she’d seen you like this was when she fucked you in a public bathroom, and you had panicked when someone knocked on the door. 

Shaking that thought out of your head, you laughed awkwardly as you reached for your wine. Taking a sip and frowning at the way your fingers trembled around the glass, you kept your head ducked as you looked at Agatha through your lashes. 

The expression on her face could only be described as soft, and you lifted your chin as the last oily remnants of shame left you. Taking a larger mouthful of wine, you prayed for your nerves to dissipate as the alcohol hit your bloodstream. 

“Nervous?” The raspiness was back, and you couldn’t help the way your lips parted. You watched her eyes flick downwards, studying the color of your lipstick briefly before shooting back up towards your eyes. 

Offering a tight lipped smile, you attempted to shake off your nerves. You could enjoy a nice dinner with your neighbor. Your really hot neighbor. Fuck. You took another sip of your wine. 

“Just feeling a little out of my element.” You said, feeling a pleasant buzz settle underneath your skin. You let the rest of the restaurant fade into a low thrum, your attention solely focused on Agatha’s lips as she tasted the wine in front of her. Her fingers curled around the glass, and your mouth watered slightly as you remembered the way it felt to suck on them after she’d fucked you dumb. 

Agatha asked you a question, something about your boss, and you let the conversation take your nerves away. You barely even noticed the waiter returning with your food, so caught up in the way Agatha laughed slightly at your lame attempt at a joke. Her lips quirked up, her features softening as she stifled another laugh. 

Digging into your food, you thanked her for selecting an option for you. You couldn’t quite name what was in front of you, but it was delicious. You let your eyes close slightly, savoring the taste in your mouth as you slowly removed your spoon. You realized that Agatha had gone quiet, and looked at her inquisitively. 

Dark blue eyes stared at you in a way that could only be described as hungry. Her fingers had tightened around her silverware, the whites of her knuckles bleeding through as her gaze locked onto the spoon still between your lips. 

You smiled, finally catching on. Slowly, you dragged the spoon past your lips before using the tip of your tongue to clean it off. Your smile widened at the sound of Agatha sucking in a sharp breath, her jaw working. 

Digging into your food once more, you slowly lifted the spoon to your lips. Agatha’s eyes snapped to yours. 

“Don’t do that.” Her words were practically hissed, her eyes bouncing between your lips and eyes. Her pupils were slightly blown, the blue of her eyes reduced to mere slivers as she watched you slip the spoon between your lips. 

Swallowing, and deciding to take mercy on her, you set your spoon down and tilted your head as you observed the rigid posture of the woman across from you. 

“Do what?” You asked, your tone innocent even as a smirk graced your lips. Taking another sip of your wine, you watched Agatha’s fingers loosen their grip on her silverware. She flexed them slightly, looking around briefly before a hard look appeared in her eyes. 

“Don’t tease me,” She murmured, her eyes dark as she watched your lips part at her words. “Although, that’s what you want. Isn’t it?”

“I-” You felt a rush of heat at your core, your underwear dampening slightly at the flood of arousal that coursed through you. 

“You want me to watch you, the way that you pretend to be innocent while you tease me with your fingers and lips and eyes that practically beg me to fuck you. Isn’t that right?” Agatha’s eyes were dark, boring into you as you sucked in a breath. She slowly lifted her wine, sipping as you tried to control your quickly overheating body. 

The waiter returned. You despaired. 

You felt the weight of Agatha’s stare as she paid the waiter, leaving a generous tip that had him glowing. She pulled your chair out for you, leading you from the restaurant with a much firmer hold around your waist. You find yourself leaning into the touch, blaming the wine you’d gulped down for your lack of rule-following. 

“Oh my gosh! Hey!” A chipper voice startles you out of the daze you were in, and you pull away from Agatha, ignoring the look she sends you as you search for the owner of the voice. Looking around you spot your coworker waving at you from down the street.

“Hey,” You start, forgetting her name. You cough awkwardly as she approaches, nudging Agatha in the side when you catch her staring daggers at the woman. “How are you?”

Your coworker launches into a rambling rendition of her past week, her enthusiasm not dimming even as Agatha turns stony beside you. You nod along, missing the way Agatha’s eyes watch as your coworker grasps your forearms when she laughs. 

Watchful eyes take note of your coworkers hands as they hold onto you, as they playfully slap your shoulder when you offer a lame joke in response to her never-ending chatter. Agatha feels the churning jealousy in her chest rise to an inferno when your coworker pulls you into a tight hug. Her hands linger around your waist a little too long for Agatha’s liking, and she offers a tight lipped smile as the girl waves goodbye. 

You turn, your face frozen in an awkward grimace as you make eye contact with Agatha. She has an unreadable look in her eyes, and you wonder what it is as she turns you and starts walking towards her car. 

She’d parked a few blocks away, and her strides are long and purposeful as her hand tightens further on the small of your back. You struggle to keep up, your mind bouncing between Agatha’s splayed fingers burning through your dress and her stony expression. It’s all very confusing, and you tug at her shirt to draw her attention. 

“Ok what’s going on, becau-” 

You’re cut off by Agatha’s hands pushing you backwards, into an alley and up against the wall. Her hands are rough, palming your hips as she presses herself against your front, your breaths intermingling. Your eyes dart down, watching her lips part. You practically tremble from anticipation, and you close your eyes as she leans towards you. 

Soft lips meet your neck, and your eyes fly open in surprise as a strangled gasp leaves your throat. Your hand moves up, tangling in her hair as those soft lips are replaced with sharp teeth. 

Pleasure courses through you as she marks your neck, her lips never quite lifting off your skin as she sucks dark bruises along the sides of your throat. Her hands are still on your hips, pressing you into the wall in a harsh grip as her heaving chest presses against your own. 

You’re about to remind her that you’re in public, that anyone could walk by and see the two of you, when a single, growled word causes your mind to blank. 

“Mine.”

At the low moan that rips itself from your throat, Agatha pulls away, her eyes dark as she takes in the state of your neck. A smirk forms on her face, and before you can catch your breath, she’s pulling you away from the wall and walking quicker than before towards her car. 

You remain quiet, processing the last few minutes as she pulls onto the street. Her hand makes its way towards your thigh, and you blink in confusion. She never touched you in public like that, so what changed now?

Agatha’s fingers squeezed your thigh in an almost possessive manner, and your eyes widened as you came to a realization. “Do you see me as more than just a hot neighbor you like to fuck sometimes?” 

You’re staring at her now, your own feelings looming and threatening to overwhelm you. Praying that your infatuation is reciprocated, you gently touch the fingers on your thigh, waiting until Agatha glanced over at you. 

Her eyes are nervous, wide, and filled with the same emotions you see in the mirror everytime the two of you separate for the night. You can sense her hesitance, and you turn her palm over to lace your fingers with hers. 

“Because I see you as so much more than that.” Your words are whispered, Agatha’s eyes widening slightly at your confession. She diverts her focus from the road, her eyes taking you in as an unmistakable feeling of joy spreads through her chest. Turning back, she bites her lip as a slow smile spreads across her face. 

The fingers intertwined with your own squeeze tighter, and you smile as you watch the emotions flit across Agatha’s face. Excitement and hope being the main two. She wears a small smile for the remainder of the car ride, her fingers squeezing yours as she stroked the back of your hand with her thumb. 

Pulling into her driveway, Agatha practically forces you out of the car, her hands hot around your waist as you enter her home. As soon as you’re through the door, she shuts it and presses you firmly against the cool wood. 

“So,” You begin, slightly breathless as her lips resume marking your neck. “Does this mean you also feel strongly about me?” 

Agatha's eyes are warm as she pulls away to look at you. Her fingers run gently over your flushed cheek, her smile wide as she responds. “Of course I do.” 

You sense a slight hesitancy from her, and gently grasp her chin when she looks away from you. Her eyes are wide, tears starting to fill them. 

“I don’t want to scare you off.” Agatha says, her voice trembling. 

Pulling away from the door, you pull Agatha along as you search for her bedroom. Offering a gentle smile, you push her onto the bed before straddling her lap. Pulling her face into your cupped hands, you place a gentle kiss on her lips before whispering, “Tell me, I promise you won’t scare me off.”

Agatha’s eyes are earnest, her hands trembling as they clutch the fabric around your hips.  “I am hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you. The desperate, aching kind of love. The kind there’s no coming back from. The kind there’s no way out of. The kind that’s going to be the death of me one day.”

Your lips part, your eyes crinkling in a smile as you look at her. You can’t quite find the right words, so you press your lips against hers, attempting to convey the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. It goes unsaid, instead felt through your frenzied lips that you feel the exact same way. 

The kisses turn passionate, slower than you normally kiss Agatha. Her brain apparently starts to work again, turning lustful as her hands claw at the hem of your dress. You break the kiss laughing slightly as you help her take the soft fabric off. 

Your hands undo the buttons of her shirt as she hurriedly removes her jacket from her shoulders. Your dress lands somewhere on the floor, Agatha’s lips reattaching themselves to your neck and moving over the newly exposed skin towards your chest. 

As soon as you felt those sinful lips against your chest, you let out a gasp, the sound spurring Agatha into further action. Your fingers scramble, losing their grip on her infuriatingly small buttons as you close your eyes, lost in the feeling of Agatha’s teeth sucking your nipple between them. 

Agatha pulls away, her pupils blown as she takes you in. A flush is spreading down your chest, your hips rolling slightly as your fingers flex against her stomach. In an instant, she flips you until your back meets the bed, a soft grunt escaping your lips as you open your eyes in confusion. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.” Agatha husks, her hands running all over your body. She pulls your underwear off in one smooth motion, before removing her own shirt. 

“But, we’ve been fucking for a while.” You say, your eyes glued to the lacy bra that Agatha reveals as she drops her shirt on the floor. Humming, she smiles as she slowly leans in to nuzzle against your neck. 

“This time is different,” Agatha’s words are quiet, and you nod immediately, knowing exactly what she means. At the feeling of your nod, Agatha leaves a few open-mouthed kisses along your neck as you squirm slightly. She slowly works her way down your body, leaving kisses on every inch of exposed skin as you feel your mind go hazy. 

Upon reaching the apex of your thighs, and admiring the slick juices leaking from you, Agatha removes her hands from where they were pinning your hips down. Your hips automatically start moving, rutting into the air as you search for some sort of friction. 

“Let’s play a little game.” Agatha mutters, watching your eyes light up at the idea. She reaches up, tangling her fingers with yours and pressing your conjoined hands into the mattress. “If you can come without my help, I’ll give you a reward.”

Your glassy eyes stare at her, not quite comprehending her words. At the confusion etched across your face, Agatha smirks, before dropping her face to your dripping pussy and sticking out her tongue. At the feeling of her strong muscle against you, your hips jerk and you understand what she meant. 

Agatha doesn’t move, her tongue still firmly against you as you grind against her face. Your back arches as you thrust harder, your orgasm nearing as Agatha squeezes your hands tighter. 

Stars erupt behind your eyes, and you can almost feel your consciousness drift off among the galaxies as your muscles tense and release. Agatha helps you ride out your high, her tongue swiping through your folds and collecting your cum as your hips stutter beneath her ministrations. 

“Fuck,” Agatha groans. You think it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. 

Long fingers enter you, curling just right and coaxing forth the blazing arousal that had threatened to dissipate after your orgasm. You can feel your back arching, your hips thrusting in time with each stroke of Agatha’s fingers as your mind sinks further into that comfortable lavender-scented haze. 

“More.” You gasp, and Agatha wonders if you’ve realized what you're begging for. 

Practically slamming her fingers into your slick pussy, Agatha kneels, getting into a better position to fuck you. You moan, your throat slightly scratchy as you feel your arousal climb. Agatha watches your eyes roll back, your pleas becoming incoherent as your second orgasm washes over you. 

You moan, your hips stilling as you twitch from aftershocks. You vaguely feel Agatha pull her fingers from you, your eyes closed as you clutch the comforter beneath you. You can feel her pull away from you, the bed shifting as she moves off of it. Opening your eyes, you fight the haze that settles over your mind as you peer around the room for her. 

Agatha turns around, her eyes catching yours before your gaze moves further down. Her hand is slowly pumping over a deep purple strap-on, and you feel another wave of arousal rise as you weakly attempt to close your legs. 

Blue eyes narrow, and Agatha makes her way to the bed in a few, quick strides. Kneeling in front of your partially closed legs, she digs her nails into your inner thigh as she wrenches them open again. 

“Do not do that again.” Her voice is harsh, and you can’t stop the low moan that leaves you. “I’m giving you what you wanted.” She leans down, her lips now rough as she kisses over the dark hickeys she’d made earlier that night. Her hand replaces her lips, gripping your throat tightly as she moves her lips to your ear. 

“More.”

You can’t stop the throaty moan that leaves you, the sensations becoming overwhelming in an instant as your arousal skyrockets. You close your eyes again, feeling the warning squeeze against your throat, Agatha’s nails dragging down your taunt stomach, and the tip of the strap-on that she’s teasing your entrance with. 

In one quick movement, Agatha buries the strap into you, her own moan mixing with yours as your eyes snap open. There’s a burning sensation at your core, and as Agatha starts thrusting roughly into you, it melts into a white-hot pleasure. 

Your hands flail, not quite knowing what to do as your mind is thrown headfirst into the lavender-scented subspace you’ve grown so fond of. You can hear the slap of Agatha’s thighs hitting you with every thrust, her hand tight around your throat while the other grips your hip. Her pupils are blown, her eyes watching your face as your lips part and incoherent mumbles escape you. 

Agatha is so engrossed with watching your face, the way it scrunches up slightly when your orgasm is approaching, that she almost misses the soft words you say. 

“I love you.” Your eyes are sparkling, gazing up at her with so much emotion in them, Agatha feels her hips stutter slightly. You repeat it, a giddy smile appearing on your face, and Agatha just about loses her mind. 

Hips snapping roughly, the sound of Agatha’s strap fucking into you fills the room, your moans growing louder with each passing second. Blue eyes watch you come undone, your body spasming and tensing as a powerful orgasm rips through you. She watches, gently guiding you down, as a piece of herself she didn’t know was missing clicked back into place when your eyes bore into hers. 

You’re brought down with soothing words and praises, Agatha’s hands soft as they run over your trembling form. You barely feel her remove her strap, a warm feeling overtaking your chest as you watch her eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of her room. 

Laying down, Agatha wraps an arm around you as you roll over, burying your face into her chest. She hums softly, tracing circles on your upper back as you let your mind leisurely emerge from the subspace it was deeply entrenched in. 

“So,” You say, your eyes dropping as a wave of tiredness washes over you. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Of course, my love.” Agatha says gently, running her fingers over your face as you finally succumb to sleep. How could she say anything else? She’d been in love with you since the moment she’d laid eyes on you. You were the one dazzlingly bright light in her life, the mere thought of you bringing a sense of peace and contentment. She’d be a fool to let you go. In a few short words, she let the scorching heat of you draw her in, not caring if she burned in the process of loving you. “Of course.”

[killiru]

What do you think about Korn and Tonkla's relationship? I've seen posts about how Korn doesn't care about Tonkla but I disagree...Korn was way too affectionate with him and the fact that he kissed him before leaving as an apology for leaving abruptly makes me think that Tonkla is possible a "side chick" and since Tonkla wasn't fazed by Korn lying to his dad about being with Fasai makes me think he knows about Korn's gf but now wants to be Korn's main.

Omg Annon!!! I love it, I'm getting an ask! And then about my current obsession too, I'm excited! Thank you.

But well, anyway to your question: hard to say!!! I don't think he doesn't care about Tonkla at all, but I can imagine it started casual and then became more, especially on the part of Tonkla while Korn opportunistically accepted it because having his boytoy and being able to mie the perfect, straight son is the best outcome for him. Textbook-like. But I can't say how much emotion Korn has behind it… Sure, he's very gentle and tender with Tonkla, but at the moment when his father makes it clear that he needs something from him, he also pushes him away quite roughly and Tonkla is totally torn out of the moment.

So I'd say Korn has a thing for Tonkla, despite the relationship which CLEARLY has a financial component to it, but it's not enough for him to break his image and he obviously doesn't feel obliged to take Tonkla's needs into consideration, when he lied right in front of his salad, even though he has very positive feelings for him. At first Tonkla seems just a little bit offended by this, but then he also seems really desperate because he doesn't feel like he can do anything about it. I think you can see that when he strokes his eyes at the end of the scene.

He might even wipe away a tear. And where that can come from: I think he's very lonely. At the end Tonkla seems so small, as if he's collapsing into himself a little and of course, when he sees the cat, he's scared about it, but I think that he is, also shows that he doesn't want to be alone.

Like look this boy looks empty inside.... So even more than the way he's clingy during sex, I think you can see here how much he doesn't want to be by himself and this is underlined by the fact that he always says "its alright." to everything Korn does, so I wonder how long the arm is that Korn is holding him by and what his social circle looks like outside of work.

But well, that's far too long an answer to your question…. I should stop, sorry. This show has now occupied my brain for the next few weeks.

[gay-spock]

here’s a compilation of why rick berman of star trek fame could have ruined the franchise with his bigotry, thanks to @/thisismewhatevs on twitter:

- rick berman is usually cited by writers as the main reason gay characters were not allowed on screen in TNG/VOY/DS9/ENT even though gene roddenberry specifically wanted gay representation in the 1980s

- notably, he is responsible for demanding female actors be "sexed up" in various ways including jeri ryan's catsuit and padding terry farell's breasts

- when terry farell asked for a reduced contract similar to those of her male costars, she was fired, leading to the sudden death of jadzia dax

- with seven of nine's catsuit, not only was it berman's idea to make her "born sexy yesterday" her original costume pinched her neck so much she kept passing out. rather than change it, berman brought in nurses to administer oxygen between takes

- berman would continually comment on the appearance of female actors to the point that marina sirtis developed an eating disorder. sirtis also mentions how tight her corset and how large her breast padding was under her "uniform"

- berman was left in charge of trek because he was in the right place when roddenberry got sick. He had no experience with scifi previously and didn't really believe in roddenberry's vision of the future:

- In addition to being a dick to denise crosby after pushing her out, he's also the reason for wil wheaton was kicked out for similar contact negotiation as terry farrell

- harry kim was never promoted from ensign since berman hated his actor, garrett wang, according to him

- enterprise was a step backwards in a lot of ways because berman had far more creative control (seasons 1-3) and took a much more hands on writing role. here's t'pol actor jolene blalock discussing his sexualization of her

- as DS9 went on, garak and bashir spent less time together and garak was given zyial as an incredibly gross love interest because andy robinson's portrayal as queer coded made berman uncomfortable

- despite the "equality" promoted on the show, berman hired very few female writers, with less than 30% of episodes having even one female writer during his time

- “Rick Berman is not the only asshole to have worked on Star Trek and he is not the reason for every bad choice from TNG-ENT. However HE WAS the executive producers and show runner in charge of production so much of the sins of that time lie at his feet. When people get confused about how some people seem to "misunderstand" the point of Star Trek and don't know how they can watch/enjoy the "progressive" nature of the show and be such vile sexists and racists, this is how. They let a sexist asshole run the show for three decades. On screen representation is important. It's amazing for people to see themselves in such a hopeful future, but the behind the scenes matters just as much if not more than who is in front of the camera. Representation without responsible storytelling is a tragedy.“ -Deep Space Fine on twitter

this is not to say that TNG/DS9/VOY/ENT are bad shows, or that they shouldn’t be watched, or anything else; but that understanding why these awful choices were made behind the scenes in depicting a “progressive” future. rick berman didn’t agree with this future because he didn’t want others who weren’t white, cis, straight men like him to benefit in the ways he did.

[m3r1m4r5u333]

I'm getting a bit tired of the fandom's overwhelming consensus that Eddie is surely gay even thought there are plenty reasons why his relationships with women would not have worked out.

Personally bisexuality makes more sense to me, and I feel like that's what the show is trying to show, too. And since the show already had "closeted gay man in a "straight" marriage, I think it would make more sense to go for Bi Eddie.

Because Eddie is different from Buck even if he's also bi. Religion. His family's expectations. Marriage. Parenthood. And I also think - earlier realization of sexuality even though he remains closeted. Fun fact: that's what bisexuals do! Even in supportive environments, we stay in the closet the most and the longest.

I'd really like for Eddie to be bi.

Eddie's the type of bi in disguise that the world is full of and nobody notices because the marriage with a woman would be a true one.

This matters because it seems like there's this odd idea that these bisexuals are doing fine in the closet. Why talk about them?

The reality is actually that according to just about every study, bisexuals are distinctly not fine.

The biphobia and erasure comes from all directions. People expect and understand the concept of heterosexuality and homosexuality well enough. Bisexuals...?

It's called the Double Closet. Expectation to either be straight, or gay, and if you're anything else you're just confused.

Also, bisexuals may not just have shitty parents. They also end up falling in love and marrying people who are biphobic. Fun times.

Anyway, I'm listing my reasons why Eddie being into women and men would make the most sense to me:

He agreed with Shannon that sex was never the issue for them.

His marriage to Shannon failing? He was young, the pregnancy was unplanned, he was pushed to marry a high-school sweetheart at young age and then facing the stress of trying to figure out how to raise a special needs child with her.

He went to a war, and returned traumatized. Trauma tends to make everything even harder.

Their mutual lack of trust and communication.

Meddling parents.

Perhaps... Being a closeted bisexual dating a woman who does not know.

Because that's one way to keep a partner at a distance - by hiding a part of yourself.

Losing a loved one, being afraid to love again.

Being pushed to date too soon after grief and trauma.

Falling for a male friend who he thinks is straight.

Being pushed to date someone else.

Oh and the panic attacks - Learning that his friends have died,

being shot by a sniper and thinking Buck was hurt,

ending up in a rapidly developing relationship with someone who is falling in love with him...

When he just likes her... but feels pressured to keep the relationship going anyway.

Because his son loves that person, and Eddie is programmed to go for marriage in every relationship he ends up in. Catholic guilt... They love marriage.

Family expecting him to be straight. Family pushing him to date despite him saying he isn't ready.

Being totally new in the dating world. No wonder he talks about performance anxiety and feeling like he needs to perform - his heart isn't in it.

Also he's probably never even been on dates. How to act on dates? He's not a teenager anymore, it's embarrassing and awkward to fumble and not know the dating culture.

Also when we first meet Eddie he's only been with one woman. Women aren't carbon copies. Sex can be intimate and awkward with someone new. Of course he'd be nervous.

Then finding out that his girlfriend was almost a nun... and being closeted bisexual!

And so on. Nothing actually says the man MUST be gay, and I feel weirded out by the insistence that he surely is gay.

I feel like... Maybe the show expected this, that people would dismiss his interest towards women, and wanted to make the queer community check their prejudice?

Because that episode which focuses on Eddie's fight club and has that super queer coded ice skating scene??

It's Hansel pushing Gretel away... How gay! Expect then we find out that Hansel was only scared that she would miss out an huge opportunity by staying with her. A role in the big leagues.

And that joke about Bobby being a hockey player and a figure skater??? And saying

"Who says you can't do both?" while a piece composed by Paganini - also famous for mastering both guitar and violin, plays.

The shot shows Buck AND Eddie, and Hen with Chimney looking and pointing at them in amazement.

Saying "We'll google for photos later!"

Maybe the implication of

"Who says you can't do both" being referred to isn't just

"Who says you can't do both women and men?"

.... but ALSO "Who says you can't write both of these characters to be bi?".

[yujeong]

I'm sorry but, was no one going to tell me that Vegas is feeling Pete's pulse here ????

In case what I'm saying isn't that evident from the image, here's a gif of that moment too:

Do you see him slightly caressing Pete's cheek, after maneuvering his head to be up straight again, and then placing his index finger at the side of his neck? Do you also see him checking Pete's eyes as he's doing it, to see him looking away? Well. I did yesterday and I haven't been normal since. Now, it could very well be too high for him to find it and see if Pete's pulse is heightened due to his frustration by Vegas' comment, but even if that's the case, it's insane to me how Vegas proceeds to do this, a similar gesture to what he did here:

Here being, him trying to coerce Pete into having sex with him, which is his veiled attempt at redirecting his powerlessness into something that makes him feel like he has any sort of control over... anything really. And here, he's doing it in an obvious manner too, he's looking at his hand as he's pressing his finger on Pete's neck and Pete knows it. Was it the same way the second time? Did Pete feel Vegas' finger touch his neck, despite the turmoil he was in? Did he understand the implications of Vegas doing this again or did he misinterpret the whole thing? It's insane to me how Vegas uses his methods of manipulation even when he's genuine, something the show clearly demonstrated by the parallels between how he treated Porsche and Pete (the lighter and the request to be killed by them). I'm just in awe how subtly it was used here too, the smallest of details that I had missed the numerous times I've re-watched this scene.

[scribbleseas]

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.

[luvv4svt]

Scandalous - JWW

Pairing: President!Wonwoo X Mistress!Y/N

Rating:18+

WC:2,104

Summary: Messing with a married man was bad enough right? It's worst when he's president. It's even worse when you show up to his office despite him telling you not to.

Warnings: rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap before tap), slight boob play, masturbation(male and female), cheating, cuss words, mentions of both characters being selfish, smoking(not rlly Y/N just has one sitting between her lips) mentions of male and female genitalia, slight slut shaming, kissing, seduction, denial of release, oral sex, slight teasing.

MDNI!!!

A/N: I had so much fun writing this also this is one of the first things I've written and completed in months without deleting it and closing the doc also the only knowledge I have of sex is from reading and watching porn so pls don't attack me. Anyways enjoy this piece and stay blessed x.

~~~

Wonwoo walked down the hushed hallway, his shoes tapping lightly against the floor as he passed the pictures of his predecessors. He felt the weight of their eyes on him as he travelled through the dimmed hallway. He held his phone to his ear as he listened to his wife rant about her day to him. 

“Of course sweetheart, I’ll discuss with my advisers.” He assured his wife as he turned round the corner, heading straight to his office.

He placed his hand on the doorknob, and let the door widen a bit before pushing it open. He felt his heart stop as he walked into the room. There you were, sitting on top of his desk whilst a cigarette sat between your lips, displaying casual confidence. 

“Wonu, baby are you still there?” His wife questioned, oblivious to the scene he had just walked into.

“Yes I’m here darling, something came up and I have to call you back okay? He answered as his eyes raked up your figure, noticing the way the tight blue top clung to your chest like a second skin.

“Alright, honey see you later.” His wife responded as he ended the call, taking slow steps towards you.

Wonwoo felt alot of emotions hit him, ranging from shock to confusion to anger and then to longing. He had strictly told you never to show up to his office because he was the President and he needed to keep his image squeaky clean, he couldn’t have anyone know of your affair because it would destroy everything he had worked for. Also, he hated mixing business with pleasure.

Wonwoo knew he had two choices, he could either put an end to your antics or he could allow himself to fall into your trap once again. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said, frustration laced in his tone.

“I know.” You say allowing a smirk to make its way to your face as you take out the cigarette.

You were aware of the risk you were taking. Messing around with the President was bad enough but you didn’t care. You wanted him and you were going to have him no matter what.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” You continue, watching the way he tensed as he looked at you.

"This isn't the time nor place." He seethed.

“The things you do and say to me.” You breathe out, ignoring his previous remark.

“The way you touch and kiss me.” You seductively say as your hand travels up your chest to your neck.

“The way you make me feel.” You shamelessly state, watching as he closes his eyes visibly contemplating whether he should give in to your temptation. 

You slowly start parting your legs, “Open your eyes, baby.”

Within seconds his eyes were open, raking down your body for the second time this night.

You could tell it was working as a tent began to form within his slacks, showcasing his arousal. 

“Don’t fight it, darling, I know you want it.” You tempt watching as his jaw clenches.

Now your legs were completely apart, you struggled to hide your smile as he walked towards you. He murmured something as he walked over to you, standing between your legs. Almost immediately his lips were on yours, kissing with so much passion and intensity.

Bingo. 

“Mmh.” You moaned against his lips as you kissed him with the same amount of intensity.

He trailed kisses down your nape, as your hand held his shoulder to steady yourself.

You moved your neck, granting him more access. He gently nipped at the skin then began to suck on it causing you to moan out in pleasure.

You wanted him to take you and mark all over your body.

You pushed him off of you, standing up from the desk and began to remove your top seductively revealing your bare chest. The air of the room hit your nipples instantly, causing them to harden along with your arousal. You threw the top to the ground and seductively shimmied out of your skirt allowing it to join your top on the floor. Now you were naked, the only piece of clothing remaining were your panties. You quickly pulled them down and kicked them to the side, joining your top and skirt.

“Go over to the couch, spread your legs and play with yourself whilst watching me undress.” He ordered and you followed his instruction without hesitation.

The cold feeling of the couch against your naked body set off a chain of goosebumps across your skin as you adjust your position on the couch. You trailed your hand down to your pussy, feeling your wetness coat your fingers as Wonwoo removed his blazer painfully slowly. 

You insert a finger into yourself causing a gasp to escape your lips. You start slowly at first trying to find the right pace. 

“How’d you get in here?” He questioned as he undid the buttons of his sleeves.

“I pulled a few strings.” You respond as you continue to finger yourself.

“Add another finger.” He instructs as he unbuttons his shirt, eyeing you like a piece of meat.

You oblige with his request as your fingers slide in and out of you slickly. You try your hardest to keep your eyes on Wonwoo but the pleasure you were feeling was too good. Your eyes clamp shut as you moan.

“Eyes on me pretty.” He demands.

Your eyes fly open, Wonwoo was finally unbuckling his belt.

You bit your lip as a fresh wave of pleasure washed over you. Your wetness trickled onto the couch. You add another finger as your stomach begins to tense up.

“I’m gonna cum.” You groan out as you watch Wonwoo remove his boxers, revealing his thick, long cock leaking with precum.

A moan escapes your lips as he walks towards you, your breathing rate increases as he inches closer and closer.

He spreads your legs wider, before kneeling, he places your legs over his shoulders. His breath fans against your cunt as he removes his glasses before peppering kisses down your stomach to your pussy. His tongue glides across your clit so freely that it causes you to let out yet another moan.

“Quit teasing.” You manage out as you try to recover from the brief but powerful action. 

Almost immediately, he attacks your clit by sucking and licking on it. You become a moaning mess as he continues to work wonders on your pussy. Your fingers weave their way through his hair as your back arches off the sofa. 

“Fuck Wonu, you’re so good, baby.” You compliment him as you feel him smile into your clit.

The familiar feeling of your stomach clenching up in pleasure returns as he continues to lap at your cunt. You feel yourself inch closer and closer to the finish line. A guttural moan escapes your lips as you feel yourself come undone on his tongue.

Your body jolts as it tries to recover from the pleasure. Your eyes water due to the overwhelming sensation. After some time, Wonwoo smiles up at you whilst his chin is sheathed with your wetness.

Wonwoo gives you a few moments to calm down, he strokes at his cock as he peers down at you.

You sit up slightly then part your legs before looking up at him, a naughty smile paints your face as you anticipate his next move.

He takes small steps towards you as he continues to stroke his length, desire evident in his eyes.

“You’re selfish you know.” He says.

“How so Mr President?” You mock as you engage in the unofficial staring contest.

“You came here to see me after I strictly told you to never come to the office.” He answered, now he was a step away from you. A step away from destroying you, a step away from being unfaithful to his wife once again.

“So are you.” You retort as you feel your heart fight against the restraint of your chest.

He turns his head to the side and furrows his brows in fake confusion,” How so gorgeous?” He repeated, tone laced with a hint of mockery.

Now he was in front of you, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“Yo-” You pause, gasping at the feeling of him inside you. Although you two have had sex multiple times in the past, his size never failed to shock you.

“What’s wrong pretty girl?” He continues,” Cat got your tongue?” He teases before thrusting into you.

“Now tell me, how am I selfish?” He requests as he continues thrusting into you gently.

“F-fuck.” You moan out as you grip his shoulder for support.

“Tell me now or you’re not cuming tonight.” He seethed through gritted teeth.

Upon hearing this, you suck in a breath,” Y-you’re selfish b-because you have a w-whole ass wife, yet you m-mess around with m-me.” 

With that, he quickens his pace, causing your breasts to jiggle due to the pace of his thrust. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you become a moaning mess. You were in a completely different plane of existence. 

“Y-you can’t h-have your cake and e-eat it too.” You add 

It’s almost like your comment strikes a nerve, as it seems he increases his pace once again causing a string of moans to exit your lips. 

Now, he was practically pounding into you, causing both of you to let out sounds of pleasure. 

“What you’re forgetting gorgeous.” He starts as he thrusts into you mercilessly

“I’m the motherfucking president.” He grits out, his thrusts becoming harsher and harsher by the minute. You knew you were going to be extremely sore after this but you didn’t care. The way he felt inside you was delicious.

“I can be as selfish as I want.” He groans out as you squeeze around his cock.

You couldn’t even respond to his answer because of how fucked out you were. Your hair was a complete mess along with your makeup that had smudged along the way. Your hand was now on your nipple, pinching and pulling at it as moans of his name exited your lips like a mantra.

Before you knew it, he had lifted you off the couch and walked over to his desk, he pushed off all the things on his desk before laying you down flat. He thrusted into you again without warning drawing out yet another moan.

You felt a knot begin to form within your stomach, You gripped his arm drawing his attention to you. 

“I’m gonna cum.” You manage out feeling his pace slow down.

“Don’t you dare.” He orders, his hand had now found its way to your clit and he began to rub at it.

Your moans grew louder and louder as he hit your cervix, sending a bundle of sensations through your body. You didn’t care who heard you now, all you cared about was chasing your orgasm.

The knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter as you tried your hardest not to come undone on his dick.

You could tell he was close to the edge as well, his thrusts were growing sloppy and his cock began to twitch within you. It was getting harder to hold out on cumming. 

“Cum for me baby.”He groaned out 

With that, you let go of your inner restraint and came all over his cock, you twitched as he continued to lazily thrust into you.

A moan escapes your lips once again as he pulls out, he starts stroking his length again before asking you to kneel before him. You get off the desk and get on your knees before wrapping your hand around his length, sucking at the tip whilst jerking him from the base. 

With a final suck, you took him out of your mouth and continued to jerk him off whilst his moans and groans filled the room. Thick, white ropes of cum spurted out of his dick onto your tongue and parts of your face. 

You wipe some of it off and bring the finger to your lips before sucking it off whilst locking eyes with Wonwoo. 

“You’re so slutty.” He breathes out.

“Only for you.” You answer as a naughty smirk makes its way to your face.

You stand up and walk over to him before pushing him back onto the couch, you swing a leg over his lap and settle down on his cock whilst your lips move to his ear.

“You’re mine tonight, Mr President.” You whisper as you slowly begin to bounce on his cock.

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