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meowsuguru · 2 months

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eyes on me

Dancer!Reader x Bartender!Geto

౨ৎ cont: suguru geto x fem! reader, unprotected, first time squirt, oral f!receiving, confessions.

౨ৎ word count: 4.5k

౨ৎ a/n: my life blood ty to whoever reads < 3

It’s been an awful night. Smoke clings to your skin, hair, teeth, and tongue as you come back into the club from the backdoor. Just a quick break, allowing nicotine to ease the tension in your brain. The head rush gives you just a moment’s respite, but it’s quickly overtaken the moment you step back into the club. The neon lights that adorn the walls flicker. It only serves to emphasize your mood, and it’s the most sour of moods. All thanks to the countless men who have touched despite the “no touching” rule and the incessant requests.

“Let’s meet after you get off work.”

“If I give you $1000 can we fuck?”

“I’ll slide a little bit more your way if you take care of this problem.”

It’s gross. More than that, it makes you feel dirty.

It’s the same every night. Same sleazy men, with the same revolting dispositions. You’re just here to dance, something you love doing, to make a little money for college. It’s simple. It should be easy. You’re great at it.

But, as you have the bouncer throw out another handsy client, it doesn’t feel as easy as it once did.

You hate it. It burns in your chest. You’ve been dancing here for almost eight months, and it’s starting to wear on you. Your head is spinning, tunnel-visioned on getting out. Gotta get out. Gotta get-

“Somethin’ wrong?” Calls the bartender, perceptive as you shake your head, snapping out of the daze you were in.

“Nothin’, just the usual. It’s been a lot of scum these past few weeks,” you sigh, relieved to be talking to a friend.

“You seem pretty frazzled. Need some water?” He offers as he wipes down the bar.

It’s 10 minutes to closing time and the only clients left are the filthy stragglers who frequent the club every night. The bouncers make their rounds, cleaning house as they urge the clients to leave.

“You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here,” you hear one of them say.

You nod, sitting down across the bar. A tall glass is slid to you, ice cold with condensation already frosting the outside. You take big gulps, your anxiety from the night calming slightly the longer the liquid slides down your throat.

Suguru Geto never offers you drinks on the clock. He knows to take care of his girls. But, with the way you’re feeling, a real drink sounds better than nice.

“Suguru,” you say, and he turns his head to meet your gaze.

“I need a drink.”

He looks at you pointedly and sighs.

“You’re still on, princess. You know I can't serve you.”

“I’m off in 10. Let me have it just this once. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t serious.”

Suguru is a principled man. He believes in what he believes, and it’s nearly impossible to sway him. So when he says “no alcohol,” he means it. You groan, finishing your water.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a beat of comfortable silence, taking your empty glass and setting it to the side.

“Not really,” you admit, laying your head on your arms. “Seven minutes. Then I’ll take my drink.”

Suguru frowns, but eventually relents, nodding. You watch as he cleans the leftover glasses from the night, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, signature one lock falling in his left eye. Suguru is good-looking, you think, but you’d never sleep with a coworker. Your job is already dramatic enough, no need to add fuel to the fire. Nevertheless, you quietly admire him as you wait for the time to pass.

“Five minutes gives me enough time for a dance,” you say, “Need to end this night on a good note.”

Suguru hums, eyes never leaving the glass he’s drying.

“Watch me?”

When you ask this, you don’t know why. Suguru is nice to you, sweet. He cares about all the girls at the club. Perhaps you want to share your love with your friend. You really do love dancing, you think, as you walk up the steps of the stage.

The DJ spots you and puts a song on, something unhurried, languid, smooth like silk. You bring yourself up around the pole, two arms locked on tight as you swing your legs up. Your legs twist in a familiar way as you spin, slowly, letting your body fall backward as you grab the metal with your hands. You hang upside down now, legs crossed above your head. The way you move is easy— intentional— like this is something you were made for. You kick off, one leg at a time, arms holding still against the metal as you spin, slowly, fluidly like water. A glance at the bar tells you Suguru is watching just as you’d asked. Eyes closing, you continue to dance.

Your song ends and you walk back down the stairs, eyes gazing at your feet.

As you walk up to Suguru, you notice he’s returned to cleaning up the bar. You tap your nails on the bar, quirking an eyebrow up at him to get his attention. He looks up, with that damned crooked grin.

“You watched me.”

“Beautiful as ever.”

You give him a soft smile, but it’s quickly dropped as your lips are pulled into a tight line. He notices this and sighs.

“Fine,” he starts, “what’ll you take?”

You hum, pleased. He rolls his eyes.

“Vodka soda, pretty please.”

Suguru makes the drink easily, setting it in front of you with a cocktail napkin underneath. You bring the glass to your lips, relishing in the feeling of the alcohol hitting your tongue. You don’t stop: tipping your head back, letting the drink fill your mouth and slide down your throat. A bit spills out of the corner of your lips and you stop, the heel of your hand tenderly wiping up the stream. The way your lipstick smudges is not lost in Suguru’s gaze, as his eyes flick between your lips and your hand.

“Easy, princess,” he warns, handing you a fresh napkin. You take it graciously and dab down your chin and chest where the drink spilled.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you answer curtly.

“I think you do.”

You regard him for a moment, a nasty side eye as he looks at you with that same damned smile. His eyes are so soft, so inviting. You consider it, as he stands there, letting you drink instead of closing up. The way he calls you princess, only you, the way he is always always there to lend you a shoulder. It’s just so easy for Suguru to break down your walls.

“I’m tired, Suguru.”

You hang your head, drawing circles on the bar counter.

“Tired?” He asks, giving you an opportunity to explain.

“With- with everything. I can’t just sit here and be demeaned all night every night. It’s exhausting,” you start, pushing your drink away. He grabs it and puts it off to the side. You don’t need the liquid courage for this now, you’re in the safe company of a friend.

The club has been emptied by now, most of the lights turned off as the dim bulb of the bar hangs above you. Your breath shakes, and you wrap your arms around yourself.

“I know,” Suguru’s eyes soften, “I know.”

“I love to dance, and I need the money– the money isn’t even that good, it just-” you trail off, unsure of how to voice your anxieties.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

“Then quit,” he says simply.

“It’s not that easy, Suguru-”

“I know. Sorry, bad advice,” he supplies.

You say it’s okay, that he’s not your therapist or your life coach or anything of the sort. He shakes his head and flicks the light switch, leaving you two in the dark of the closed club.

“Want to go for a drive?” He asks, your eyes adjusting to the dark finally as you make out his form.

“Yeah.”

–

You find yourself, dressed back in your daytime clothes, in the passenger seat of Suguru’s Jeep. Black interior, black exterior. This guy really has a vibe, you think. You throw your duffel in the back seat when you sit down, and Suguru turns the key, engine roaring to life. You don’t question where you’re going; you don't care where you're going. You roll the window down, feeling the wind hit your face. You close your eyes, remembering easier times. Suguru glances at you, and rolls his own window down.

He drives, out of the city, and neither of you speak. The dying night’s air kisses your cheeks and ruffles your hair, sparring a bit of hope in your chest. It blooms, like love, and you watch the moon be chased down into the day. You hope and hope, tossing your frustrations away as each leak of light peeks higher in the skyline behind you.

“I don’t want to be tired anymore,” you say into the wind. If Suguru hears you, you don’t know.

He just drives, out and up.

–

You arrive at a plateau, abandoned in the dawn. The clouds are down far below your feet, orange skies breaking through the fog. You hop out of the car, sneakers hitting the gravel with a crunch. It makes the breath leave your lungs, the view. You turn, facing Suguru, your hair blowing around your face. He pauses as he comes around the front of the car, looking at you. His eyes are soft, as they always are. You tear your gaze away and look down at the city, far beyond the clouds, as the sun comes up over the horizon.

“I like to come here sometimes, when I’ve got too much on my mind,” he says, breaking the silence.

“I can see why.”

Suguru comes to your side, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

There is a chill in the air and you wrap your arms around yourself, tucking your nose into the collar of your hoodie.The two of you fall into another comfortable silence, the air stilling around you two. You lean up against the hood of the car, feeling the heat radiate off of it, warming your bones.

Suguru inhales, and exhales. He inhales again. In a rare display of vulnerability, he speaks.

“You can’t let them get to you,” he starts; your name leaves his lips in a whisper. “They don’t mean anything, all those guys. You can’t let them break you.”

You look at him, and he looks ahead.

“It’s getting too hard to ignore,” you reply, frowning.

You look forward again, tearing your gaze away from his profile, face illuminated in the orange glow of the sunrise.

“I think I need to quit dancing.”

“Don’t. That was bad advice,” Suguru says, chuckling.

“I’m serious.”

He looks at you now, eyes softer than you’ve seen.

“You’re the most beautiful dancer.”

You tear your eyes away, staring at the sun. You squint, pulling your hoodie up over your nose this time. It’s funny. You can still see the stars in the sky, even as the sun comes up. It chases the night away, and you feel a warmth in your chest. A once-spirited young girl, broken by the brutality of her field. You sigh, letting it go, chased away by the day just as the stars were. Letting the hoodie fall below your chin, you look back at Suguru and find him still looking at you. His eyes roam your face, not scrutinizing, memorizing. As you open your mouth to speak, he shakes his head.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

–

Suguru drives you home. The drive is quiet, save for the low music. You play the conversation in your head over and over, mulling over what you should do. When he pulls in front of your apartment complex, you turn, facing him.

“I won’t quit,” you say, eyes fiery and newly determined.

“Good,” he smiles, “I’d miss you too much.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” you laugh, the first genuine one in a good while.

“You’re makin’ me soft, princess.”

You shake your head.

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” You ask, your stomach doing somersaults as he gazes at you with that stupid, dopey, lopsided grin and those half-lidded eyes.

“You’re my favorite girl,” he supplies simply, like it’s so obvious.

“I bet you tell all the girls that,” you scoff.

“Nope. Only you,” he chuckles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger on your skin a little bit too long to just be a friendly gesture. It’s tender, and there’s this look in his eye you don’t want to acknowledge.

You swallow. Sure, Suguru is smoking fucking hot but he’s also your coworker, which could make things awkward. You really don’t want another reason to hate work. But, you decide to throw caution to the wind, and see what happens. He’s your friend. He could be more. You shiver.

“Promise?” You ask, blinking twice. You stick your pinky out for good measure.

He loops his pinky in yours, shaking his head and laughing softly, the sound making you smile.

“Promise.” He raises your hands, placing a kiss on your interlocked fingers. Your heart just about stops at that, the gesture so… unlike what you’d expect from him. It has your mind reeling, thinking about what Suguru would act like as a boyfriend.

“Suguru…” you say, low as you hold each other’s gazes, the air suddenly charged with something.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

A response catches in your throat and you nod, helpless. He leans in, cupping your cheek with his hand, and you instinctively move forward, lips parting. He’s so close you can feel his breath. He hesitates, eyelids fluttering closed, before he finally, finally presses his lips to yours. You feel like your mouth molds to his, and in an instant, you’re clutching at the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through his hair. He hums, the sound low as it rumbles through you, and you squeeze your eyes closed tighter, scared it’ll be over soon. It seems as if Suguru has no intention of stopping, as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. You gasp into the kiss, it feels so right to be kissing Suguru like this, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, prodding gently at your tongue. You about cry when he pulls away, a strangled sound leaving your lips. He just smiles, still leaned in close as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“Come inside,” you exhale.

“I would’ve waited years to hear you say that. I’m so glad I didn’t have to.”

–

It’s easy, with Suguru. He’s peeling your hoodie off, lips connecting to yours the moment your head is freed. He’s got one hand splayed out over the small of your back, pulling you closer, closer, closer. Your hands fiddle with the zipper on your skirt and he slips his free hand under it to cup your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. His hand snakes up your spine, stopping at your bra to unhook it with nimble fingers and helping you shed it from your front. His hand slides around you, thumb grazing the underside of your breast. He cups it now, kneading at the soft flesh. Your hands tangle in his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers.

It’s just so easy. He kisses you like he’s taking care of you. The morning pours through the blinds in your room, dust trickling through the leaks of light. He lays you down, lips never separating from yours as your head hits the pillow. He pulls away to look at you, and he groans. His hair falls all around your face, framing both of you in inky black.

“You. You can’t even see yourself,” he says, low and surprisingly breathless.

You forego words for a shake of your head, and you inhale shakily.

“You’re one to talk…”

He chuckles, head dipping down to the crook of your neck, the sound reverberating throughout you. You always thought it was easier in the dark, but something about the soft light of the early morning feels just… so surreal. You tip your head to the side, letting his lips roam your neck, nipping at the soft skin.

His hand comes up, rolling your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, while his lips travel down your neck, to your collarbone, to your opposite breast, taking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the bud. You arch yourself into him, your moans only spurring him on.

“That fuckin’ sound…” he groans against your breast. “Do it again…” he attaches his lips back to your nipple, teeth grazing it ever so gently and you whine.

He must’ve liked that because he's slipping his hand in between your thighs. His fingers press against your clothed center, feeling how wet you are through your panties. He can’t help himself, it seems, as he kisses down your stomach, head finding its place between your thighs. He inhales deeply, nose pressed against your cunt just aching with need, and he curses.

“Fuck, pretty girl. You smell amazing. You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind, want you so much,” he babbles into your underwear, and you’re slowly starting to realize this guy is fucking filthy. You moan, the realization hitting you as he’s pulling your panties off with his teeth and stuffing them in his pocket. He sits up, pulling his long hair out of his face and into a messy ponytail. You rub your thighs together at the sight, feeling the slick between your legs. He comes back down, pressing his face against your inner thigh, inhaling your scent deeply.

“My favorite girl, look at this pretty pussy…” he drags a finger through your wet folds, prodding at your entrance with a thick finger. You’re panting now, expectant and wanting, and he slowly pushes one inside, his tongue lapping at your clit as his middle finger enters you. He moans against your cunt, continuing to work you with his mouth as you writhe underneath him. You clench your legs around his head, the feeling too much, but he pries your legs apart with his free hand, pulling away.

“Nuh, uh, baby. I gotta hear every fuckin’ sound you make. As much as I want those thighs as earmuffs,” he says, reattaching his lips and tongue to you.

He’s practically making out with it, pussy drunk and grinding his hips against the mattress. You feel the tension build in your gut, and he adds a second finger. You have to bite your lip, and he bites the inside of your thigh. You yelp, but the jolt of pain makes you clench around his fingers.

“Gonna make you come so hard you’ll be cryin’ baby. You want that?” he groans, working you with his fingers, his tongue darting back out to swirl around your clit. He sucks on it, and you buck your hips up into his mouth. He moans into you as you ride his tongue, grinding your cunt on his face like you need it. Because, you do. You need it so bad you’re begging him.

“Please, Suguru,” you slur, chasing your high.

“Oh god,” you cry, hand finding his hair, messing it up as strands fall in his face as he eats you out. You’re too focused on your release now, and his head stops moving, just letting you ride his face.

“C’mon pretty girl. Give it to me. Please,” he’s whimpering into your cunt, sucking on your clit and curling his fingers just right and- fuck.

Your vision goes white and you’re gasping, hot and heavy in your gut as your orgasm shreds the last of your resolve and you are crying, hot tears spilling from your eyes as you tell him to keep going, keep going. He laps at you, working you through your orgasm, as he grinds himself against the mattress again.

“So good, baby, you taste so good, I wanna make you squirt,” he says. He’s pumping his fingers into you as you ride out your orgasm, slipping a third in and you’re clenching so hard around him. He pulls his fingers out and you gush, you’ve never done that before and he’s drinking you up, your head spinning as you cry, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. He comes up for air finally, pressing a soft kiss on your stomach.

“Knew you could do it, princess,” he mumbles against your skin. He’s on his knees again, positioning your hips as he unzips his pants, his cock springing up as it's freed from the constraints of his trousers. He wastes no time sliding his cock between your folds and then pressing at your entrance, your pussy sucking him in greedily as you moan, unable to form words or any coherent sounds. He’s so fucking thick it’s making your eyes roll back, and you have to squeeze them shut to help you get through the feeling of him bottoming out.

“Don’t close your eyes, baby,” he says as he moves, thrusting into you again, “look at me while I’m fucking you.”

Your eyes fly open and you’re nodding, helpless as he throws your ankles over his shoulders and hits you just right.

“Jesus, fuck, Suguru…” You’re chanting his name, spurring him on.

“Christ, this pussy is fucking killing me,” Suguru groans as his cock slides back into you, making you cry out, his name spilling off your lips in short gasps. You feel your walls clench slightly at the feeling of being so full again, and he sets a brutal pace. He wraps his arms around your thighs as he fucks you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can hear how your skin slaps. You can’t even give a fuck how it’s seven in the morning, or how you’re going to quit your job after this so no other man can even think about touching you. Suguru must be a mind reader, because he’s bending you in half now, lips by your ear as he drives into you so deep.

“Quit your fucking job. Let me take care of you. I wanna take care of you baby, please,” he babbles, breath stuttering as you suck him in.

“Bad advice,” you murmur, jaw slack as your mouth hangs open in a gasp.

“Fuck that, hnghh, want you all to myself. Gotta get you out of there, princess,” he hammers into you, cock so deep it’s brushing up against your cervix.

“My pretty girl shouldn’t have to- fuckkkkk, baby- deal with all that bullshit,” he’s babbling into your neck, teeth clamping down on your pulse point.

You clench around him at the need in his voice, the possessiveness eliciting a gasp from your lips. His girl? Your brain is mush at this point and you really like the sound of that. You feel the coil tightening in your gut as your second orgasm nears, and you're gripping at his hair, tugging on the strands, begging begging for your release.

“You like that baby? Like when I call you my girl?” He groans, pace unrelenting.

“You wanna be my girl, princess? Please. Please be my girl. Need you so bad. Always have.” He kisses you, not giving you a chance to answer. His need is felt as his tongue is shoved into your mouth, swallowing up your sounds. As he pulls away, you’re a mess.

“Please, Suguru, Sugu… wanna be your girl, yes, yes,” you’re panting and he just whimpers into the crook of your neck again, breathy as he picks up his pace. The tip of his cock hits just right at this speed and you’re coming, eyes hitting the back of your skull as you shut them, rolled behind closed eyelids. He grips your chin in his hand, tapping on your cheek.

“Look at me, baby.”

And that’s how you are with Suguru. You look at him, because he asked you to. As your eyes meet, he knits his eyebrow together, groaning. You think, maybe, he needs you.

You see stars around Suguru as you come, vision blurry from the wetness in your eyes and the intensity of your orgasm. Suguru groans as you spasm around his length, and his hips start to stutter. He is getting erratic with his movements, but takes it and fucks you through it just how you need it.

“Shit, baby. Let me come inside you.” He’s begging you, hand on your cheek and his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as you come down from your high, sensitive and spent. You let him prod his thumb into your mouth, slack-jawed and trusting. You don’t close it or suck, just let him do it. He groans at the sight, and you nod, finally.

All it takes is that nod and the sight of your loose jaw. He thrusts, once, twice, and then he’s spilling into you, moaning in your ear, and you’re gasping, clutching at his back as he comes.

“Fuck, baby, princess, love this, love your pussy, milking me for all I’m worth, fuck-“ he gasps, your hand sliding up to his hair as he babbles nonsense into your ear.

“Fuckin’ love your pussy, love you so much, God,” he pants and you freeze, the words hitting you like a freight train.

He stills, lips coming up to press a kiss to your forehead, the gesture tender and sweet in stark opposition to his filthier behaviors. Suguru freezes, his lips still on your forehead, before he pulls away.

“What did you say?” You ask quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I…” he starts, eyes mirroring yours.

“I didn’t- I don’t… I don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t mean it?” You ask, a pang of disappointment aching in your chest. You’re not sure why. It must’ve just slipped out. He doesn’t have to mean it. You’re close, but nothing about your relationship insinuates he should feel that way.

“No! I mean… I,” he fumbles with his words, exhaling sharply. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. I just didn’t want you to think I was like everyone else.” He sighs, sitting up. The feeling of him pulling out of you has you feeling strangely empty emotionally.

You’re not sure what to say. This is Suguru. Your closest friend as of recently, you work together. Though, you promised to quit your job for him, you think.

Fuck it.

You smile, eyes bright and gleaming as your hands find his cheeks.

“Thank you,” you say. And you mean it. “For loving me.”

That’s all you can offer him right now. Your thanks, and a promise as you hold your pinky up to him again, face flushed and hair sticking to your forehead.

“I’ll be your girl.”

“Promise?” He looks at you with that familiar lopsided grin.

“Mhmm. I promise.”

Softly, you kiss the junction of your fingers.

#geto suguru x reader #jjk smut #geto suguru x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #suguru x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #bartender!geto #dancer!reader #reader hates her job

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moonliesty · 5 months

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corrodedcoffins-blog · 6 months

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Eras Tour Love

masterlist

note: already watched the eras tour film too many times (no such thing) and i got bored writing usernames half way through so if you notice them start to get lazy...its cause i was

also face claim is taylorbanks39 on insta

warnings: you have to have a little imagination, just pretend Taylor went to canada after the states (i wish) then the rest of the international dates 😊👍

word count: n/a

♡ summary: How will fans react to Quinn dating one of Taylor Swift's dancers?

♡ Quinn Hughes x Eras Tour dancer!reader

request ✗

_ynln

liked by lhughes_06, taylorerastour, and others

_ynln: life lately (still don't believe it 😭)

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Halyn4386: luke???

liztheautor.givingcontext: him, jack, and quinn were at the vancouver show!

Halyn4386: WHAT.

sidney_1989: shes so gorgeous!!

lhughes_gf: ...is she dating luke?

sadhabsfan: ELLEN FOLLOWS!!

happycanucksfan: WHAT?!?!??

123lgb_: LOVE the natural hair on you!!!

11.drysdale: completely unrelated to these comments, but do you like hockey?

_ynln: been liking it more and more

I.am.fr: IS SHE FR?!?

ilikehockey: she's everything 😭

_ynln

liked by sydneymosss, _quinnhughes, and others

_ynln: ERAS TOUR FILM WORLD PREMIERE!!!!!

can't explain in worlds how thankful i am. dreamt of moments like these since i was a little girl. i always wanted to be a professional dancer and when dreams become reality, it's just magical. thank you, taylor! ily! and ily eras family!!

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mama_l/n: so proud of you!!!

_ynln: thank you momma! ❤️❤️❤️

jayjay86: are you single?.. asking for a friend

mercer_babe: is the friend quinn hughes?

price31: nah, he the reasons the answers no

nora__: the dress 🔥🔥🔥

elblue6: ❤️

iloveursons: are y'all seeing this?

imnotellen: ELLEN IS COMMENTING! WHAT IS GOING ON?!

_ynln

liked by elblue6, jackhughes, and others

_ynln: y'all will not let this go (ily)

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screaming_: AHHHHH

crying_: they're 😭 so 😭 cute 😭

perfectstorms_: the hottest wag fr

pheobe.ily: jack photo bombing the second pic lol

mitski.ily: all i know is this is a win for the black quinn girls!!

taylor.ily: rise up!

_quinnhughes: your beautiful 😍

_ynln: you're*

jackhughes: dumbass.

lhughes_06: don't act like you knew that

lana.ily: you gotta love her 😭😭

sabrina.ily: you are beautiful not you look beautiful‼️

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x fem!reader #quinn hughes x female reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x dancer!reader #dancer!reader #hughes brothers fic #nhl fanfiction #hughes brothers #quinn hughes x black!reader

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daydreaming-en-pointe · 7 months

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the swan and her princess (part 2)

summary: Swan Lake isn’t all beauty and grace, contrary to popular belief. And you experience firsthand that as you wage a one-sided war with your “rival” for the role of Odette.

chapter summary: A pleasant surprise turns out to be possibly not so pleasant after all.

pairing: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Woman) x fem!Ballerina!Reader [aka some sort of a messy Ballet!AU]

word count: 2695

warnings: cussing, ballet terms, creative liberties taken since I’ve never been to Lincoln Center and the research I’ve done may or may not be fully accurate

a/n: :D got a little carried away with this one whoops doing this is much harder than i expected this au is taking up my entire brain pls help

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 (pending)

glossary:

Barre: A handrail used by ballet dancers to maintain balance while exercising. One hand is placed on the barre at all times, and the dancer stands beside it.

Kitri: The feisty and wilful heroine of the ballet Don Quixote. When her father Lorenzo tries to marry her off for money, she doesn’t play the victim, but hatches a plan to marry Basilio, the charming barber who has won her heart, and pursue her own version of happiness. As a dancer’s role, Kitri is athletic and demanding. Kitri wears striking red costumes (look them up, they’re really beautiful) and gestures expressively with a fan in a nod to her Spanish heritage.

Don Quixote: Don Quixote is a ballet in three acts, based on episodes taken from the famous novel Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes.

Kurta: A loose collarless shirt/dress of a type worn by people in South Asia, usually with a salwar, churidars, or pyjama.

Dupatta: A length of material arranged in two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez. Usually worn by women from South Asia.

Right after you set foot in the studio and dropped your bag in the corner, you made a beeline for the cacophonous, eagerly buzzing crowd that had formed around the cast list.

You saw a familiar duffel bag and raised your eyebrows slightly. Surprisingly, Gwen had showed up on time. Miracles really did exist.

Murmurs of disappointment and cheers of satisfaction rippled through the dancers in the room as they dispersed one by one, either wearing an expression of genuine excitement or a mask of disguised regret that they hadn’t tried harder or trained longer.

You pushed your way to the front, your eyes immediately darting to the name next to Odette. Your heart sank as you traced over the curly loops and sharper lines of the handwritten letters.

White Swan/Princess Odette : Patricia Roberts.

Pat…?

Sure, she was good, but she was always a little bit too fast for the pieces. She was brilliant at lightning-quick steps in speedy variations, but couldn’t ‘dance like a flowy fairy’, as your ballet teacher said, to save her life.

And the White Swan was all about being slow and sad and graceful.

Your eyes travelled further down the list, going through the roles of Odile, the cygnets, the general swans, and the royals. Each time, you were disappointed. By the time you reached the end of the list, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit anxious. Your name just… wasn’t there.

You were a part of this, right?

The entire class was taking part in this production. It wouldn’t make any sense for you to not be there. Even if it was just as a regular background swan.

“Can’t find your name either, huh?”

You hadn’t noticed that everyone else had broken off into excitedly chattering groups to start warming up and take their places at the barre, leaving only you and Gwen standing and craning your necks up at the piece of paper that seemed to decide your fate in the studio for the next few months.

You shook your head no, earning a sigh from Gwen that lasted longer than it probably should have.

“Well, we could ask Miss Walker, but she’s not here yet. So…” She shifted awkwardly beside you. You tried to observe her from your peripheral vision without being too obvious. She sounded… tired. Exhausted, really, like she hadn’t slept in a few days and then had to run a marathon around the city. She had done a pretty shoddy job of concealing the heavy dark circles under her eyes — which truly was saying something, because her makeup was usually immaculate.

Fuck. You couldn’t believe it, but for a moment you almost felt sorry for her. Well, maybe not just almost.

“Hey, uh… you good?” You winced at your attempt at a nonchalant tone. Gwen turned to look at you like you had sprouted a third head, slight confusion reflecting in her eyes.

You had never noticed them before, but she had nice eyes, honestly. The expressive kind that could show every little shift in her emotions if she didn’t hide it. And right now she looked like she was about to grin or crack a joke, so you fixed a scowl on your face to ward off any amusing thing she might have been gearing up to say.

The smile in her eyes faded.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Time to poke the bee’s nest. “You don’t sound—”

You were cut off as the studio doors flew open, and Miss Walker, looking extremely hassled, practically sprinted in. Random strands of hair poked out of her unusually-untidy bun, and her glasses were perched precariously on the tip of her nose. She held her phone in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Class, pointes on and everyone to the barre right now, please! Finish your second warmup, I’ll be right with you. Gwendolyn, Y/N, may I have a word with the two of you?”

We’re in trouble, mouthed Gwen with a comically scared, wide-eyed, completely exaggerated expression that was very childish and definitely should not have made you want to laugh. You bit the inside of your cheek to clamp down on your smile.

Your ballet teacher led you both over to a corner of the studio, adjusting her glasses right as they were about to fall off. “Okay, so I have some very good news for both of you. You might have noticed that your names weren’t on the final cast list at all, correct?”

You both nodded.

“As it turns out, you’ve been selected by the School of American Ballet to feature in New York City Ballet’s version of Swan Lake! And not selected for just any role — you girls are playing both Swans!”

The words took a few seconds to register in your mind. The sheer improbability of it all was phenomenal — two mere teenagers chosen to perform by the most prestigious ballet company in the world, to dance alongside some of the best professional ballerinas-in-the-making? This was a dream come true; was any of this real?

“You’re joking,” you heard Gwen say beside you. You felt like you were about to lift off and float all the way to the sky when your teacher just gave a broad, proud smile.

Everything after that was surrounded by a hazy glow of euphoric shock — blurred by excitement and lightheadedness and disbelief. You might’ve blacked out at one point, bracing yourself against the wall while you waited for your vision to clear.

Gwen suddenly narrowed her eyes in a wince, squinting as if she had a headache. “I’m so sorry, I have to go,” She mumbled hastily, before grabbing her bag and slipping out of the studio. And just like that, she was gone. Again.

You and Miss Walker exchanged a look of slight confusion, but she shrugged. “Well, you’re dismissed for today, Y/N. They’re expecting you tomorrow. You know where the company is, right?”

“Yes, miss.” Of course you did, which ballerina didn’t? Of all the best aspiring ballet dancers’ dream companies, New York City Ballet was right up there with The Royal Ballet in London, Paris Opera Ballet in France, and the Australian Ballet in Melbourne. In other words: this was a giant fucking deal and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You’d have to be beyond idiotic to blow it off.

You arrived at Lincoln Center (which housed the New York City Ballet), fresh-faced and a few minutes early. Well, maybe not so fresh-faced, since you could barely sleep because of nerves. Throughout the night, what felt like a million thoughts that were all variations of what if I’m not good enough? and maybe I’m not cut out for this plagued you well into the early hours of the morning.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Gwen, looking annoyingly (and most probably effortlessly) put-together and honestly quite fashionable. Did she have to have such perfect eyeliner? Even her hair tips seemed pinker than usual.

“Wow, you’re early for once,” You tried to load snark into your tone but failed miserably, earning you an insufferably relaxed chuckle from Gwen.

You shook your head and focused on trying to find the ballet company’s actual studio. Lincoln Center was comprised of a complex of buildings in a giant neighbourhood that you had never been in before, and the David H. Koch Theater which housed the New York City Ballet was just one of those many buildings spread over 16.3 acres.

You were lucky you two had arrived early, because it took you ten whole minutes trying to find the theater - because, as it turns out, you and Gwen had entered from a separate entrance from the main one. Finally you entered the studio, and for a while the only sounds were that of your shoes squeaking on the shiny wooden floors.

Something that struck you was just how big everything about it was.

The light fixtures that lined the walls cast yellow light all along the hallway, illuminating everything with a soft glow the colour of honeyed amber. Just walking that corridor made you feel like you were approaching a royal ballroom, floating around in a gown that could put Kitri’s costume from Don Quixote to shame.

You finally saw the door to the studio. Someone was waiting outside — a man in an all-black suit with close-cropped black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His face broke into a smile as he saw you and Gwen, and without waiting for you to fully make it to the door, he strode forward and clasped your hand.

“Welcome to New York City Ballet! I’m Carlos, the resident choreographer of this company. We’ve been expecting you! Your teacher has informed you of the production we are working on, yes?” He rattled all of this off at full speed in clipped, staccato pronunciations, so fast that it took you a second to register what he was saying.

“Swan Lake, right?” Gwen answered for you.

“Yes, yes. I assume you both know the combinations for both swans?” You nodded maybe a little too eagerly, eliciting a subtle eyebrow-raise from Carlos. “Very good. Come, I will introduce you to Shaoni. She is our support staff, and a former ballet mistress. She taught many young dancers who went on to become famous prima ballerinas. Don’t take her words too seriously; her bark is worse than her bite.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile and pushed open the double doors. Immediately the first thing you saw was a woman wearing a blue kurta with a gold-trimmed dupatta, her dark hair pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck. The thing that stood out most about her was her highly displeased scowl that had her looking like someone had insulted her entire bloodline three times over, spat in her face and then wrecked her favourite tutu.

Forget a simple resting bitch face, this was a prime, next-level display of an I’m-done-with-this-shit-and-I-need-a-vacation expression.

“Good morning, girls. My name is Shaoni Lahiri, you will address me as Miss Lahiri. You’re a bit early; please begin your warmup while we wait for the others. Also, our artistic director wanted to talk to you about your first day, so once he arrives meet him in his office.” Miss Lahiri had just finished her introductory monologue when her phone buzzed in her pocket with a notification.

Her eyes swiped over the lockscreen for a brief second before she tucked it away again, and you could’ve sworn you saw her roll her eyes slightly when she saw the name of the messager. “Mr. Osborn will see you now. The door to his office is in the far left corner of the studio. Try not to get lost, will you?” Even her sarcasm sounded effortlessly annoyed beyond relief.

And just like that, she abandoned you and went over to compare choreography notes with Carlos.

You turned and followed her directions, noticing a polished wooden door near the end wall of the studio. “Hey, wait for me!” Gwen had been busy gawking at the studio and, really, you couldn’t quite blame her. It truly was something else compared to the much smaller one you were used to.

You knocked once and pushed open the door once you heard a voice call out, “Come in!”

The moment the door swung open, you were immediately blinded by the brightest white light you had ever seen. The entire office looked like it had been bleached to within an inch of its life; there were no specks of dust to be seen and everything was neatly arranged in cupboards and on shelves.

“Oh, hello there!” Once your eyes had readjusted, you noticed a man with greying red-brown hair in a crisp suit with a green pinstripe jacket, an orange vest, and black pants. He sat with his hands clasped neatly on the lacquered teakwood desk in front of him, wearing a polite smile.

“You must be the new arrivals, yes? Let’s see, what are your names…” He opened a folder that had been pushed to one side of the desk, flicking through pages. “Gwen Stacy and Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes, that’s us,” You answered quickly, feeling slightly giddy with excitement as the truth sunk in properly. This wasn’t a dream, you had really been selected by the fucking New York City Ballet. You would be working alongside some of the best ballet dancers in the area. Better yet, you had more than a fair chance at dancing Odette. Of course, so did Gwen, but you were obviously the better choice… it wasn’t personal, really, just that she barely attended a full class and therefore should probably dance Odile instead.

“Excellent, excellent. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Norman Osborn, the artistic director of this company.” He stood up and shook your hand. He smiled at Gwen, but instead of smiling back, she just dropped her gaze, inhaling sharply as if she had been stung.

“Something’s not right with him,” She murmured to you the moment Mr. Osborn turned his back to retrieve a folder from his filing cabinet. “I can’t explain it, just… please trust me. I think he’s going to be a threat to us.”

You felt annoyance flare up inside you, white-hot maelstroms of anger expanding by the second. “Please excuse us, Mr. Osborn. Gwen and I need to discuss something.” You tried to sound as inconspicuous and well-mannered as you could. You grabbed Gwen’s shoulder and pulled her through the door, closing it behind you.

“Listen here,” You hissed, letting go of her. “I didn’t make it all this way and train for an extra four hours a day for three years just so you could blow this off. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re some sort of a package deal. So don’t you dare make up stuff and tell me this perfectly polite man is a threat. Is this some sort of scheme? You make me get cold feet, pretend like you’re dropping out, then when you convince me to leave the company you swoop in and snatch up the role of Odette? Is that what you’re playing at?”

Gwen stared at you in utter disbelief, rubbing her shoulder where your grip had tightened just a little too much. “What? No, of course not. I would never—”

“Okay, good. Now let’s get back in there and do whatever the hell he wants us to do, because this is the New York City Ballet and we are not leaving till we’re done with this production, got it?”

For a split second, intense desperation marred her features and she looked like she was about to cry. Then, just as quickly as it had come, all the vulnerability displayed on her face disappeared — but not from her eyes. Her mouth and eyebrows were relaxed, cool, but her eyes shone with a feverish light that made her look a bit manic. Finally she took a deep breath and glared levelly at you.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Something about her tone would have sent a shiver down your spine if you hadn’t been so pumped up about this whole ordeal. You dismissed it easily, penning it, possibly, as the sullen disappointment of a plotter whose evil scheme hadn’t gone quite according to plan.

You entered the office again, Gwen trailing behind you reluctantly, and gave Mr. Osborn a big smile. “You were saying?”

He passed you and Gwen two sheets of paper and a pen. “Sign this. It’s a contract that officialises your stay at this company for the duration of this production.”

You signed it eagerly. Gwen, who was studying the words intently, noticed your impatience and signed it too.

“Perfect,” said Norman Osborn, giving you a big smile. Was it just you, or did it look more plastic this time…?

Nope, definitely just you. He carefully filed the sheets away and clasped your hand in a handshake once again. “Welcome to New York City Ballet. I’m sure this contract will prove to be beneficial to the both of us.”

Gwen dropped her eyes to the floor. Probably just her odd headaches acting up again.

Taglist:

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @theprismyyy

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lil-vibes · 1 year

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need me a fem! skk ballet and/or figure skater au so bad yall dont understand

#my mental illness is hitting and i think this will cure it #been spinning it in my head #imagine fem!chuuya in these beautiful outfits doing jumps and spins and being all graceful in the air IMAGINE it rn this is a threat #and my fav girl failure dazai being like :OOO n thinking thats my future wife up there !!#or dance duo skk grrrgrrrr #n the way the public catches on that there is something going on is bc when one wins first place they run straight to the other to #give them the medal or trophy #and ofc they r like 'just so u know who is better' and they they make out in the changing rooms #broooooooo i need i need this so bad #figure skater fem!skk au call that shit yuri on ice #... wait a second #bsd #skk #fem!skk #pebbles (me) ramblers #i need this so badly 😭😭😭#honestly wasnt uuuuh the other side of paradise (?) chuuya a dancer ?? gotta check #gotta finish the fic actually #o7 mission received me im going

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cardamomflower · 23 days

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Aziraphale’s belly dancer drag persona, from my fan fiction!

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #fanfiction #fanart #ineffable viwes #istanbul #ineffable spouses #belly dancer #femme aziraphale #fem aziraphale #behind the black veil

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bantuotaku · 11 months

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Mekhi Cuffee: "A 1 night special. LIKE A FEM QUEEN. It’s the little things. Get in. #vogue"

Source

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blackfangedreaper · 2 years

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I can’t tell if request are open but could I request luffy reacting to his s/o dancing on stage with this song and dance cover (https://youtu.be/qnPTDEaP9Hw ) ? + marines are watching too if u can do that

HE KNOWS

Pairings: Monster trio + Aokiji, koby, shanks and mihawk x dancer!y/n

Warning: fluff, suggestive themes, cursing, grammatical errors. MDNI.

Tags: @closet-degenerate @h3rfave @iin0va @avaricious-hoe @audreys-works @444katsuki

Note: loved the idea nonna and yes my requests are open.

LUFFY

The sparkles in his eyes as he watched you twirl, drop then swing your hair, you looked so good dancing up there, so good he didn't know if he wanted to join you or let you be. Nami pulled him by his ears when he got too close to the stage unconsciously, too hypnotised by your moves to notice.

Couldn't resist trying to go closer once again to the stage to see you more. His jaw dropping when you dropped to a split. His pupils shaking at your sensual movements swallowing thickly when you blew a kiss at him. He loved it every second of it.

His eyes drooping slightly taking a halflidded form at the way you swung your hips, hunger present in his eyes as he maintained eye contact with you all through. He wanted something and you'll give it to him,- "Hey, do the thing you did with your waist on stage!" -He knows.

ZORO

His gaze trailed all over your body as you danced in those thigh high 4 inched heels, the ones you dragged him out to buy with you. And they fit you so well, the leather sticking to the skin of your thighs perfectly.

His pants tighening as your ass hung in the air for a moment, your movements were so sensual, it drove him crazy. He couldn't wait to get you alone, maybe you'll give him a private dance, on his dick that is.

He couldn't take his halflidded eyes off you, swinging his head back to finish his booze before relaxing on the chair, his arms over the couch, legs manspread and head tilted a little to rest on the couch. His eyes on you just like you wanted it- "Greedy little thing, look how you're sucking me in." -He knows.

SANJI

This one was on the brink of passing out but he had to stay awake, he had to. Just watching you swing your hips to the beat of the song had blood flowing out through his nose in spurts.

Tears in his eyes as you winked at him, his nose stuffed with tissues and cheering a muffled. ''Y/n-chwan". His eyes wide open as not to miss a single moment. His eyes almost rolled back when your ass hung up in the air.

God knows he's horny and he's not too proud to beg after your little dance he'll show you the bed then after, breakfast in bed. You'll just love what he has planned,- "Hm? Faster? Whatever you want sweetheart." -He knows.

AOKIJI

Was very flustered although not visibly. He was trying to play it cool, but his eyes were erratic behind his shades. Whistling when your ass jiggled in those short shorts or when your boobs bounced in your crop top.

Tapped his feet steadily to beat as he watched you twirl on the floor before getting up slowly, his normally cold body heating up at your halflidded stare.

All that cake and he couldn't wait to give you some filling and with the look you had on your face you wanted him to hit it till you lose all feeling,- "Ah... What mess, what's the point of filling you up if you'll just pour it back out." -He knows.

KOBY

Would have passed out if helmoppo hadn't held him steady, he's seen you dance before infact he watches you dance all the time but this somehow feels different watching you dance all so sexy especially in those clothes, it stirs up something in him.

From the moment you turned around he knew what you were doing, watching you back it up then drop it down. All eyes were on you and he wasn't gonna lie you've got him watching too.

Using his marine uniform to fan himself a little, was it him or it was hot. Either way he was sure it was you, the way you smirked at him you wanted something from him and what exactly do you want?- "Pl-Please, don't tease!" -He knows.

SHANKS

Kept smirking with an obvious blush on his face. No way was he going to let you get away with teasing him like that. Just look at you, dancing so sexy and even in sexier clothing, if you think he'll let you down slowly you've got another thing coming.

Teeth tugging on his bottom lip as he watched you dip and twirl. A little 'fuck' escaping his mouth as his eyes followed the way you caressed your body. Groaning when you smiled suggestively at him reminding him of your earlier statement.

"Shanks, I'll be back after this one song, then you're taking me home." You winked before leaving him with a kiss on the cheek as you swayed all the way up the stage. The smirk on his face never dropping as he thought of all the things he'd do to you tonight and only- "Hahah! Not so bold now huh?!" -He knows.

MIHAWK

He smiled into his wine cup, sipping the drink as he eyed your movements. He leaned back into the bar stool groaning when you dropped it down and whined, you were going to be the death of him.

His attention on you and noone else, watching it bounce as you danced, the way you licked your lips to tease not only him but the others in the crowd. Chuckling a little when you smiled innocently in his direction, well aren't you cute.

The atmosphere, the clothes, the bloody song, it was all you, you knew the attention it brought but to be honest he wasn't all that surprised he knows you love the attention that you get when you move and You know,- "Eager Eager, a little patience won't hurt, querido [darling]." -He knows.

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