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vxsellie · 1 month ago

Note

would you be willing write bodyguard!ellie x burlesque!reader fic??? or ellie could literally be whatever i have no preference!! 🪲

┆𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬 - E.W ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆₊˚. ᵎᵎ

♯ 𝘪'𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 !

summary. to become a vedette was the dream of many ⎯ including yourself. unfortunately, though, you learned the hard way that some dreams were meant to remain fanciful. because, once achieved, the reality of such an industry was far from what you'd imagined it to be. as your underground burlesque club rose in popularity, you alongside it, your personal safety began to deteriorate. in an attempt to salvage yourself from the predatory audience, a bodyguard was hired. notes. the way pink won by 1.1% is so funny to me, but pink it is! also! i had no idea what a burlesque dancer was before this. i did tons of research and watched tons of videos, but in no way whatsoever is this historically accurate. burlesque was popular from 1860s-1930s, getting most traction in the 70s. but i'm frankly a bit shitty at history, so i don't really know what the world was like in the 1800s, so i set this oneshot in the 1920s bc i have the most prior knowledge on that time frame. but, again, this is NOT historically correct whatsoever. certain things i mention might not even be invented at that time, the way people talk might be super incorrect, etc etc etc. so pls just have that in mind. warnings. mentions of assault, illegal selling & purchasing of alcohol, depictions of violence and blood, injury, suggestive ending wc. 8.2k

when ellie accepted this job, she hadn't expected to be roped into such deep shit.

she'd envisaged being dragged through shops and taverns with some random rich transient, told to scare off some creeps, then fired once the opulent stranger grew bored of her monotonous company. what she hadn't expected was you ⎯ someone completely ordinary among passerbyers whilst simultaneously being the most powerful and sought after woman come nightfall.

you own a club, you see, having started your business two decembers prior to present. it began small, only a few people visiting due to mere curiosity and rarely returning. struggling to amass a crowd, you became your own patron; you became a burlesque dancer at your own cabernet. this quickly gained the attention of those who dared wander into the debauched street where your club resides. an underground business run by the alluring woman advertised ⎯ what promiscuous standee wouldn't be intrigued? plus, by the time you were making hundreds nightly, you were in too deep to quit as a dancer. those who visited did so for you. to turn only to a business woman was out of the question.

but, as stated, your club was underground and therefore unknown by the average citizens, only spoken of by those sinful enough to indulge. this way, you were a mysteriously rich woman by day and a desirably powerful one by night. it wasn't exactly what you'd intended to become when first creating your business, but you'd be a fool to complain when making such wealth.

however, nothing ignominious lasts long before the reason for such shame rears its beastly head.

and when it did, you were unable to escape unscathed. you'd been cornered in an alley on your way home, pinned to a brick wall by one of your frequent customers, barely having gotten away intact. after landing a solid hit to the back of his skull with a nearby object turned weapon, you staggered the rest of the way home. a bruise was forming on your jaw from the perpetrator's aggression and a small cut was trailing blood down your bicep from your own lack of attention to your surroundings as you'd accidentally scraped yourself on a stone as you ran from the scene. yeah, so, that's when you made the decision that you needed a bodyguard.

when ellie first laid her eyes on you, she recognized you in an instant. see, she'd never been to your burlesque club on her own; she didn't much care for that form of self deprecation. rather, she'd heard your name spoken many times before by disreputable miscreants and seen your face on a few posters in the more shady parts of town.

tonight was her first official night to be spent with you. the two of you had met once or twice beforehand, getting the payments and conditions in check as well as making her sign and NDA for fear of her causing your cabernet to be found. though, she'd never seen your house and you'd never seen hers, the two of you having met in public settings such as bakeries or parks to discuss such matters. it was entirely professional.

but tonight, now that everything has been put in order, she is to accompany you to the bar. you already told her what you expected of her ⎯ blend in with the crowd and keep watch from afar, only intervene if deemed absolutely necessary. yes yes, she replayed the sentence over and over in her head, just to be sure it's cemented into her memory. totally not because she likes to replay the smoothness of your voice nor the gentility of your tone when attempting to speak quietly as to not draw attention. yeah, no. definitely not that.

"fuck, it's cold." she hisses, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders as the two of you walk down the sidewalk. your sparkly heels click against the concrete with your every step, only visible under the dull illumination of the sparse streetlights. you're wearing a long coat that covers your neck down to your mid-calf, black in color yet thin in efficiency. "i dunno how you're not freezing your ass off, right now." she comments through chattering teeth.

you huff a laugh, "suppose i've grown used to it."

the air is frigid, your breaths coming out in puffed clouds. snow has yet to fall, but it's surely not far from doing so. the night is black, shadows looming over shabby buildings ⎯ venturing from the rich side of town where you live to the more decrepit side of town where law enforcement is thinned and as is people's class. the perfect place for a speakeasy.

you turn down a random alley where streetlights no longer provide a blanket of comfort. ellie trails behind you, entire body shivering as she takes in her foreign surroundings. on either side are sordid buildings, the brick chipped and paint flaking and wood rotting.

the sound of knocking draws her attention back to you, gaze landing on where you now stand at the very end of the alley. she jogs over to you just in time to hear your knocking in a certain pattern on an old wooden door that she hadn't noticed prior. there's not even an exterior handle, the door almost invisible when paired with the darkness of the alley and its similarity to the wall that embodies it.

knock knock, knock. a pause. creaking.

the door opens with a creak, a man's head peeking out the crack. he sets his eyes on you and instantly swings it open fully to allow you entry. you nod at him before sauntering past. ellie continues to trail behind you, though she's stopped when the man holds out an arm across her chest.

his hair is long and greasy, thick brows overhanging deep brown eyes. a miasma of alcohol and cigarettes clouds him in the form of a malodorous aura. ellie's nose crinkles as she scowls at him.

"not you." he says coldly, shoving her back outside into the alley. she staggers backward, the cold air clinging to her. anger licks up her spine at the aggression of his shove, but she buries it as soon as you enter the scene.

"fuck off, george, she works for me." you huff, moving past him to open the door wider for ellie. she glares at george as she passes, entering the cabernet with a distasteful expression. as she walks past the entrance, you remain in the doorway to reprimand your employee. she'd usually mind her business but, seeing as it's her job to be in your business, she remains closeby as you harshly explain the situation him.

ellie looms over you like an intimidating shadow as you rebuke george. she doesn't listen into the conversation, well aware of it not being her concern. still, she watches him closely, daring the man to step a toe out of line. thankfully, he seems to know better.

a few minutes pass before the two of you leave him to enter the cabernet fully. ellie takes in the sight of the place, never having been inside of one before. the floors are wooden and glossy, laid in a diamond pattern. the walls are satin, embedded with intricate golden designs. there are circular tables crowding the space, all faced toward an elevated stage, which ellie assumes is where the burlesque dancers preform. to the left is a bar, a woman behind the counter serving alcohol to a few people ⎯ though there aren't many customers seeing as the star of the show hadn't yet arrived. to the right are bathrooms and dressing rooms for the dancers.

the rest of the night is spent rather normally. you do your job as usual, dancing suggestively whilst telling satire stories to keep the guests entertained. as the night goes on, the tables fill and the bar grows impossibly busy, now needing extra employees to work behind the counter alongside the priorly singular barista.

ellie stands near the back, arms crossed as she watches over the scene. she tries her hardest not to get distracted by you; by the way your hips sway, the way your chest bounces, the way your legs move, the way your voice hums. all things considered, she'd say she did a pretty good job at the attempt. she averted her gaze more times than she can count, but that's to be expected, is it not?

thankfully, nobody tried anything. the drunken guests made lewd comments and lustful expressions, but never tried touching you or anything else out of line.

it's three hours past midnight when you decide it was time to head back home. as the crowd thins out, you retreat to your dressing room. ellie remains in the corner, standing around awkwardly as you exit the stage. she watches the people file out of the tiny door and into the darkened alley, cold air brushing inside via the opened door.

"so," your voice suddenly speaks, tone nigh a drawl. ellie turns her head toward the sound to see you buttoning your chesterfield coat as you approach. you shoot her a grin, "how was it?"

"good." she replies, perhaps a bit too hastily. she blinks a few times before clearing her throat, "it- uh, yeah. it was good."

you chuckle, walking toward the door as she follows behind you. "no need to be such a prude, williams. you sulked in the corner all night like a disciplined child. i just want to make sure you're not having second thoughts concerning your job."

"what?" she questions, head whipping to face you. "no, not at all! i've just never been to a place like this before, that's all. i don't know how to act."

the two of you pass through the doorway, george having held it open for you. the chill of the air traces up your spine, goosebumps coating your skin. you pull your coat tighter around yourself, though you're careful to not appear too cold as to avoid ellie's concern.

"well, if you'd like, i can help you in that endeavor." you say.

"help me?" she narrows her eyes in inquiry. "in making me feel less awkward?"

"in teaching you how to act." you correct with an amused expression, turning a corner. ellie's brows furrow, urging you digress. "look, there are tons of ways to blend in with everyone else. first of all, try looking a bit less flustered when seeing the dancers strip. second, uncross your arms for it makes you look displeased. third, sit down. you were standing against the wall the whole time and it's unnatural. just take a seat, buy a drink, and enjoy yourself."

she frowns, "easier said than done."

"you act like you've never seen a woman nude, williams." you say with a laugh. "maybe get a bit tipsy before the show and you'll feel more at ease, yeah?"

"i'm not allowed to be drunk on the job." she tells you. "i'm supposed to stay alert in the case of something happening."

you let out a sigh, carbon dioxide exiting visibly. "you won't be drunk, you'll just be a bit tipsy. plus, if you sit in the front, you'll be able to get to me quicker. that way, even if you're a bit disoriented, you'll have the upper hand in proximity's case."

ellie thinks on this for a moment, weighing her options. on one hand, she knows that bodyguard are not supposed to drink, smoke, or do anything else that could impair their ability to do their job. but on the other, you're the one pulling the strings here; she technically works for you. and you're asking her to drink. so, in a certain sense of things, who would she be to decline you?

"fine." she gives in. "but if anything happens to you and i'm too fucking wasted to help, i'll never forgive myself. or you."

you laugh, patting her arm lightly, "oh c'mon, i trust you'll be able to help me even if you're a bit drunk. also, nobody will do anything during the show. it's the before and after that we have to worry about; the spooky walk home in the dark."

she purses her lips at this, suddenly made aware of your guys' surroundings. you're walking along the same sidewalk you'd taken to get to the cabernet, your heels clicking with each step just as they had before. the streetlamps provide a dim yellow glow, but that's it. the moon is naught but a skinny crescent and the stars are rather dull. she'd been on edge, of course she had. but now that it's been spoken aloud to her attention, she's been made extra aware of it.

the rest of the walk back to your house was spent in easy conversation and light laughter. she glanced over her shoulder every few minutes, but nobody was ever behind you.

and, before long, the two of you've reached your destination ⎯ no longer surrounded by the shady alleys near your club, but now surrounded by huge mansions and cars, your own home among them.

"do you want me to walk you inside?" ellie offers as you fumble with your key to unlock your front door, your fingers too cold to operate fully. she notices, but says nothing on the matter.

"i can walk though my own house, williams." you laugh. "but thank you."

she nods, holding the door open for you once you've managed to get it unlocked. you give her a grateful smile before entering and she shuts the door behind you. as it clicks shut, she huffs out a breath.

standing on the porch of your mansion, she can't help but feel out of place here. not due to wealth but to merit. with a sigh, she turns on her heel and leaves your porch, descending the steps and beginning to walk down the sidewalk once more.

on her walk to her own house, she can't stop replaying the night over and over in her head ⎯ the sound of your laughter under the moonlight, the sight of your skin being teased to the audience. there's just something about you that she can't get out of her fucking head. it's only been one night and you've managed to drive her insane.

the following night is spent in a similar fashion. walking together to the cabernet, laughing and talking the whole way there, knocking a certain pattern on the decrepit wooden door, having to remind george that ellie is now allowed inside without payment.

"okay," you say, undoing the top button of your chesterfield coat as ellie trails behind you into the club. nobody else is here yet, the two of you having arrived earlier to make sure ellie can get front seats. "i'm heading back to the dressing rooms. while i do, you can go get a drink or two and sit down, yeah?"

"yeah." she's quick to agree with a nod.

"perfect," you smile, slipping your coat off your shoulders. ellie averts her eyes, cheeks suddenly feeling warm. you huff a laugh, "see you in a bit, williams."

with that, you walk over to the dressing rooms, disappearing behind a beaded doorway. now alone in the center of an empty club, ellie sighs before sauntering over to the bar. she perches atop a wooden stool, the fabric of its seat a thin velvet. she places her elbows on the shiny countertop, resting her chin in her palm.

she takes in the sight of the bottles behind the counter and the low lighting of the bar in general. despite it's prohibition, it's not rare to see alcohol. nobody really abides the law when it comes to intoxication. what's uncommon is to see so much of it. not only is it crazy expensive to buy booze nowadays, but it's also easier to be tracked down and apprehended for it if you have so much.

after a few minutes of wait, a barista eventually rounds the corner, approaching ellie with an apologetic expression. her fiery red hair catches the light, pale skin even paler as she rushes to tend to the customer. "i'm so sorry, ma'am." she rushes out while still tying her apron behind her waist. "i hadn't a clue someone would arrive so early."

"it's fine," ellie assures her, "i don't mind waiting if you need some more time to get ready."

"that's very kind of you." she smiles. "but no, i needn't more time."

ellie shrugs, accepting her response. she then turns back to looking at the bottles that line the wall behind the barista. "can i get the gin rickey?"

"of course." the ginger smiles before turning around to grab a bottle of gin alongside a glass from under the counter. she mixes the drink, adding lime juice and club soda before sliding it across the countertop.

see, ellie doesn't go out drinking often. especially not after the ban of alcohol, as it became harder to find. but she knows that gin rickey is a rather common drink within speakeasies, the taste and convenience of the drink making them quite popular at this time. so, she assumed it wouldn't hurt to see what was so great about it. and, needless to say, she comes to enjoy it.

as the club begins to fill up with guests, she decides it's time to take her seat in the front. ellie ends up having about three more drinks before taking a fourth to go, sauntering over to a table closest to the stage. the circular table is covered with a cream white cloth, the chair wooden with the same velvet cushion as the barstools.

there, she continues to sip on her drink as she awaits your arrival.

she feels her eyelids begin to weigh down a bit, her shoulders feeling uncharacteristically heavy. she recalls the conversation from last night and the way she had to remind you that she couldn't be too drunk on the job. she ends up having to remind herself of the same thing, telling herself that this is the last drink she'll be having for the night ⎯ enough to be more at ease as you'd requested, yet not too much that she feels unable to tend to you if needed. a perfect level.

people crowd the cabernet as it grows darker outside, guests rushing to the bar to get a free stool before they're all taken, then staggering over to an empty table once they're well inebriated.

when the first dancer walks onto the stage, the crowd cheers. she does a few dances, tells a few jokes, takes off her top, and then rotates for the next dancer to come forward. to ellie, it feels rather quick. but when she checks the grandfather clock against the wall, it'd apparently taken the dancer about half an hour before she leaves the stage.

the next dancer is a blonde woman who winks at ellie when she first comes out. the man behind ellie cheers loudly, almost making her go deaf with his boisterous assumption of the woman's favor. she does a more sensual dance than the woman prior to her, taking off her skirt and top, tossing them out to the crowd. she remains in her bra and panties, both of which are adorned with gems that twinkle in the spotlight.

ellie's instincts are to look away, to avert her gaze as to be respectful. but she recalls the way you'd made fun of her for doing so last night, calling her a prude. her cheeks heat as her mind traitorously reminds her of the sound of your laughter. evidently, the blonde dancer on the stage takes her blush as being directed toward her and she shoots her another wink, which leads to the man behind her cheering loudly again. ellie curse herself for the series of events and the way they'd played out so easily despite their involuntary origin.

as the blonde woman walks off the stage, she give one last wink in ellie's direction. she blows her a kiss, waving with her fingers before disappearing behind the curtains. the man behind her goes absolutely insane, ellie's ears ringing from his noisiness. she sucks in a breath, hoping this mistake doesn't lead to anything adverse.

the next and final person to take the stage is you.

the crowd goes crazy, you being the most popular vedette among all burlesque dancers in this city. they clap and cheer and whoop as you just smile and wave, heels clacking in that familiar pattern that reminds ellie of her walks with you. her face is suddenly heating up again. she curses herself mentally, picking up her glass and taking a long sip from her drink in hopes of the rim covering her reddened cheeks.

you move languidly, almost fluid in your leisure. your body shifts with ease, dancing in a sensual peace. your heels click, your hips sway, your hair cascades. everything about you is reeling ellie in, alluring and captivating yet seductive and lewd. she can't seem to tear her eyes away, memorizing every inch of your body as one would adore a piece of art. she takes in your body as though its made of brush strokes and paint and it could vanish in an instant.

you remove your top in one swift movement, pulling the fabric over your head and allowing it to fall to the floor with a gentle brush. the crowd cheers and ellie is painfully reminded that she's not the only one in here. though your chest remains covered by a frilly bra, she feels a weight in her belly at the sharp reminder ⎯ an aching possessiveness that yearns to be special, to be the only one to see you this way.

your eyes meet hers, something passing between you. something sharp and steady and intimate. something striking in its rarity. though, just as fast as it'd happened, it's gone. you turn away, shifting your gaze over the crowd as you continue to sway and oscillate.

ellie takes another swig of her drink, hoping to swallow down her rising emotions. hoping to drown them.

before she even realizes it, the clock strikes three and you're disappearing off the stage with a flourish. the crowd cheers as you walk away, whistling and whooping.

they all begin to slowly file out of the club once it's made aware that the show is over, taking their loud voices with them. of course, ellie doesn't follow suit. she stays seated, swirling the last drop of her drink around in her glass. she watches the liquid swish around, her drunken mind easily entertained by the sight.

when she hears footsteps exit the dressing room, she assumes it's you and turns around with a grin. her face quickly falls when she sees the blonde dancer from earlier walking up to her with a suggestive smirk.

"waiting for someone?" she questions, eyes glinting with a hint of lust.

"uh, yeah." ellie replies, far too awkward and drunk to think of something clever to say in response. her cheeks heat with embarrassment, though the blonde is quick to take it wrong.

"no need to be so flustered." she coos, walking over to where ellie remains seated. she places her hand on the table in front of ellie, leaning down so their faces are mere inches apart. in a gentle croon, she says, "i don't bite."

"well," ellie leans back a little to put distance between them, "i'm not-"

"ruth, leave her alone." your voice comes from the other side of the room, the sound of your heels serving as a bit of familiar comfort to ellie. the blonde woman lifts her head, expression falling when she sees you approaching.

"mind your business." the blonde ⎯ whose name ellie has gathered to be ruth ⎯ groans. "must you steal every person i show interest in?"

ellie opens her mouth to intervene, ready to say something to ease the nigh palpable tension in the air. but you beat her to it, not having noticed ellie's futile attempt to interrupt.

you roll your eyes, still buttoning the top buttons of your coat. "first of all, i've never stolen someone from you because i frankly don't give a shit. second, that poor woman is clearly not interested in you."

"don't speak for her when you don't even know her." ruth frowns, placing her hands on her hips. "and yes she is interested."

"how about you let her choose then." you suggest, crossing your arms after gesturing to ellie with raised brows. "maybe, for once, let the person you're bothering have a say in this."

"fine." ruth snaps, practically fuming at this point. despite her anger, she turns to ellie pleadingly. "tell her."

ellie almost feels bad for ruth. despite the way you'd insinuated that she has a history of not asking for people's opinions on matters such as these, she feels a bit guilty. she'd blushed at ruth multiple times ⎯ though they'd all happened to be unrelated. anyone would be able to get the wrong impression in ruth's position.

"listen, i'm just a bodyguard." ellie says carefully, holding her hands up in defense. "i'm not trying to sleep with anyone. i'm just⎯"

"bodyguard?" ruth mutters, brows furrowing. she glances between you and ellie, the dots slowly connecting. her lip then raises in disgusted rage. "what the fuck!? you hired a goddam bodyguard!"

"i was getting followed home." you explain, equally irritated though you attempt keep your tone calm.

"so just because you're the most fucking popular, you think your safety is more important than any of the other dancers!?" ruth seethes.

"don't put words in my mouth, asshole." you shoot back. "you can hire any bodyguard you fucking want, nobody's stopping you. it's not my fault i thought of it first and you happened to be fucking horny for who i hired."

as you and ruth continue to argue back and forth, the tension steadily rises higher and higher. ellie watches with wide eyes, trying to determine when exactly she should get involved. but, at the same time, you and ruth appear to have been working together for quite a long time, maybe this was an inevitable argument she should let happen? maybe she's just drunk and thinks that it's worse than it is? yeah. she leans back, settling with her decision to allow the two of you to just fight it out. it'll be good for you to⎯

her thoughts are interrupted when ruth snatches up ellie's glass and breaks it on the side of the table, the lip of it now a pointed blade that she holds out at you. it's sharp, the glass fully able to cut through skin if needed.

"ruth.." you breathe, holding your hands up in surrender. "ruth, just calm down..."

at the sound of glass breaking and your shaky voice, ellie is suddenly on her feet, putting herself between you and ruth. she holds an arm across your chest, acting as a human shield.

"get out of my fucking way." ruth snaps. "i don't wanna hurt you, just the cocky bitch you're protecting."

"put the glass down." ellie demands, voice suddenly lowered a few octaves.

the baristas are long gone, having left the club alongside the rest of the guests a good twenty minutes ago. the only person in here except for the three of you is george. he watches from the doorway, eyes wide and shoulders tense. he can't call the cops or the cabernet will be found out and promptly shut down. and he knows better than to get involved. so he's simply forced to watch from afar, poor guy.

ruth glares at ellie, sidestepping in an attempt to get to you. but ellie moves in unison, remaining in her way. ruth curses, jaw clenched. ellie holds you close to her, your chest flush against her back as she holds you by the wrist, her other arm out to ruth in a calming gesture which mirrors one that'd be used when approaching a feral animal.

"fuck you!" ruth spits at ellie, lower lips trembling. her grip on the glass shakes as well, though she remains holding it tightly. "i thought someone fucking liked me! for once, i thought someone would take interest in me! but no. no, i should've known. as always, you were more interested in her!"

"look, i understand you're mad, just⎯"

ellie's words are interrupted by ruth surging forward and stabbing the sharp end of the glass into ellie's thigh, yanking it back out and tossing the bloody glass to the floor.

ellie buckles over in pain, blood seeping down the leg of her pants. when she looks back up, ruth is already across the room, shoving past george as she runs from the scene. george is frozen in place, lips parted as he glances between ellie's bloody form and ruth's depleting one.

"fuck," you mutter, eyes wide as you move to pull out a chair for ellie to sit in. you hold onto her shoulders, helping to ease her into the seat. "fuckfuckfuck."

"calm down," ellie says between heavy breaths. her chest is heaving, her hand keeping pressure on the wound. despite the pain, she stares up at you with blown pupils and parted lips. "take a deep breath, i'm fine."

you shake your head, completely ignoring ellie's attempts to calm you. god, you can't fucking believe her right now. a shard of glass is on the floor, covered in her blood and here she is insisting she's fine. trying to keep you calm. you squeeze your eyes shut, pacing in circles as you try to formulate some sort of plan.

you can't call the police or your club will be revealed. but you also can't go home, wandering the streets with a girl bleeding out on your back. fuck. no matter what you do, it's incriminating.

your pacing ceases as an idea pops into your head.

"george." you call out over your shoulder. the man lifts his head, entire face having gone pale from the sight of all that's happened in front of him. "in the dressing room, under the vanity, there's a first aid kit. bring it to me."

george nods quickly, staggering away from his place by the door and heading toward the dressing room as asked. with him now gone to get the med kit, you turn back to ellie. you crouch down in front of her, your hands shaking as you reach forward to remove her own hand from the wound to examine its severity.

blood soaks her pants, almost coating her entire thigh crimson. the material is torn where the glass was inserted, showing where her skin is sliced right open. right across the muscle.

"okay," you breathe shakily, pressing your palm against the injury to prevent too much bloodloss. "okay, um-"

"calm down," she murmurs again, voice a bit groggy. "look, i'm fine. once george comes back with the med kit, i can patch myself up and i'll walk you home. how's that sound?"

"what!? no!" you shake your head at her incredulously. "no, i got you into this mess. the least i can do is help."

"but you don't have to." she insists. "i can stitch myself just fine, and-"

"ellie, shut the fuck up." you snap, her eyes widening at your sudden harsh tone. not only that but the sound of her first name leaving your lips makes her chest flutter. you shake your head, unaware of the bodily reaction you engendered. "i'll stitch you up, then i'll find some place for us to stay. somewhere nearby that won't ask a million questions."

"uh," she blinks, trying to remember what you guys passed on your journey here, trying her best to do something to help. "wait, yeah. i think saw a motel not too far from here. a block or two down the road, maybe?"

"oh, yes. perfect!" you grin up at her. "i know exactly what you're talking about. i know the owner, too. we might not even have to pay if i promise him free drinks."

ellie's face flushes at the sight of your smile. the combination of everything is getting to her. her inebriation, the feel of your hand on her thigh, the sight of your beaming smile. yeah, she's in fucking heaven.

it's a few minutes later when george returns with the med kit, his hands shaking slightly as he nears you and ellie. his widened eyes appear to be nigh incapable of looking away from her bloodied leg. he swallows harshly before placing the kit on the tabletop.

you offer him a soft smile, grabbing the kit from the surface. you open it as you speak. "thank you, george. you can go home now, if you'd like. get some rest."

"okay." he nods, frankly a bit frantic. "okay, just⎯ just let me know if you need anything, yeah?"

"yeah, of course." you assure him, watching as he rushes to leave the building, pulling on his coat as he shoves the door open. once it closes behind him, you turn back to ellie and the med kit.

one of your hands remains on ellie's thigh, keeping pressure on the open gash. the other pulls the kit into you lap, cracking it open before you sift through the contents. you can feel every movement ellie makes, every shift or wince or twitch. despite the situation being far less than ideal, it all feels oddly intimate. to be so close, to see her in such a vulnerable way. especially when you're now the only two people in the club. you shake your head to rid your mind of the thoughts clouding it.

you pull out a tube of antibiotic ointment, struggling to twist off the cap with one hand. ellie notices your struggle and leans forward, having to bury a wince as she does so.

"here," she says, placing one of her hands over yours as she takes the ointment from your grasp. she pops it open before handing it back to you. "no need to be so independent, you can ask me to open one measly tube."

"i don't want to ask you anything." you grumble, squeezing a drop of the ointment onto your forefingers. "you're wounded, let me do the work."

"you're acting like i lost a limb," she says with an airy chuckle, making you frown. "i have a cut on my thigh. i can still use my hands."

you remove your hand from the wound and begin to dab the ointment onto the reddened skin around it. ellie shivers, but says nothing. if anything, this should feel good. it's supposed to ease the pain and allow the injury to heal faster. as you continue to coat the gash in the ointment, you glance up at her. "maybe i'm not dramatic and you're just too calm, ever consider that?"

"there's no such thing as too calm." she defends herself, feigning a sense of untouchable pride.

you huff out a laugh, "oh shut up."

ellie can't help the way her eyes are pinned to your face, her pale green eyes studying every expression that grazes your features. every dip or crevice of your skin, every furrow of your brow, every twitch of your lips; she memorizes it all. and when you laugh? oh, when you laugh she swears her heart stops beating.

you twist the ointment closed, placing it back in the kit before digging through it for some bandages. you find a roll of gauze, frowning as you'd hoped to find a patch instead. but you can't complain too much as you're lucky to even have a first aid kit at all. in fact, you only bought one because one of the baristas sliced their hand open a few weeks ago and george insisted that it'd be a good idea to at least own bandaids. so, had this happened last month, ellie would have been fucked.

"okay," you mutter as you turn back to ellie, suddenly noticing her staring. you narrow your eyes at her playfully. "what is it?"

her cheeks burn bright red, blinking as she averts her gaze to look at something random on the wall over your head. "nothing, i just⎯ i really like that statue."

you raise a brow, glancing over your shoulder to follow her gaze. when you see the nude statue she was referring to, you almost laugh. it's a naked man, his legs spread seductively, his abs so sharp that it's literally impossible for a human to obtain. you turn back to her, her cheeks now even more red than before.

"fuck," she breathes, hanging her head between her shoulders in embarrassment.

you laugh, "you really like that statue, huh?"

"shut up." she groans, holding her face in her hands. "i wasn't even looking at that statue, i didn't know it was a naked dude."

you begin to unravel the gauze as you continue to tease her. you're well aware that ellie was staring at you. and the only reasons she'd try to hide that fact is if she either didn't mean to or if she's into you. and, as someone who's hit on almost daily, you're pretty skilled at noticing when someone likes you. and ellie has a bad crush. its kinda cute, so you decide to act oblivious, just to see how many lies she can make up.

"well, if you weren't looking at the state, what were you looking at?" you ask her, tilting your head to feign innocent curiosity.

"uh," she sputters, her cheeks so hot that it's painful. you raise your brow, urging her to respond. you notice that the tips of her ears are red as well and you almost feel guilty for teasing her like this. "i don't⎯"

"it's fine, ellie," you chuckle, tearing the gauze to have a long strip in your hand. "i'm just picking on you."

"oh. yeah. right." she nods, mentally cursing herself.

you glance back down at the gauze in your hand, shifting it around so it's ready to wrap around. you look back up at ellie before placing one hand under her knee and lifting it a bit. she winces and your heart clenches, "i know, i'm sorry, i just need to⎯"

"quit that," she murmurs, placing her own hand under her knee and pulling it a bit higher up so you can wrap the gauze around her thigh. "quit apologizing. you're helping me, there's nothing to be sorry for."

"for hurting you." you grumble, wrapping the gauze around her thigh thrice before tying it off onto itself and she eases her leg back down onto the chair.

"you're not hurting me," she chuckles. "my leg is hurting me. not you."

you laugh, "so now you're personifying your leg? how much did you drink?"

"hey, i'm trying to comfort you." she defends herself. "i'm not even drunk anymore. getting stabbed in the thigh sobered me up quite a bit, y'know."

you laugh again and ellie finds herself drowning in the wave of emotions that overcomes her. you're like a fucking tsunami of feelings, like an entire ocean coming to wash her away after having constructed a dam to keep them in. regardless of the prior amount, you're enough to overflow it. to take her by surprise and fucking waterboard her with your easy perfection.

"you're doing it again." you say, standing up from your crouched position. ellie looks up at you, her eyes following your every movement as though by instinctive impulse.

"doing what?" she asks dumbly.

you chuckle, holding your hand out to help her to her feet. "staring at the naked dude statue."

"oh no, please don't make that a thing." she groans.

"it's already a thing, baby." you respond as she takes your hand to aid her in hauling herself up. the sound of the nickname is enough to make her head spin, even more than it already is from having stood up so abruptly. her cheeks burn and you fucking love it. seeing ellie blush is your favorite way to see her; considering how stoic and indifferent she usually is, to see her flustered like this is surreal. and to be able to do it so easily, too? yeah.

ellie drapes an arm over your shoulders, using you as a crutch as the two of you stagger toward the door. you push it open with a boisterous creak, the frigid air stinging your cheeks and hands instantly. but the coldness isn't what shocks you. it's the small flakes of ice that dust through the air.

"it's snowing," you murmur, staring up at the starry sky in awe. a smile warms your features in spite of the chill. "oh, i've always loved the snow."

ellie, frankly, has never much cared for the snow. but the moment she sees you looking up at it like this, she can't help but see the beauty in it; rather the beauty that stands in it. but still, regardless of witticism, she ends up adoring the snow from this day on, the sparkly elegance of the flakes alluring against the biting shivery it induces. the way one is only able to within it for short increments almost adds to its magnetism, making one yearn for more whilst simultaneously rushing to be out of it.

the two of you saunter down the sidewalk toward the nearby inn you'd discussed priorly. ellie leans on you heavily, her limp slowing you down so it almost takes half an hour to walk two blocks. but, once you two finally arrive at the motel, the results are just as you'd hoped.

the innkeeper, once having recognized you, agrees to not ask questions nor to make you pay in exchange for a week of free alcohol at your cabernet. with that, he passes you a key and assigns you two a shared room down the hall.

the inn is old and dilapidated. the floorboards creak with each step, the windows are all stained and foggy, the wallpaper is torn and chipped in placed, cobwebs lining the corners and walls. but the room is, at least, a bit better than all else. there's a small dusty bed in one corner a dresser in the other. a small window files moonlight into the space, a chipped wooden nightstand to the side of the bed. you help to ease ellie onto the bed, the mattress creaking under her weight.

she tips her head back with a sigh, muscles relaxing against the mattress as she finds herself rather grateful to be able to rest her limbs.

"how's your leg?" you ask her tentatively, standing to the side of the bed wearing a weary expression. you're unsure on how to go about this; do you make jokes as to carry on with the usual badinage or do you take this seriously because she's fucking injured?

ellie glances up, the gentility of your voice almost foreign. when she sees your evident trepidation, she softens and pats the empty space on the mattress beside her. "who's the awkward one now?"

you huff out a laugh, "still you."

you step forward, the floor creaking noisily under your feet. though, if you found the floorboards to be clamorous, the bed is even worse. the mattress squeaks under you, springs poking through the thin material so you can feel them under your butt and thighs. it's extremely uncomfortable, but you say nothing.

ellie watches you closely, her eyes sharp and steady. once you're sitting beside her, your posture awkwardly straightened, she can't help but stare. you're still wearing your heels and frilly burlesque clothes, but your black overcoat shields the attire completely. but she knows what resides underneath and she almost aches to know of it.

"i'm never drinking alcohol again." ellie groans before flopping backward, the bed announcing her every movement. her legs remain hanging off the side, as she lands on her back, auburn hair splayed across the dusty duvet.

"how much did you even have?" you question, leaning back on your hand to loom over her face. "you didn't seem that drunk to me."

"four glasses of gin rickey." she says, narrowing her eyes as she attempts to do the math in her head to puzzle out the percentage. in the end, she gives up and just gazes up at you. "i just wish i was sober for your performance."

your cheeks suddenly feel hot at the insinuation. "it wasn't even that good."

"are you kidding?" she scoffs, in genuine disbelief at your statement. "you were fucking amazing tonight. literally all i could think was 'god, i wish i was sober so she wasn't so goddamn blurry'."

"seriously?" you laugh, unintentionally leaning a bit closer as you're caught up in the incredulous humor of her statement. despite your lack of attention, the act doesn't go unnoticed by ellie. every nerve in her body ignites as your face inadvertently grows nearer, her instincts screaming at her to reach out and touch you; nothing lustful about it, just the pure need to hold you. to be near you.

as your laughter dies down, you notice how close the two of you are. your breath hitches, but you don't move away. ellie looks so perfect like this, under you with her pupils all blown and her hair all unkempt. you find yourself staring at her.

"naked dude statue?" she whispers, the inside joke only adding to the intimacy of the moment.

you nod, eyes flicking between her eyes and her lips. in a whisper, you confirm, "naked guy statue."

honestly, looking back on it, that's a quite strange thing to say before kissing someone for the first time. but then again, nothing about yours and ellie's relationship is necessarily normal. she's your bodyguard and you're an esteemed stripper who sells illegal alcohol, for god's sake. not to mention, it's your second day of knowing each other and ellie has been stabbed with a shard of broken glass via your insane coworker.

but the details hardly matter in the moment of it. because everything else blurs when your lips meet hers, the entire world suddenly gone quiet. it begins gentle, her mouth barely moving as though she's scared to do something wrong. but once the two of you find a mutual rhythm, you're grabbing her face and shifting atop her.

she remains sprawled across the bed as you straddle her hips, knees placed on either side of her body. the kiss ventures farther from unsure benign and closure to vehement desperation. you cradle her face in your hands, her own hands coming up to hold you by the hips.

the flow is suddenly interrupted when you try to shift more comfortably, completely clouded by desire that you don't notice your weight being pressed against her wound. ellie's grip on your hips tightens, the kiss breaking as she yanks her head back in a wince. your eyes widen in realization, guilt gripping you by the throat.

"fuck," you breathe, instantly moving to get off of her, "i'm so sorry."

"no." she says, almost pleadingly. she's still holding you by the hips when she sits up and attempts to guide you back on top of her. "no, i'm fine. don't stop."

your brows furrow. you hurt her, you were so caught up in the moment that you caused her pain. and yet, here she is, just as needy as you in spite of the pain. fucking ellie williams, everyone. laughter bubbles in your chest as you give in, returning to your place atop her lap.

"what?" her cheeks are burning bright red. "are you laughing at me?"

you're still giggling when you press a kiss to her lips, "you're just so perfect."

she's still confused, but doesn't much care for answers when you're kissing her like this. so she simply nods, feigning cognizance as she pulls you impossibly closer to her.

it's just as she reaches to unbutton your coat when the door swings wide open and the innkeeper comes sweeping in, the poor old man unaware. "oh, i forgot to⎯" his words are cut off when he realizes what he'd just walked in on. you and ellie both turn to look at him.

you're sitting on her lap, one of her hands on your chest as the other is on your hip. it's no mistaking what was going on here. the elderly innkeeper curses, covering his eyes before promptly exiting the room and shutting the door behind him, his previous reason for entry completely forgotten.

you and ellie stare at the closed door wordlessly for a split second, only for the silence to be ended by you bursting into laughter. you turn back to ellie, laughing your ass off as she soon joins in. you press your forehead to hers, eyes shut as you struggle to catch your breath. her eyes, on the other hand, remain wide open as she stares at you, admiring the scene before her ⎯ the ambiance of a moonlit motel room, the sound of your melodic laughter, the feel of your body on her lap, the sight of your smile and shut eyes. fucking hell.

when ellie accepted this job, she hadn't expected to be roped into such deep shit. and by 'deep shit' she means falling in love with a vedette.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo @kasqnxx @xlovla @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @shawangel @defnoteleonor @fatbootymuncher

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 fic taglist @prettygirlfemme @bartshart @autisticintr0vert @mellifluousgirll @jastoo46 @femmepoet

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heedeungsha · 2 months ago

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TRIO `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

+ Content warning(s): fluff, relationship with danceracha, Leeknow’s girlfriend!reader, Hyunjin’s girlfriend!reader, Felix’s girlfriend!reader, dancer!reader

Danceracha as your bf!danceteacher

. ⋆౨ৎ˚

Lee Minho

Leeknow was your dance teacher before your boyfriend-I mean, it is how you guys met. You were merely a trainee and he’d secretly been watching you outside the dancer room practicing alone, before finally growing the courage to help you. He watched intensely behind you, leaned up against wall while studying your mirrored reflection. You keep your eyes trained forward, so you don’t get distracted by the way his muscles flex when he crossed him arms over his broad chest. It’s a set up and he knows it too, slowly walking up to you without a word as he places his hands on your waist, twisting your body the correct way.

Leeknow’s strict with teaching choreos but luckily, he doesn’t go hard on you like he does his members. “No, try again,” He’d yell out from behind you and you’d do as he said. “No try ag-“ he’d call out not even 5 seconds later. “Leeknow!” you’d sigh, dropping your hand your side just before earning a toothy smile from him. He’d joke around a lot to lighten the thick hot air filling the practice room.

Leeknow would kiss your forehead, “Good job, baby. Next time, try this.” He’d show you how to prefect the step before backing up to let you do it on your own. Despite his stringent teachings, he’d hold in a laugh every time you fell on your ass from moving too fast. You’d pout, feeling frustrated with the step you’re stuck on and he’d come over to pick you up-after laughing up a storm in the corner.

Leeknow would pat you on the ass each time you got the choreo right, and they quickly become rough. His hand would then stay there as he turned you against the mirror, and made out up with you. It was like his way of letting you know you did good. “Same time tomorrow?” He’d joke, knowing he’d be more strict just to tease you.

Hwang Hyunjin

Hyunjin was one of those teachers that took over, showing you how to dance the choreo the right way-with powerful charisma. He’d make you sit back and watch him dance first . His feirceful sharp movements were attractive, highlighting his passionate dancing skills. His duality when he danced was jaw dropping-it’s insane how he’d go from to cute and giggly to intense and serious once the song started playing. That’s what attract you to him in the first place, before finding the courage to talk to him after catching him alone in the practice room without his members.

“Okay your turn love,” Hyunjin would pull you to the middle to learn the choreo with him. “5, 6, 7, 8..” the chorus would play and he’d begin dancing, and you’d follow his movements. As you slowly start to get it, your cheeks would heat up everything he’s attack you with kisses, encouraging you to keep getting better. “You’re doing so good love,” he’d shower you with warm praises.

Hyunjin would study the way your body moved, correcting you whenever you missed a step or did it wrong. He was also your teacher first, knowing how important dance was to you. He loved that you didn’t take offense to his advice and it only fueled you to become a good of a dancer as he is. By the end of it, you were both a sweaty mess, his long blond hair glued to his forehead and his ends sticking to his neck and yours in a ruffled bun. He was irresistible, rolling his sleeves up while showing off his muscular arms. “Focus love,” he’d snap his fingers at your gawking and laugh a storm when you rolled your eyes. He’d help you practice all day until you got it right and picked you up, twirling around the room with you in his arms when you did.

Lee Yongbok

Felix is patient with you. He still remembers he’s your boyfriend after all. To him, he’d met you outside of being an idol, being your dance teacher was just a bonus to be around you everyday. His the kind of dance teacher that makes learning a new chore fun. He’d crack jokes to make you laugh when you miss a step in the routine or tease you, and plant kisses every time you remembered a step. “Princess, it’s okay,” he assured you when you feel frustrated with the choreo. He’d give you space as the practice room grew hot or stood off to the side as he danced with you lazily. Still, you’d catch him smiling at your progress.

Felix would slowly show you, softly holding your waist so you didn’t hurt yourself as he guided you movements. “When you turn, you have to move with the beat, follow the flow princess,” he coos in your ears as he explains how to do a certain step which left you blushing at the thought of his lips against your skin. He’d only laugh, patting your ass to make you focus. He knows how you’re a slow learner so he takes his time with you, making sure you understood everything he said. Apart from being your dance teacher, he’s your proctector first—watching you attentively and quickly running before you can hit the ground.

“Let’s maybe take a break and get some food. I don’t want my princess to stress herself out.“ Felix says, trying to lighten the mood when you get frustrated with how long it’s taking you to learn the choreo. He’d buy you your favorite ramen and once you were full, he’d make an excuse to go home and sleep before going back to the practice room to start again.

. ⋆౨ৎ˚

I enjoyed writing this a lot! Something small and cute. Send more requests (🐹)

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meowsuguru · 5 months ago

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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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floralscented · 2 months ago

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( AFTERCARE ) . . .ㅤㅤONE !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ─ ㅤㅤㅤㅤTHE new rock band in town has some nerve, causing mayhem in the venue next to your studio every night. but how do you stay MAD at the lead singer when he looks at you like that ?

PART ONE. good girl faith !ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, jensen is an asshole. sassy!reader. fictional bandmates. fictional locations. maybe improper ballet terminology. reminder that this is a slowburn!!

parts will get longer, probably, as relationship develops.

ㅤㅤㅤ─ word count: 1.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprev partㅤㅤㅤ.ㅤㅤㅤmasterlistㅤㅤㅤ.ㅤㅤㅤnext partㅤㅤㅤ.

ㅤㅤA/N. i do not know ballet terminology so if anything is wrong forgive me i'm just a girl romanticizing a bad boy / good girl dynamic </3 if it's right though ... i literally knew all of this and never doubted it!!

ㅤTHERE was a lot of pressure riding on you this ballet season. principal dancer was a hard role to achieve, and after months of painstaking practice, you’d managed it. with winter fast approaching ( even though, in dallas, it was hardly noticeable at all — it felt more like a proper autumn than anything ) the laurel dance academy was putting on sleeping beauty.

and you’d managed to snag aurora.

not only was it a feat in itself getting into laurel, the most highly sought after dance academy on the upper side of dallas, but you’d gotten a lead in your second year attending the college. it was something to be proud of, of course — but not something to let yourself get caught up on.

that was why you were at the dance studio that fateful night.

it was cooler than usual, crisp air breezing between the streetlights and dancing through the scattering leaves, as you made your way across the street to destiny dance. the one at laurel, of course, was much better, but it was on the entire other side of town than your apartment.

destiny was across the street and accessible, and so you spent the majority of your time there when not at the academy. that was your life summed up — dancing for practice, and dancing for learning.

the workers at destiny knew you by name at that point, and even gave you a key to let yourself in whenever you needed, since you tended to only have time to drop in after they’d closed.

you sat on the wooden floor and started the process of removing your shoes and trading them for your pointe shoes, when there was a loud unmistakable thump from the wall.

the building to the right of destiny dance was a small coffee shop — and therefore closed. the building to the left, as far as you knew, was empty. vacant. it was once a concert venue, but it hadn’t been such in a long time.

you brushed it off after a couple of minutes, making sure to see if it happened again, and when it didn’t, you finished lacing the pointe shoes up your ankles.

even though you didn’t have to when you were practicing, you took dance extremely seriously. it was just how you were. it was your passion, had been since you were young; that was why you were here tonight, after all. when you could have come in a simple leotard and skirt, you’d chosen a sleek black one that you loved, and a pale pink skirt that every student at laurel was provided. the best of the best, because looking the best meant performing the best, and that was what you strived for.

it was not even a split second before you’d propped your leg up on the balance beam to stretch out your thigh when the thumping started up again. it was easier to tell this time, where it’d come from: the left. the abandoned venue.

and it wasn’t just a single thump like the first, it was a series of them. pounding, rattling the mirrors lining the studio’s walls. you watched, in disbelief, as the glass shook and rattled against the plaster behind it.

fury bubbles up in your blood, and before you know it, you’re stomping toward the studio’s front doors. in all of the time that you’d been practicing at destiny dance, no one had broken into the abandoned building next door. it was on a highly populated street in the city, for christ’s sake! and the fact that someone had broken in, and was practically flaunting it—

yeah, you were a bit angry. even if you hadn’t come to practice that night, you would’ve still had to hear the blaring speakers and the thumping bass. your apartment complex was across the street, and from your venture outside, it was evident that it was just as loud out there as it felt inside the studio.

to your shock, there were lights on inside of the venue. shoddily strung ones, sure, but lights nonetheless. when you went to try the door, you found it not only unlocked, but gapped. whoever broke in wasn’t just asking to be caught, they were inviting the authorities right in.

the venue was small, but much more spacious than how it looked on the outside. there was a huge open space directly in front of the stage, a thin coating of dust turning the glossy wood a dull gray color, and behind a barricade, rows upon rows of black seats.

everything looked a bit dusty, but not decimated, like you expected. when you heard from other locals that sunset blvd was abandoned, you expected it to be in ruins.

what you did not expect, of course, was for there to be a full band on the expansive stage directly to the left of you. not a single one of the four people on stage noticed you, which was expected. the music they were blaring out was loud enough that it would mask the sound of you slamming the glass entrance door behind you.

so, you stomped your happy little ass right down the center of the rows of seats. one of the seats was pulled down from its folded position and held a cooler, lid propped open and exposing icy water and handfuls of beer cans. littered around your feet were the remnants of what they must have been drank already.

someone must have noticed you while you’d been eyeing their mess, because the music comes to a slow, decrescendoing halt. a loud, echoing guitar strum fades out slowly.

your eyes lift, and you’re met with the most piercing green ones you’ve ever seen. and of course, you don’t let this deter you at all, because you’re infuriated, but it’s an observation you clock instantly. along with the fact that they belong to what must be the lead singer.

he has dark brown hair to his chin, sweaty strands strung across his forehead. facial hair is neatly trimmed along his jawline and above his full lips. he’s wearing a cut-off sleeve black t-shirt with a band you’ve never heard of printed on the front, exposing thick muscled arms covered in ink black tattoos down to the knuckles. each hand adorned at least one silver ring.

and he was looking right at you, something unreadable in his gaze — but amusement definitely prominent. his eyes raked over you like he was undressing you slowly with nothing but that gaze. and it took only a few seconds longer for you to realize why.

“are you lost?” the man asks, and god, does he sound arrogant. he’s still got that stupid look in his eyes, too, firm muscled arms crossed over his broad chest.

your anger comes back tenfold when one of the guys behind him holding a guitar strums it again, and the sound echoes through the building. “no,” you have to shout it, and that only makes your fury more red hot and blistering, “i’m not lost. can you turn your music down?”

“no can do.” the man gives a solid shake of his head back and forth, and that’s it. he’s turning around like this entire conversation means nothing and is nothing, and he’s dismissing you.

and that just won’t do.

“hey, i’m not done here,” you shout again, even though it’s not necessary this time. if he won’t take you seriously, then necessary measures have to be taken, don’t they? “i’m trying to practice next door, and i can’t even hear myself think with your stupid guitar—”

“bass,” he interjects over his shoulder, and you can’t see his face from his elevated stature, but you can see the dimple in the cheek that’s turned to face you. “that one’s not the guitar. reggie, can you…”

“yeah, on it,” says whoever the hell reggie is, and before your eyes can even flick to which of the three bandmates surrounding the man it could be, the loudest guitar riff you’ve ever heard echoes throughout the empty venue.

you must physically flinch, because the lead singer’s mouth turns up in an infuriating smirk. your expression, though, never falters from the irritation it’s been since you walked in.

“that,” he shouts over the onslaught of sound, “is guitar.”

“are you done?” you ask when the sound trails off into static again, and then silence.

lead singer shakes his head. takes a couple of steps toward you again, his booted steps echoing on the wooden floor of the stage. he bends, kneeling, and even that has him still looking down on you. “why are you practicing if the place next door is closed?” he asks, his softened voice twinged with a playful lilt.

“why are you here if the place is shut down?” you shoot back, your arms crossed firmly over your chest. still, though, the bastard has the audacity to try and steal a glance at your covered chest. “can you just turn the speakers down or something? why are you making such a fuss?”

“you’re right,” he concedes, and it makes you downright bristle at how easily he does now, now that you’ve stood here like a fool for ten minutes, arguing with a man you don’t know and having your eardrums blown out. “you just tell me when it’s good, princess, and i’ll stop.”

you open your mouth to ask what the hell that means, but he’s already walking away again. his stride is arrogant and slow, footsteps echoing again on the wood, until he stops in front of one of the speakers.

his index and thumb close around a small knob on the bottom of the speaker, his eyebrows shooting up in a silent question as he watches your reaction. reggie, you assume, starts mindlessly strumming his guitar again. ever so slightly, the sound quietens.

“more,” you say, your lips in a firm line.

the lead singer’s lips, though, quirk at the corners. he complies. it’s better, but not nearly enough.

“more,” you say again, more firmly this time, your foot tapping in your irritation. he was toying with you, and you knew it — but it was working, and that was what was getting you so angry.

again, he concedes, and still, it’s loud enough that the entire room is filled with the sound of a guitar’s melody.

“jesus christ, more,” you say, and it’s lucky that the guitar is so loud, because you do stomp your foot in punctuation out of your fury.

finally, finally, the sound is quiet enough that it doesn’t make your eardrums feel like they’re bleeding. the smile you shoot to the lead singer is sickly sweet and not at all genuine.

you can’t even feel that satisfaction for very long, though, because he’s wearing a smile nearly identical.

“what are you looking at me like that for?” you snap, a little too loudly this time, now that the room isn’t riddled with the background feedback of the speakers and the hum of the band’s music.

the lead singer’s shoulders lift in a little shrug, and even from your distance, you can see the glimmer in his green eyes. “just… thinking about how sexy it would be to have those pretty pink lips saying that in a different context.”

your face immediately reddens. there’s one, two, three seconds before you realize there isn’t a snarky comeback loaded up in the chamber, not to that, and you turn promptly on your heel to stomp out of the building.

it isn’t until your leg is propped on the balance beam again, thigh muscle aching with the stretch, that the mirrors begin to rattle again.

and you realize, too, that there were two speakers on that stage.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFEEDBACK & REBLOGS APPRECIATED!! < 3

tags! @happyladyduck, @casatoan, @mo0nwalker, @manicjk, @stereotypicalbarbie, @inpraise0fbacchus !

#──★ dahlia's jrnl #──★ aftercare #rockstar!jensen x ballet dancer!reader #rockstar!jensen #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen x reader #jensen x you #fem!reader #jensen ackles drabble

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tumblerislovetumblerislife · 1 month ago

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it's sapphic time (mind the rating!)

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moonliesty · 9 months ago

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latenighttalkinqwp · 1 month ago

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kk arnold x dancer!reader, maybe some smut too

kk arnold x dancer!gf

as they finished calling your entry number and the applause quieted down, the walk onto the stage felt like forever. your eyes darted across the room, looking for a specific pair to meet yours. the first few beats of your song began to play, and your mind immediately went quiet. this was your last time competing on stage before college, and you knew you couldn’t risk it. you have put every bit of your soul into perfecting this solo for this exact moment, and everyone in the room was able to tell. weather it was your technique being near to perfect, or the story being told with your body, the judges were loving it.

as you knee-dropped to the floor, you slowly looked up and met her eyes across the room. her smile was wide, and her phone was recording this moment for you. the emotion on kk’s face was evident, and it gave you the motivation to continue performing to the best of your ability. she has been with you training all these months, and she’s one of the few people who know how hard you have wanted this. being on the stage at nationals your senior year has been your forever dream— and now you’re finally here. “bum roll up…hold this leg. dear god hold this leg baby.” kk whispered, having every moment of your choreography memorized.

the angle of your body shifted, and your leg slowly began to come up into a développé for five counts. your toes were pointed, and your back slowly began to arch as you fell into a back-walkover. the audience cheered, as you began to walk off stage. your eyes were watering, and your team ran to hug you as the audience was standing to applaud you. “that was so beautiful.” your teacher whispered in your ear, hugging you tightly. you muttered a quiet thank you, just trying to get out from backstage. as the next number was called, you were finally able to break away and start looking for your person. kk was doing the same thing, looking around the convention center looking for your navy blue costume.

“kk!” you waved, speeding up your walk as you noticed her in the distance. she smiled, pushing past a few other dancers to finally pull you into a tight embrace. “you did so amazing baby.” she immediately said, wrapping her arms around your waist. you could feel your cheeks heat up, her compliments still having that affect on you. “thank you.” you mumbled, pulling back from her embrace slowly. you began to look around for a more quiet place, the constant flow of people overwhelming you. “i found a place we could go when i was walking over here, cmon.” she said, knowing what you needed. her arm wrapped around your waist, as she led you to an empty meeting room that the convention center had left open. you immediately sat on one of the couches, pulling kk down with you. she laughed, handing you a bottle of water she had bought for you earlier.

“i’m so proud of you.” she leaned in, pressing a small kiss to your red lips. you pouted, “what kind of kiss was that?” you said. “i didn’t want to mess up your stage makeup.” you rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for a deep kiss. kk’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into her lap. your emotions were still going haywire, the adrenaline from performing still surging through you. “you looked so good up there.” kk mumbled, pulling away to start leaving kissed down your neck. you let out a quiet moan, throwing your head back. her hands ran up and down your open back, and your body covered in chills. “kamorea..” your eyes flutter shut, as your body begins to melt into hers. “what is it baby?” she pulls you back in for a kiss, her hands wrapping your waist firmly. “mm..need you.” you say against her lips, still kissing her intensely.

“are you sure? so many people could hear us..” she leans up to whisper in your ear, then kisses down to the nape of your neck. “fuck- yes kk. please” before you could even finish your sentence, she had begun pulling your costume off, and leaving kisses down your your bare chest. your breathing picked up, as you pulled her shirt off quickly. she began to pull the rest of your costume off, and pulling down your tights gently so they didn’t rip. “you looked so good up there baby-“ she rubbed her hand up to the inside of your thigh, feeling the heat coming from your core. your hands come out to hold the back of the couch, as kk slowly begins to take off your underwear. it all happens fast after that- her slim fingers sliding into your core, while her thumb rubs circles on your clit. “fuck- oh my god.” you moan, biting down on your bottom lip. “you feel so good baby- so wet f’me” she rasps out, her fingers pumping in and out of you at a fast pace.

you can feel the knot in your stomach forming, and your hips begin to grind against her hand. “i’m so close- kk. oh my god.” your hand comes up to your breast, as you throw your head back. “that’s it baby, come for me” her fingers slow down for a moment, as you slowly come down from the high. kk slides her fingers out slowly, pulling them up to her mouth. your slick had covered her pants and nearly her entire hand- but that clearly didn’t bother her as she licked off her fingers. “you did so good baby.” she kisses your cheek, trying to find something to help clean you off. your chest is still heaving as you are trying to catch your breath, and your mascara is definitely running. “i can’t believe we just fucked at a dance competition- kamorea!” you giggled, pulling her back down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “what? don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” she laughs, helping you put your costume back on.

“you’re lucky i love you.” you both laugh, trying to make each other look presentable again.

- thank you so much for reading all the way through!

- guys this has been in the drafts for a hot minute… but lmk if this is good pls ( im not much of a smut writer so be kind 😣 )

#kk arnold #kk arnold headcannons #kk arnold x fem!reader #kk arnold x reader #dancer #kk arnold smut #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #jazzies masterlist

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corrodedcoffins-blog · 10 months ago

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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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sentientcave · 2 months ago

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Let's Riot!

When the Reader St arena gets bought out from under them by Morgan’s vengeful ex, Pippa Graves, The Reader St Riots suddenly find themselves without a practice space. Pippa may say she’ll play nice, but Morgan knows that she’ll either have to get back under Pippa’s manicured thumb or the whole team will be out on their ass in no time. Problem is, the only other practice space around that’s not booked up to the tits belongs to Jo Price, captain of the Femme41, and well… Morgan has a bit of ugly history with her too.

Still, Jo’s at least a little more reasonable than Pippa, and Morgan may hate to beg, but she’d hate to see the Riots disbanded more. And well, maybe there’s room for a little cooperation, especially when their teams get along so well.

Contains: Lesbians! Almost everyone is a woman (Alex is NB and there are like. A few men mentioned.) and most of them are gay, OCs: Readers and OCs from a bunch of my projects and also Bambi and Bricks who belong to the esteemed @dragonnarrative-writes , Roller Derby!, complicated dating histories, this is just a fun little palette cleanser because I got sad working on one of my other projects lmao, alcohol consumption, cannabis consumption

~3k - 18+ MDNI

“Frank, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Come on, sweetheart, calm down—”

“I am calm!” Morgan snapped.

Chelsea quickly put an arm in front of Morgan and dragged her back a step. Calling Morgan sweetheart was a great shortcut to her blowing her top. “You are definitely not calm.” She looked back at Frank. He stood between them and the doors to the arena, a short, balding man that looked a bit sweaty and nervous in the low light. “You couldn’t give us any notice?”

“Look, I’ll return your deposits for the month—”

“That’s not the issue!” Morgan's brown eyes flashed with fury, her jaw tight, like she wanted to bite the man, which would be distinctly unhelpful.

Chelsea dragged her back another step. “It is a little the issue. What happened? We’ve never had any trouble, we’ve always paid on time, there’s no reason why you’d drop us like this.”

“New owners,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry, they cancelled everyone. You were just at the bottom of the call list, and you got here before I could.”

“New owners! Since when was it for sale?”

“Hell if I know. They don’t tell me shit either. All I know is that Gerry came in here with some blond bi—" He thought twice about his wording, giving Morgan another nervous glance. "--Woman and she’s the boss now.”

Morgan walked in a tight circle, looking up at the sky, hands on her hips. This wasn’t happening. It didn’t have to be her. Maybe it was some other blond woman with money to burn. “Fuck.”

The doors behind Frank opened. “Oh, hey sugar,” a too-familiar voice rang out, southern accent distinctive. “Fancy meetin' you here.”

Morgan turned around sharply. “Pippa.”

Chelsea groaned. “Oh here we go.”

“Go back to your office, Frank. I think I’ve got this from here.” Phillipa Graves patted Frank on the shoulder and walked past him. “Morgan, I’ve missed you. You never return my calls anymore.”

“Is that what this is about?” Morgan shifted her grip on her bag, glancing toward the parking lot. Bricks and Doll were lingering at the edge, talking to each other and looking back with worried expressions. They knew the history between Morgan and Pippa well enough to be wary of what might happen next. “You’re gonna steal our practice space because I won’t call you back?”

“Aw, honey, don’t be like that. We’re all big girls. I figure we can learn to share. Why don’t you join us tonight? And early next week we can grab dinner and make a new schedule. I’m sure there’s a way to make sure we’re all… satisfied.” Pippa twisted one of Morgan’s curls around her finger, leaning in close. Even ready for practice, she looked perfect as always, more like she was about to model for a roller skate advertisement than actually practice. Sleek blonde hair swept back in a low braid, a tight pink tank top, leggings that clung to her thighs, pads on, skates off, preparation interrupted by all the fuss she was certainly expecting.

“I’m the one that does the scheduling, usually,” Chelsea interjected. “Maybe it’s us that should get dinner.”

“If you like,” Pippa said smoothly, barely sparing Chelsea a glance. “The more the merrier, of course. Though I do have some personal business to talk over with Morgan too. Suppose it can wait.” She tapped Morgan under the chin with her first knuckle. “Come on, sugar, practice with us. We’re not so bad. And you’re all already here, ain’t you?”

“We’ll have to talk it over.”

“Course. Y’all come on in when you’re done talkin’.” Pippa winked at Morgan and sauntered back inside.

Chelsea sighed, elbowing Morgan as they walked over to the others. The rest of the team had gathered around Bricks, her height marked among the group of shorter women. “You’re gonna have to sleep with her.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “I’d really rather not.”

“She’s not going to be reasonable,” Billie pointed out. “She’s pure evil. She’s the head of the PTA at Ellie’s school, and she runs that shit like the navy. She’s gonna bend us over a barrel to get what she wants.”

“Have you ever tried not having antagonistic relationships with your exes?” Bricks asked. “Because that’s what I do, and no one has bought a whole arena just to fuck with me.”

“Yet,” Doll said reassuringly. “It could still happen.”

“The whole team is awful,” Bambi said. “One of them works in my office, and she’s a real— Well, I don’t like her.”

“Harsh words, DB.” Bricks propped her hands on her hips. “We can suck it up for one night, a free practice is a free practice. And if you have to flutter your eyelashes at her the whole time, you’re gonna do it.” She pointed at Morgan accusingly. “This is your fault.”

“It is not!”

“It is,” Chelsea said solemnly, fixing her pink bun from on top of her head to low on the nape of her neck to fit under her helmet. “Pussy game is clearly too strong. Maybe try being a worse fuck.”

“She can’t.” Bricks gently turned Morgan around so that she was facing the doors, and nudged her forward a step. “She doesn’t know how.”

Chelsea turned fully toward the others, walking backward. “Alright, drills only, we’re not going to let them goad us into a scrimmage, they’re gonna play dirty as hell with no refs, and we can’t afford an injury this close to a game. Keep it loose, and if anyone hassles you, come to me, or come to Bricks. Do not tell Morgan or she’s gonna punch someone and we’re gonna lose our space for good.”

“I’m not!”

Bricks laughed and caught Chelsea’s arm, spinning her before she hit the edge of the door. “Yes you are, Morgan. Stay on your best behaviour. Maybe even try being charming.”

Bunny nudged Dancer, grinning. “If you’d joined up last year, like I told you to, you could have been here for the whole explosion. It was great.”

“Great?” Billie asked, raising her eyebrows. “Were we watching the same breakup?”

Bricks glanced over her shoulder warningly. “Save it for drinks, ladies, or Morgan’s gonna make us skate line drills till we drop.”

They dropped their bags along the benches and geared up, watching the Shadows zip around the track. The Shadows were mean, not just on the track, but off too, in that sugar sweet way that left you wondering if you were just reading into it. They were a pretty well-rounded team, and coordinated, thanks to Pippa. She did nothing in half-measures. It seemed impossible that she’d be able to raise children, run school events, coach a junior team as well as an adult one, somehow have a job on top, and still have time to run around keeping two relationships secret from each other for nearly eight months, but Pippa was the kind of woman who really could have it all.

The Riots were… A good team. Pippa had poached two of their players during the breakup drama, and Pepper had moved back home to take care of her grandmother, and they were still trying to get back to where they had been a year ago. Kitten Caboodle and Break Dancer were pretty solid for fresh meat, but with a small team and only four of them with more than a few years experience, it was rough going out there. Hard not to get demoralized when Kortac had beaten them 240 to 60 during their last game. No one’s fault really— Bunny and Sweetpea had been out sick and neither Kitty or Dancer were prepared to jam more than a few rounds with players that rough. They’d gotten shaken, so Morgan and Billie had done most of the jams. Nobody and Freddie Kruger had just torn right through their weakened pack while Morgan and Bill tried to wrestle their way past Queenie.

Once Dancer and Kitty got more confident, they’d be hard to catch. Kitty was tiny, and Dancer was agile, but they both needed more time. Doll and Bambi, who had joined a little over a year ago had turned out to be a highly effective set of blockers— Small, but sturdy and hard to knock down. When they were out on the track with Bricks or Chelsea, they were nigh impossible to get past, which would leave their fourth blocker free to assist the jammer, in an ideal world.

The ideal world simply had five more players in it. Maybe more, since no one but Morgan and Bricks made it to every game.

Later on, worn out and sweaty from practice, crammed into the biggest booth at a diner that was roughly equidistant between everyone’s homes and the arena (and the young man that worked the fryers had a massive crush on Sweetpea, which meant everyone got more fries), they debriefed.

“That’s gonna be tricky for me to stomach long term,” Morgan admitted. “I’m gonna sleep with Pip if I have to be too nice.”

“You don’t actually have to sleep with her, you know,” Bricks said.

“No… I’m gonna.”

“We can find somewhere else,” Billie suggested. “I don’t want Morgan and Pip to get back together, it was so annoying when they were. All in favour of Morgan not fucking Pippa, say aye.” She raised her hand to note the measure.

“Aye,” they intoned together, all raising their hands as well.

“Simone says the Femme41 practice out of Jo’s warehouse now. Pippa did the same thing to them eight months ago. I bet they’d let us skate there.” Bricks tossed another fry into her mouth. “If someone behaves herself.”

Morgan scoffed. “It’s impossible for me to date another one of her girlfriends, her relationships hardly last the weekends now.”

Bunny mouthed the word Pippa at Kitty and Dancer.

“Then you won’t have a problem asking her,” Chelsea said. “Maybe bake her something nice as an overture. A pie or something. You make good pies.”

Morgan winced. “We have a game against them this weekend. We could ask her all together.”

Billie shook her head. “No, this one’s on you. Captain to captain conversation. You have Chelsea’s schedule key, you can negotiate for a time that works.”

“And if she says no? She hates my guts.”

“Wear something low cut and bake her a pie,” Bricks suggested. “Maybe just go wearing nothing but an apron.”

“I’ve got one that says Born To Be A Lesbian Housewife,” Doll said. “You can borrow it. It’s very frilly.”

Bambi giggled. “I’ve got one that says Vagitarian.”

Doll laughed too, knocking her head against Bambi’s shoulder. “That’s way better, Morgan, borrow that one.”

"I'm not going to-- Did you people hear me when I said she hates my guts?"

"She still has eyes, Morgan," Bricks said. "And you have nice tits."

"If you don't sort this out, we might have to disband to other teams. And I don't want to. I like you guys." Chelsea looped an arm around Kitty. "We started this team because we wanted to get together and have fun and challenge ourselves without it getting so damn competitive or mean. Bill and I are not going back to the Shadows, and there's no way Bricks wants to go back to Kortac. So put on your big girl panties and a cute dress, and charm Jo into sharing the warehouse with us. Got it?"

"Got it." Morgan sank back into her seat with a groan. I'll talk to her after work tomorrow."

"Good," Billie said, a note of finality in her voice. "Now, did anyone else watch Game of Dragons last night? I have opinions."

By the time Morgan got home, walked Laika, showered, ate cold leftovers out of the fridge and stepped out on her balcony with a joint, it was well past dark, and she was bone tired. Jo was out on her own balcony, feet up, smoking a cigar. She was a thick, barrel chested woman, wearing a tank top and jeans, cigar in one hand, glass of whiskey in the other. Her hair was longer than usual, tucked behind her ears, like she'd been growing it out. It had been a while since Morgan saw her without a hat on.

They acknowledged each other with a curt nod, and Morgan settled into her swing chair, tucking her feet up underneath her. Laika went to the railing to give Jo the biggest, saddest eyes she could.

Jo maybe didn't like Morgan much, but it was hard not to like Laika. The big goofy rottweiler loved almost everyone, and knew exactly how to get what she wanted (big sad eyes, a few pathetic whines, a raised paw, if need be). It was only a minute before Jo was up and leaning over the railing to give Laika a pet.

Usually they didn't speak. The smallest things seemed to spark up into fights between them, and Morgan found it was easier just to keep their interactions to a minimum.

So it was a surprise when Jo spoke first. "Rough night?"

"Yeah. You could say that."

"Want to talk about it?"

“Thank you for pretending to care, but not really.” She grimaced. It really was the perfect opportunity to ask, but it was hard to shake the habit of brushing Jo off.

Jo snorted. “You know, I really preferred fightin’ to this cold shoulder treatment.”

“That’s because you’re a disagreeable sort of woman.”

“That’s the spirit, pet. But you can do better than that. C’mere.”

Morgan glared at her. “No. I’m good where I am actually.” She looked the other way, puffing on the joint. She could ask tomorrow. She wasn’t in a mood to deal with anyone else tonight. Having to smile and play nice with Pippa had been bad enough. She needed a good sleep before she could even pretend to be friendly to anyone else.

She startled when Jo’s thick fingers plucked the joint out of her hand. “Hey! I didn’t invite you over here.”

“Your weed’s better than mine.”

“Probably because I grow it myself. What do you want?”

Jo sat down on the solid little coffee table in front of Morgan, holding her cigar and whiskey glass in one hand. She leaned forward, glass resting lightly on her knee, bleeding condensation into the denim. Mixed drink, then, not straight whiskey. Jo drank the better stuff neat. “Pip called me today.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jo hummed, offering the joint back, blue eyes stern. “Don’t be coy, if you’re fuckin’ her again I’d rather know than get blindsided bumpin’ into her in the hallway.”

“Did she tell you we were?”

Jo’s jaw clenched tight. “She said she was lookin’ forward to seein’ you tonight.”

“Well I’m sure it was super nice for her. She bought my team’s arena. I am gonna have to start fucking her if I want to keep our usual practice slots. She made that… Well about as clear as she ever makes anything.” Morgan handed the joint over again. “So not very, but I still got the gist of it.” She scrunched up Laika’s ears, humming. Laika’s tail solidly thumped against Jo’s shin, bridging the space between them.

“Extortionist,” Jo scoffed.

“Yeah. Pretty much. Bricks said you might take pity on us if I asked nicely. I know you practice out of your warehouse.” Morgan lifted her eyes back up to Jo’s face.

“Is this you askin’ nicely?” Jo leaned forward slightly, her soft stomach spilling over her belt a bit, biceps flexing as she leaned more weight on her arms. “You can do better than that. Not so much as a please.”

“It was not me asking nicely. I had no intention of talking to you until tomorrow, and I’m still not asking until I’ve had at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

“Surprised you’d come to me.”

Morgan looked away first, just like she always did. Jo had an intensity to her that was hard to match, blue eyes drilling into her own like she was looking for faults she could use to crack her open entirely. It was much easier to study the freckles on the top of her shoulder, just above the pinup girl sitting on the curve of a crescent moon that looked rather a lot like her ex wife, Sadie. “I wouldn’t if I had literally any other option. But I have to admit that you are slightly more tolerable than Pippa. Even if you do park half in my spot and fuck squealing college girls at all hours of the night.”

“You don’t need the space. You have a bike.”

“So that gives you the right to park your big-dick pickup truck wherever you please?”

“Sure does, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart! We have one conversation that doesn’t make me want to punch you, and you have to ruin it.”

She grinned, shifting back again. “Not being very nice to someone you want to ask a favour from.”

“I’m not asking the favour until tomorrow. I’m too grumpy to be nice tonight. You invited yourself over and plopped yourself down in front of me and started smoking my weed.” This was not helpful. Why did Jo always manage to get her this worked up? She drew in a centring breath. “No, you’re right, I should be nicer.”

"I did bogart your joint," Jo conceded. "That's on me." Rather than hand it back, she took a long drag, the cherry burning bright all the way down to the folded cardboard filter, and dropped the remains in the ashtray. She leaned forward again, cupping the back of Morgan's neck with a strong hand, and blew smoke directly into Morgan's face. She grinned wickedly when Morgan spluttered a bit. "What's wrong, pet? Thought you wanted me to share better."

"Maybe I am better off negotiating with Pippa," Morgan grumbled, swatting Jo's hand away.

"Hm. Maybe. Why don't you think about how you'll ask me about practice space tomorrow, and I'll get out of your hair." Jo stood up, gave Laika another pat, and climbed back over to her side of the balcony without another word.

Morgan ushered Laika inside, fuming again, and furiously got ready for bed.

She was sure of one thing; Jo Price was going to make a truce between them nigh impossible.

Title card made on Canva - Image Credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 (Stickers are Canva assets) Dividers by @/cafekitsune

#Cave Writing #Calling them the Femme41 is very funny to me because most of them are big hot butches tbh #If you guys want me to make a character appendix with everyone's names/derby names and stories? let me know #COD MW fanfic #yet again the distance from there to here... Immense #141 x OCs (various pairings)#OC x OC (various)#OC: Morgan #Dragon OC: Ronnie “Bricks” Mason #OC: Chelsea Wren #OC: Sweetpea #OC: Doll #Dragon OC: Bambi #OC: Billie #OC: Kitty #God there's so many of them #Jo Price #Phillippa “Pippa” Graves #Fem!141 #Roller Derby AU #Civilian AU #OC: Bunny #OC: Dancer #Bunny and Dancer are from 2 separate cyberpunk universes #And Kitty is from an Omegaverse fic but she is also featured in Honey It's Alright #lmao So many OCs #More of the Femme41 soon #fun fact I have that helmet #also I know those aren't derby skates cut me some slack I'm dealing with free images online lmao #Let's Riot!

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daydreaming-en-pointe · 11 months ago

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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.

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