#so my apologies but no it's just the orchestra...

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

NO WOODWINDS OR BRASS????? as a woodwind player i feel extremely offended /j

OKAY SEE SEE HERE'S THE THING THO-

THEY DONT

THEY DON'T HAVE LUNGS SUE

HOW ON EARTH DO THEY PLAY WOODWINDS IF THEY DON'T HAVE LUNGS

(also i don't know enough about woodwinds or band to actually write an au and i don't wanna misinterpret or insult that community-)

[allurilove]

Yan!Prodigy x Rival you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: enemies to lovers?— not really he falls in love pretty quick, first time kissing, stalking, admitting his feelings, he gets excited by the tiniest sight of skin, he’s delusional, gender neutral reader.

*I played violin for a couple of years, but my knowledge is a bit dusty and it’s been awhile 😬 And sorry for not posting! I’ve been busy with studying for the SAT! He is referred to as “your enemy” and this is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: He’s been on the top of his game for years. He’s known as the most talented violinist, and his ability to play has brought people to tears. All until you came along and threatened his legacy.

He was upset and furious that a nobody like you could win the spot of the first chair. You were now the center of attention, and not him. He wanted to break you down.

But… why did he find himself yearning for you?

He’s been practicing for years. He spent his whole life dedicating to the art of music. His fingers have been numb before, his wrist hurt, and he’s been staring at music sheets for so long— that everything looked like notes to him.

He’s been the first chair. He climbed his way to the top, he earned his reputation, and everyone admires him.

So, a little and measly talent like you shouldn’t have been in his spot. He had to audition for that seat—just like everyone else— but he knew that the directors loved him the moment he stepped on the stage.

He created masterpiece after masterpiece, and he’s a well sought out man.

He heard murmurs and whispers as he sat down behind you. He could feel everyone look at you with fascination, and admiration. He scowled and his grip on the neck of the violin was tight. He imagined ripping you out of the chair, or shoving his bow down your throat.

He had a steely gaze as you turned around to look at the person who had been glaring daggers at you. You smile at him, feeling a bit bad that you’re a newbie who took his usual position.

Why was his heart beating?

“Dont look at me.” The man scowled at you. His face slowly turning pink, and he looked away as you turned to face him again.

For the first time ever, he was distracted. As the show began he could hear his mistakes. He felt his hand shake, and he accidentally pressed down too hard on the string- causing an eerie squeaking noise. He looked up to see what you were doing and you are confident, each note of yours is perfect, and you were clearly the better choice. His eyes slowly widened as he became hypnotized by the way you moved, and the way your hand was so nimble.

“…fuck.” He was falling in love. That has never happened to him before. His body is filled with warmth, his heart fluttered, and he felt like he could float on the wave of happiness. For the first time ever— he felt alive.

The person next to him gently kicked at his chair, and he snapped out of it. He looked back at the sheet, and he realized he lost his place. His eyes and ears frantically tried to figure out where they were.

The show was a nightmare. He got chewed out for the very first time, and he hung his head low. He made multiple mistakes, made a mockery of the whole orchestra, and organization. He apologized to everyone, and he seethed at how people thought he was slipping.

You were the only one to approach him. Your enemy threw his jacket on, ready to leave, but he paused when he saw you.

“Hey… I’m sorry-“

He raised a hand to stop you. “It’s not your fault.” He said curtly, and he grabbed his instrument case. He brushed past you, and quickly made it out of the building. He had to stop and take a breather- leaning on the wall as he felt red cheeks. He always felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement when you came close to him.

That’s when the stalking began. I mean it was a total accident, and he didn’t mean to find your apartment… he just happened to know it was yours, because of the way the melodic sound came from the window. He was across the street, and he was able to see you sway, and play with such emotion. He stood there for what felt like years, and he started to film you.

He would rewatch them at night in his bed. A huge smile on his face as he was able to relive that moment. Before he knew it… he kissed the screen.

He came to practice early in the morning. Your enemy had to keep up a cool facade, and he ignored your little “hello” to him. He sat in his chair, feeling a bit bitter, but he knew it was well deserved. You’re a good violin player, and he was coming to terms with it. He sighed as he brought his instrument out of the case, he took out his tuner, and he started to tune his instrument. He fiddled with the fine tuners, and eventually adjusting the pegs when that didn’t work.

The whole entire time… he glanced at you. His heart swelled up as he saw you take off your jacket, and he gulped as he saw your shoulders.

Ohhh god.

He slightly groaned as his pants felt tighter.

He heard the peg creak, his fingers mindlessly kept turning and turning. He gasped as the string he was trying to tune snapped, he felt it hit his cheek, and out of surprise he dropped his violin.

He was so embarrassed as you helped him get an ice pack. You two were in the tiny hallway, an ice pack in your hand. Instead of handing it to him, you placed it on his cheek for him. You made him feel better, told a little joke about what happened and he let out a chuckle.

He saw you smile and step closer to him. Was this seriously happening? He immediately kissed you back as you pressed against him, one arm around your waist and the other on the back of your head. You tasted wonderful.

He started to moan out your name, your hand now down his pants, and he arched his back. His hands then gripped at the brick wall, his hips jerked with the movement, and he felt his orgasm coming pretty close.

He felt you pull down his pants and boxers, and you got down onto your knees, and your tongue stuck out to lick his length.

“God, I love you—“ He pants, his stomach tightening as his arousal grew.

“Hello?”

Hello?

His eyes came back to focus on your hand waving in his face. He gulped as he took a step back. You were confused as to what happened, you tried to speak to him, but it looked like he was lost in his thoughts. His face was flushed and he was murmuring incoherent things.

The man quickly snatched the ice pack and he panicked— his dick twitching— and he ran away from you.

Allure: It’s a pretty short fic, unedited, and i wrote this on my break 😭 yandere x zombie part three should be coming soon.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Servant’s Secret 

♡ featuring: ayato kamisato x f!reader

♡ summary: the commissioner catches you during some alone time, and decides that punishment is in order. wc: 2.1k+

♡ cw/tw: afab, unprotected sex, breeding, edging, overstimulation, spanking, humiliation, slightly sadist?, cunnilingus, mild degradation, pet names (bunny)

notes: hello! I read a lot of smut but never write it and it's been years since I've written anything so I figured I'd give it a try! sorry if I'm a bit rusty. let me know if u like it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The commissioner was a busy man. When he occasionally visited the town, his honeyed words left a lasting pleasant impression on the public. However, Ayato would be gone many nights, returning haggard from cumbersome affairs. He flashes a gentle smile, reluctant to reveal the vitriol he harbored for these repetitive duties. He was a man to be feared, stopping at nothing to achieve his goals. Stern and prideful and clement. Only the most loyal companions could see him in this vulnerable state. Therefore, it came as a surprise to Ayato when he took a liking to you.

Maybe it was the way you accidentally beamed whenever he returned to you, awaiting his arrival like a loyal pet. “Welcome back, my lord.” You’d say in a monotone cadence. Though you were anything but when he wasn’t around. When you and Thoma had your weekly water fights in the kitchen during food prep he pretended not to notice. When your soft giggle echoed against the confines of his heart, he pretended not to notice.  

Simply because the thought of you smiling for everyone but him was frustrating.  

You were a lowly servant. You were careful not to disturb his tedious work. You felt he was much more important than you; a man this compassionate and protective over his people should be considered in the highest regard. Still, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks glow hot whenever he called your name, saccharine vibrations that sent shivers down your spine. Sometimes his gloved hand would graze against your shoulder or neck, leading you to wonder how it would feel in other places. He never caught you dozing off—or so you thought—but daydreaming about his lips decorating your neck was a daily occurrence.  

Tonight, was a night like any other after finishing your tasks. As you wandered through the garden, the stars casted an orchestra across the welkin. You tell yourself repeatedly to repress the improper thoughts you had of him. But turning to the sky to cleanse your mind doesn’t always help, and so you return to your quarters for a more direct approach.  

Sliding your hands between your legs, the only thing you can think about is Ayato’s delicate fingers working their way inside you, kissing the shell of your ear with light praises. Usually, you were more careful to lock the door and control your voice, but your senses were clouded with the stimulation of chasing your high. “Ayato...” you whimpered into the bed sheets continuously. Just as you were about to cum, a familiar voice approached the door. “(Y/N)? In the morning I need you to- “. Cracking the door open, Ayato caught a glimpse of your flustered, trembling figure.  

It happened so fast you couldn’t register it. He immediately shut the door, followed by a quick “My apologies”. Your orgasm was immediately ruined, and you were mortified. You never prayed to an archon before now, but you called on all of them to save you in this moment.  

Your plan was to avoid him at all costs. The only thing you could hope for was that he didn’t catch the moaning. Your tasks for the next two days were done quickly and quietly, too stricken by horror to bear seeing his face. Ayato immediately caught on, but the thought of chasing you was slightly amusing to him.  

On the third day, your cleaning was just wrapping up.  

“Excellent job today, (Y/N).” His presence this close to your ear was shocking and you almost dropped the duster in your hand. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll be going now.”  

“Mm, no. I would like to speak with you privately.” He said, his lips slightly curling. You wanted anything but that right now.  

“Have I… have I done something wrong my lord?”  

“Have you?” He retorts, his eyes peering into yours. You felt all the air leave your chest. “I don’t think so, no.”  

“Okay, come then.” His tone was almost commanding more than playful, and you knew not to protest.  

In his quarters, you both sat quietly for some time. He leaned forward with his hands under his chin, staring at you from across the desk. You try your best to avert his gaze, but his eyes never leave you. The room feels so much smaller now, like a predator surrounding its prey.

“You’ve been avoiding me. Have I done something to offend you?”  

“No, my lord” you reassure him, “I was just feeling a bit ill.”  

“Ah, I see.” He lazily covered his mouth with one hand, attempting to stifle the sly smirk that creeped onto his face.  

“I can’t allow my subordinate to fall under the weather. May I check?” You allowed him to get closer. He removed one glove and grazed his hand against your face, then the back of your neck, then your ears. You were burning up just from the contact of his bare hand.  

“You feel hot. Looks like a bad fever.” You nod along, fueling the lie.  

“Do liars commonly come down with the flu?” 

“…What?”  

“You were shaking and sweating when I caught you a few days ago, perhaps that’s a symptom.” You immediately knew what he was talking about and went into panic mode looking for a proper explanation. Instead of padding for more lies, you drop to your knees and bow your head.  

“I’m so sorry, my lord. My actions were disrespectful and crude and this will never happen again.”  

A soft ‘tsk’ came from Ayato. “Why are you using ‘my lord’ when my first name was commonplace on your lips not too long ago?” Nothing could make your life worse right now. You couldn’t find any other words and bowed your head again.  

“I’m deeply sorry.”  

“…So, what should I do? I can’t just allow this to go unpunished.”  

“I’ll accept any punishment, my lord.”  

His eyes darkened at this statement.  

“Anything?”  

“Your lying is more indecent than everything else. What did you say again?”  

You were completely stripped naked and bent over his desk, your hands tied behind your back. It was an hour since you accepted your punishment, and you came three times already. A clit sucker is attached to your pussy, while Ayato sits back and curls his fingers into your dripping heat. Any rational thought you had sunk a while ago. “So- ’m so sorry my lord.” Your words teeter on babbling; mind foggy from his skillful digits. A sharp slap makes contact with your ass a few times, forcing your back to arch and send spikes of pleasure through your legs.  

“I’d appreciate it if my pet was more honest. But it’s okay, I have no problem reteaching obedience.”  

He sped up his fingers, matching the movement of your body writhing in pleasure. Your cum dripping down his gloved fingers made his cock twitch and grow in his tightening slacks. “Poor thing, your pussy is so puffy and sensitive. You’re not going to give up on me, right?” He detached the sucker from your clit and admired how swollen you were. The feeling of being empty made you whine, before he sent a stinging slap to your clit.  

“Ah. No, my l- “Before you could finish, Ayato shoved his fingers covered in your essence in your mouth. You sucked on his fingers, and he tugged your hair roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “You are not to call me ‘my lord’ anymore. Only Ayato. Do you understand?” You nod through half-lidded eyes.  

“Good girl.” He spread your backside to get a perfect view of the sticky mess coating your inner thighs and ass and licked a long stripe into you. The feeling of his wet muscle invaded your senses and turned your brain to mush. He ate you out like a starving man, grunting from the squelching noises that erupted from your core whenever he sucked on your folds. He stopped occasionally to catch his breath and went back in to lap up your juices.  

“Please Ayato, ‘M gonna cum.” He was greedy and unforgiving, feeling his smile soaked in your arousal whenever you pulled away because it was too much. The raw sensation made your knees buckle, but your legs subconsciously opened wider for him. You just wanted to be good for him. Then he suddenly stopped. 

“Are you sure you deserve it?” He cooed. You turn to meet his dark sadistic gaze. 

“Please.” Your words are broken and fall to a whisper, tears spilling from heightened sensitivity. His smile is soft sunlight despite the look in his eyes, and he takes your chin within the caress of his palm. “When you misbehave, these things happen. I don’t think you deserve it just yet.”  

Ayato cut the restraints binding your wrists and carries you bridal style to the plush bedding further in his chambers. He set you down like a delicate flower and began to strip. You try your best to cover yourself, but the numbness in your limbs protested. “Exposing yourself so shamefully in front of the commissioner, how errant.” He teases. Ayato finally springs his cock free, sticky with precum and desire. His veins meet the underside of his shaft and angry red tip, begging to be buried inside you. He steadies over you, placing a breathtaking kiss to trailing soft pecks and bites along your ear. It was stirring you up all over again, and you wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kisses. “Wan’ you.” You mumble between breaths.  

“Do you? Beg for it.” You suddenly get shy, unable to find the words. “Tell me exactly what you want, my little bunny.” 

“I want... I want you to ruin me. I need it bad Ayato please.” For some reason, verbalizing what you wanted was much more embarrassing, and he felt your reluctance. “This shouldn’t be too hard for you, right? What did you think about when you touched yourself to me?” His directness makes you cower. “Did I face-fuck you to tears or was I more passionate. Tell me everything.” Your breath hitched. “I want your cock deep inside me and I want you to breed me. I don’t want you to hold back, do whatever you want to me please.” This answer seems to satisfy him. 

“Good girl.” 

Ayato positions you into a mating press and in one motion shoves himself balls deep in your sex. His breath is ragged, and the feeling of your walls sucking and clenching around him perfectly drove him over the edge. He begins driving himself in and out of you from base to tip, squelching and slapping from his balls against your ass echoed throughout the room. His veins dragging along your most sensitive spots combined with the tuft of hair that made contact with your clit after each thrust make you dizzy. You're drowning in his scent and your heart is drumming in your chest. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” His words come out shaky. “My little bunny. You’re mine. Say it.” His thrusts get needier and rougher, and his whimpers turn to breathy whining. The coil tightening in your stomach threatened to snap at any minute, but you held on for permission. 

“I'm yours, Ayato. Please-”  

“Go ahead, cum for me bunny. Cum on my cock.” Stern, almost like a command, he speeds up and begins to rub circles on your abused clit. Your legs shake and you throw your head back along with your eyes. You came on him with a scream, violently clenching and pulsing around his girth. He doesn’t stop and fucks you through your high as he is approaching his. “Where do you want my cum?” Everything in you clung to him tightly, and so you begged for him to do it inside. 

“Fuck- you’re such a good slut. All for me.” He finally reaches his climax, stuffing you to the hilt and spurting into you. Thick, hot cum fills you from the inside as he whimpers throughout it, feeling his cock twitch at times. He stays there for a while, making sure you were properly full. Making sure he owned you. You were so exhausted you ended up dozing off with him still inside. 

You wake up to a sleeping Ayato, eyes lingering on the scratches littering his back. You were cleaned up, minus the dark bite marks dotted around your torso. The early morning sun reflected on him like an angel, and you wanted nothing more than to stay with him. Recollecting the hot daze on his face from the previous night, surely there wouldn’t be any harm in continuing this arrangement. 

[satellite-evans]

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader? She was pregnant and Bridgerton went to a ball. There's a man who makes a move on her and Ben is jealous. Then he saw that the man started to get all touched with his wife and she was clearly uncomfortable. Ben was her knight in shining armor and warned that man 😍 Do it how you want. Thanks !! :))

Handsome Hero

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict's protective instincts flared when an unwanted admirer made his pregnant wife uncomfortable.

Word count: 847

Warnings: Fluff, asshole lord who does not know about boundaries

A/N:

Hi nonnie, I want to thank you for your request and for trusting me with writing your idea! I hope you'll like it xx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The grand ballroom of Bridgerton House was abuzz with laughter and lively conversation. The annual summer ball was in full swing, and the air was thick with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses intertwined with the rich aroma of fine wines and exquisite dishes. The grand chandelier sparkled above, casting a warm golden glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Women in vibrant gowns and men in crisp suits twirled around the dance floor, their movements synchronized to the lively music of the orchestra.

Benedict stood near the refreshment table, a glass of champagne in his hand. His eyes frequently drifted towards his beloved wife, who was standing across the room. You were the epitome of grace, your hand resting gently on your slightly rounded belly, a soft smile gracing your lips as you chatted with Lady Danbury. Your gown, a soft pastel color, accentuated your natural glow, and the delicate lace trim fluttered with each subtle movement.

His heart swelled with love and pride. How radiant you looked tonight, he thought, the very picture of maternal beauty. Your laughter was a melodic counterpoint to the music, a sound that never failed to bring a smile to his face. But even as he basked in his admiration, a shadow of concern crossed his mind. He had noticed a certain gentleman, Lord Prescott, paying you undue attention throughout the evening. Prescott was notorious for his flirtatious behavior, and Benedict’s protective instincts were on high alert.

You were in the middle of a conversation with Lady Danbury, her witty remarks keeping you entertained, when you felt Prescott’s presence. His voice interrupted your chat, smooth yet unsettling.

“Good evening, Lady Bridgerton,” he drawled, his eyes glinting with an all-too-familiar mischief. “You’re looking particularly radiant tonight.”

You offered a polite but distant smile. “Thank you, Lord Prescott. I trust you are enjoying the ball?”

“Oh, immensely,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. He inched closer, his presence imposing. “But I must say, the evening has just improved considerably.”

Lady Danbury’s sharp eyes flicked between you and Prescott, her brow furrowing slightly. She gave you a subtle nod, recognizing your discomfort and excusing herself with a promise to catch up later.

You tried to steer the conversation towards safer topics, but Prescott was relentless. He leaned in, his hand brushing against your arm. The touch sent a shiver of unease down your spine. You stepped back, but he closed the distance, his fingers trailing down your arm lingering a moment too long.

“So, tell me,” he continued, ignoring your clear discomfort. “How are you finding the evening in your...delicate condition?” His eyes darted to your belly, a lecherous smile playing on his lips.

You stiffened, trying to maintain your composure. “Quite enjoyable, thank you,” you replied curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should rejoin my husband.”

But Prescott was undeterred. “Surely he won’t mind if I steal a moment of your time,” he said, his hand drifting dangerously close to your waist. “It’s not often one gets to converse with such a captivating lady.”

Benedict’s heart lurched as he saw the discomfort flash across your face. His protective instincts roared to the surface. Setting his glass down with a decisive clink, he strode across the ballroom, weaving through the throng of guests with purposeful steps.

He arrived just as Prescott leaned in, his hand now resting on your waist. “Prescott,” Benedict’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold as steel. The man turned, surprise and a hint of fear flickering in his eyes. “I believe my wife has had enough of your company.”

Prescott straightened, a smirk playing on his lips. “Bridgerton, always the gallant knight. We were merely conversing.”

Benedict’s eyes narrowed, his protective instincts roaring to the surface. "From where I stand, it appears you were overstepping the bounds of decency. My wife is clearly uncomfortable."

Prescott’s smirk faltered under Benedict’s intense gaze. “I suggest you find your entertainment elsewhere,” Benedict continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Before I forget my manners.”

Prescott paled slightly, mumbling an apology before slinking away into the crowd.

Benedict turned to you, his expression softening instantly. He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Are you alright, my love?” he asked, his voice a tender whisper.

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I am now. Thank you, Benedict.”

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, careful of your growing belly. “I will always protect you,” he murmured into your hair. “You and our child.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him. “I know. You’re my knight in shining armor. My very handsome hero.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his heart full. “And you are my everything.”

As the music swelled and the dance floor filled once more, Benedict led you to the edge of the room, finding a quiet corner where you could rest and enjoy the rest of the evening in peace. His hand never left yours, a constant reminder of his unwavering love and protection.

[folkookie97]

❝ every side of you ❞ — jjk

— SUMMARY: ❝Jungkook is a devil when he's fucking you and an angel when he's out of bed. You need his aftercare just like you need his tattooed arm choking you so hard.❞

— PAIRING: dom!jungkook x sub!reader

— TYPE: smut, fluff | non-idol!au, established relationship

— WORD COUNT: 1,201

— WARNINGS: PWP, curse words, rough sex, vaginal sex, choking, spanking, squirting, light dom/sub, degradation kink, mention of safeword, creampie, brief loss of consciousness, aftercare, pet names, dirty talk, unprotected sex, tattooed!jungkook

— NOTES: I'm definitely still freaking out over Jungkook's shirtless live on Weverse.

— RELEASE DATE: July 30, 2023

— CROSSPOSTING: ao3

Jungkook is a rough sex lover. You know better than anyone why this man is the biggest stereotype of a character written by an erotic romance author. No matter the time or place. Jungkook only wants his cock to be inside you.

The sound of your moans is like angelic melodies to him. The expression on your face when you reach the orgasm is more beautiful than any Renaissance art he could admire in a museum.

Jungkook loves having sex with you. Every day and every hour that you both could. Definitely.

For those reasons, you weren't surprised when Jungkook woke you up in the middle of the night for a quick fuck.

Or at least that was the initial idea. But just as he was addicted to feeling your pussy squeezing his cock during each thrust by his hips, you were addicted to the genuine pleasure his tattooed arm gave you during choking play.

“You're a whore, aren't you? You love being choked by me. You love when I don't let you breathe." He laughed listening to the sound of his balls hitting the skin of your ass as the speed of his thrusts increased. "Like it? How do you feel you shitty little bitch?

“So good, Kookie… I love it. You're perfect for me."

Your confession might seem adorable sometimes but Jungkook couldn't tolerate softness within sex. When he pressed his forearm to your throat hard enough to nearly hurt you, you muttered a strangled apology, aware that your mistake had pissed him off.

“That's not what I fucking asked." Jungkook slapped your ass with his free hand, the sight of your swaying ass cheeks causing spasms in his body. Holy shit, he really loved fucking you in doggy style. “I'm asking if you like being treated like the stupid bitch you are. You're my cock slut? My needy and dumb slut?

"Yes!" You moaned louder, the emotion of being degraded taking you closer to an overwhelming orgasm. "Please! Please continue! I'm gonna cum!"

"Such a greedy little bitch..." That snarky laugh came back, this time whispered close to your ear. He bit your right earlobe. "Wanna cum on my cock?"

Each thrust was like a walk in paradise. Or maybe a dance with the devil.

Jungkook understood about your body as well as a conductor could conduct an orchestra. It was no different for you. Your knowledge about the whole essence of his body covered in tattoos was something you acquired very well during all those years together.

So you knew why his hand left the soft piece of your ass to squeeze circles on your clit. He was gonna cum at any moment. He wanted you to cum too. You should cum around him, for him, with him.

"Such a fucking good pussy, holy shit!"

It was impossible for Jungkook not to feel numb from the feel of her pussy squeezing him, nearly crushing his cock because of deep thrusts.

It was like he wanted to break you in half. Hips colliding, his tattooed arm suffocating you, deft fingers rubbing your clit so hard and desperately.

You weren't shocked when an intense burning started at the bottom of your belly. It wasn't the first time that this would happen in a fuck with Jeon Jungkook.

However before you could warn him ahead of time, Jungkook was already increasing not only the speed of his fingers but also the pressure exerted on your clit.

There wasn't much you could do but scream when an orgasm flashed through your mind and a sizable amount of clear liquid squirted from your pussy onto the sheets.

You could hear your name escaping Jungkook's lips in a guttural moan and you could also feel all of his cum filling you in dense charges.

Swearing uttered by your boyfriend and the heat of his cum were the last things you were able to witness before your body gave out from exhaustion and you crashed into the wet bed sheets as you lost consciousness.

Jungkook was always a great boyfriend for you, at these times it was like he was written by Jane Austen. Romanticism was one of the characteristics you most admired about him. He was so soft and affectionate when you two was out of the bedroom.

The aftercare was essential for both of you. It didn't matter what he said or did to you in bed, after sex he became the classic "clingy boyfriend", always worried about you, your body and your mind.

"Are you okay babydoll? You scared me." It was the first thing your brain picked up on when you shook off the blackness of the fainting and opened your eyes.

The second thing you picked up was the fact that Jungkook was lying next to you. Both of you still naked and covered by a different sheet than the one on the bed when you have a squirt.

You might also notice that your skin wasn't as sticky as it used to be. Perhaps throwing it on the side table indicated why.

“I'm already fine, Kookie. Just relax." You failed to smile because you hissed in pain as soon as Jungkook's hands tried to pull you into a hug.

The slight discomfort in your body was enough to make Jungkook's overprotective personality worse; wide eyes and a devastated expression on his face.

"I hurt you babydoll? Why didn't you ask me to stop?"

“You didn't hurt me." It wasn't entirely true. Your skin was already lightly bruised, your throat was burning from the choking and your clit was still sensitive and painful due to the strong stimuli of Jungkook's fingers. However you also loved rough sex and therefore insisted on ensuring how satisfied you were after the situation. “It was perfect, angel. I promise. You know I would use the safeword if we had to."

Jungkook agreed as he hoped in his thoughts that this day would never come. He knew he would hate himself for the rest of his life if he ever hurt you.

“You were perfect babydoll. You're always perfect."

Circling your fingers over the patterns on his arm, you allowed yourself to smile at the praise. It was so sweet and kind. A complete opposite of the Jungkook you witnessed in bed.

You loved both sides of him.

"You like when I wet the sheets and my body slumped onto the mattress like a real doll?"

His cheeks turned red and your playful smile widened noticing his embarrassment.

"Shut up." He teased you in light chuckles. "I really got a worried after cumming seeing you fainting underneath me."

"I bet you got horny first." You teased again and this time he laughed louder rolling his eyes and nodding his head in affirmation.

"Fine! It was really a little hot. But I swear I still was worried."

This time you were the one who nodded.

Cuddling the heat of his chest, your eyelids began to close and the post-sex drowsiness expanded in intensity with each passing second.

“I love you my babydoll. You're perfect."

You chuckled and sealed your lips to the bare skin of his shoulder.

“Love you too, Kookie. Every side of you."

[beauty-and-passion]

Eurovision 2023: the show of unfairness and the triumph of people’s hearts

My god, this year left me exhausted.

It’s 1:30 am, the Eurovision Grand Final just ended and I am starting to write this post now, because I need some time to calm myself before going to bed. And maybe putting down some thoughts about this year will help me find some peace - at least for a couple hours.

This year has not been what was supposed to be, starting from the show and ending with the winner.

But let’s start from the beginning.

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Ukraine: robbed of their own show

We all know Ukraine couldn’t host Eurovision in their country because of the war, so they asked the UK to do that.

And the UK tried to be a good host. They reminded us of the reason why Ukraine couldn’t do it, they tried to call Ukrainian artists and make the show about them... only to systematically forget it two minutes later and start acting as if they won and this was their show.

I hope now you understand why last year I said to not give them power over anything. The UK has a tiny little problem called “massive ego” and if you give them a little crumb, they will immediately scarf the whole cake down.

This year should’ve been 70% Ukraine themed and 30% UK themed. What we had instead was the other way around: the UK gave us a tiny little interval show in the semifinals about Ukraine, then a massive show all about the UK.

The Gran Final has been the icing on this disgusting cake. It started with a bang, featuring all of our favourite Ukrainian artists in the span of five minutes: Tina Karol (I had no idea she was Ukrainian, what a nice surprise!), goddess Verka, my beloved Go_A with The Only Queen That Matters, aka Kateryna Pavlenko. And, of course, our favourite winners: the Kalush Orchestra. Man Carpet is still an icon and I still wonder what the singer sees behind that pink hat, but I don’t care. It’s perfect, it’s great, I want this but 200x more. I want them to steal the show, I want them in all interval acts. But no worries, I’m sure they will definitely appear more during the final. I mean, there’s no way the UK called them just to appear for 20 seconds, right? Right?

Oh sorry, my bad. I forgot this isn’t Ukraine’s show, this is UK’s show. We should definitely have Sam Ryder in the interval act and we should definitely make it all about English songs. I mean, it’s not like there are four of the most beloved Ukrainian artists in Liverpool. Let’s make it all a huge masturbation session of the UK instead.

I apologize if my metaphor offended someone, but this is what I felt while watching the UK celebrating itself. Like... can’t you do this in a private room? Do I really have to watch it? This is just one step below Portugal’s show, which showed a massive ego as well and tortured me for three nights straight, by repeating how cool they were and how nice they were and how I would’ve done a great choice visiting them.

But even if that was torture, at least Portugal was the winner of the previous year, not a host masturbating over the fact they are allowed to host a show they didn’t win.

The only choice I fully approve of in this show is the postcards idea: that was very elegant and respectful and I want to thank the person who thought about it. The cards show Ukraine’s beautiful places, UK’s beautiful places and every country’s beautiful places. It’s all beautiful and it’s a great way to both honor Ukraine and emphasize UK’s hosting role, since it looks almost like the UK acts as a “connection” between Ukraine and every other country.

Unfortunately for us, this is the last proof of elegance we will see for the rest of the show.

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Danemark and Poland: robbed even before starting

Do you remember Danemark’s and Poland’s entries? I know, me neither. Bland, forgetful, two huge balls of nothing.

Well, I have a good news and a bad one. The good one is that Danish and Polish people are not insane and their musical tastes are actually way better than this. The bad news is that the two entries we got (Bejba and Tiktokkid) were not supposed to win their country’s competition, because the public’s favourites were different. But, like, VERY different.

Same thing happened last year for Spain, but at least Chanel was able to put on a great show - even if her song was boring. Danemark and Poland didn’t have that either: one gave us a meme, the other gave us nothing. Disappointing.

So let’s clean Danemark’s and Poland’s names, by listening to the artists they were actually supposed to bring. Let’s start with Danemark and please, tell me if the tiktok kid is better than this (if you dare):

And before you think: “oh my gosh, this could’ve been a great entry for Danemark!”, please listen to what Poland was supposed to bring:

I love this song. I love this cute nice boy. I love the classical vibes. And when I played this song for my father, my 70-year-old father told me, with no hesitation: “Oh, this is way better than the other one!”.

So if a 70-year-old can recognize how good this song is, then there’s no generational gap and it’s not true that people are accustomed to the same boring stuff. If a song is good, is good. If a song is bland, is bland.

By now you probably already heard from Polish people about how the voting system of their competition was rigged and how Blanka won thanks to the power of nepotism. So our duty as Europeans (and as people with some fucking taste) is to stream Gladiator, listen to all of his songs and shower this boy with love because he needs to know the world loves him.

And for you all, Polish people: thank you for making us know about your true winner. He really looks like one and we love him too.

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Germany: robbed while trying

I really cannot understand why people keep hating Germany this much. Is it still because of WW2? What did they do, to deserve the bottom of the chart? I know it’s funny, I know it’s for the memes ah ah ah, but also... come on. Come. On. Are you really telling me that Poland was better than Germany? Are you really telling me that the UK was better than Germany?

I can assure you that if Sweden brought this exact same song, the jury would’ve given this song 300 points. But hey, ThE jUrY iS iMpArTiAl, right?

German people: I don’t know why the world hates you. I think you would’ve gotten more votes, if only the system wasn’t so stupidly rigged and forced everyone to choose one winner only, hoping to defeat the jury’s sheer power. Personally, I enjoyed your song and I enjoyed Lord of the Lost and I will definitely listen to more of their songs to add to my playlist.

However, I also understand your frustration. So you know what? Just go nuts. Choose whoever the fuck you want to represent your country, attend Eurovision whenever you want and do whatever you want, give us insane shit and amazing stuff. You will be treated the same either way, so why give a fuck? Have fun showing your insane side, I will support you 100%.

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Italy and Israel: what did they ever do to deserve these places?

As an Italian, I am honored people gave so many votes to Italy. Seriously, thank you all, nice to know people appreciate our singers.

But also: why so many votes? Why? I know Mengoni is a good singer, he has a great voice and if this was a real singing competition he would’ve probably deserved to win.

But since Eurovision is not a singing competition, why all these points? Were people really so in love with this ballad? Why? What does he have I cannot understand?

Even more important: why Israel, with their stupid unicorn song, got all these votes? Why? Is it because she’s good-looking? Seriously? Are we still stuck thinking with our genitals, instead of using our brains? I thought Europe moved past the need of thinking with genitals only and started developing some good fucking taste.

Or did her amazing “dance moves” get the public? Ok, she’s very flexible... but do I really really have to remind you of Chanel? A small dance segment is really worth so many points, when last year we had someone who was able to sing AND dance as she did for the entire song? I didn’t even like Chanel, but I am mature enough to recognize that THAT was a show, while the unicorn lady did nothing more than a small dance. Definitely not worth 185 public votes.

At least I know that my country didn’t go insane and the true points (aka the public’s points) didn’t go to the unicorn but to Moldova. Thank god, we are still able to recognize what’s good.

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Finland: the real winner

When Eurovision started, I was sure Czechia would’ve been the winner. However, their performance wasn’t enough to grant them victory.

Finland, however, had everything a winner needs. And now I will explain to you why, because I love this funky green man and you should love him too.

1) “A little man from Vantaa”

Käärijä is a rare gem, not just for Eurovision, but in general. He’s a simple, genuine, silly guy, who comes from a city few people knew before. He doesn’t speak English too well, but he tries and fails in comically sweet ways. He’s a huge fan of Rammstein, so he’s a man of culture. He became besties with Bojan from the Slovenian band Joker Out and their bromance has been the best part of this Eurovision: these two share one single braincell and I love them for this.

But, most of all, he’s humble. He never considered himself above all others, even after his victory. He knew right from the start that it would’ve been a battle between him and Loreen and yet, he never grew arrogant about it. He always talked about their rivalry in funny ways, through memes and by treating her nicely. But he also never underestimated her: he always put his whole self into every performance, knowing full well he had to give everything, to reach the public’s hearts.

And he did. He reached the public’s hearts and like many others all over the world, I also love this little man. He’s genuine, he’s honest, he’s a fashion icon (Finland changes their flag to green when), his dancers are funky and nice like him. You look at him once and all you can think is: “I want to protect him at all costs”. It’s just impossible to hate this man.

2) His song is a banger

Not only his song is a fusion of three genres (industrial metal, hyperpop and hip-hop/rap), so he’s already serving you three songs in one, but the language he used is Finnish.

I’ve heard Finnish people saying that they never used their language because it’s “too weird”. People, that’s exactly because it’s weird that you should use it! You have this gem and you hide it to us?!

If you don’t know why Finnish is so great, please consider that while all other European languages are part of the Indo-European family, Finnish, Estonian and Hungarian are not. They are part of a completely different family (the Uralic languages).

That means they have nothing similar to any other European language. They are something completely different and new, a whole new world to explore. And they’re here, in our continent!

In addition to that, Finnish is an agglutinative language, which means words are formed by stringing together morphemes. How fucking cool is that? I love this kind of language!

As someone who studied English, French, German and Russian, Finnish is something that gets my attention. I can recognize similarities between Germanic, Slavic and Italic languages and I love them, but Finnish is an unexplored world. It’s made of sounds that well, sound familiar even if they’re not. It’s a constant surprise, you know?

Also, I love that it’s a language full of vowels because it makes me think of my own mother tongue (Italian). It’s a bit like feeling at home, even if our languages have nothing in common <3

3) The best performance of Eurovision 2023

I love the Croatian daddies like the next person (and I’m glad the public gave them the top 10 because they deserve it), but Käärijä’s performance had everything: it told us a story (i.e. how Käärijä slowly emerges from behind his barriers to join the party), he gave us the best stupid dance moves and there’s even a family-friendly human centipede. What else do you need, to start dancing?

Also, another shoutout to his dancers, because I live for those shocking pink dresses and for their immensely creepy expressions. And I live for the public always welcoming them with screams: they deserve it.

I know you already enjoyed it 200 times, but you know what? Let’s fucking destroy the views of this video and let’s watch it again. And also, let’s notice how much the public enjoys it. How much they screamed, how they sang with him, how they enjoyed this party.

Even without knowing Käärijä, you can feel he put his whole self into this. And the public felt it too.

And the final result was astonishing: he got 376 points from the public. It’s the second-highest public score, after Kalush Orchestra, who got 439 points.

If you notice, Käärijä’s percentage is even higher than Kalush Orchestra’s! And such a high result means one thing and one thing only: the public has chosen its winner. He is the winner. People are sovereign and people’s will has been very clear about it. So when I say he’s the winner, it’s not because I want to indulge him: it’s because it’s the fucking truth.

Also, please notice the kind of songs the public chose as their top 3 favorites: songs with nothing mainstream and native languages. All while the jury thinks what we want is the same boring shit we can hear on the radio 24/7.

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A painful evening

Let me start by making something clear: I don’t hate Loreen and I don’t hate Sweden. It’s not their fault if they win. They are just exploiting the situation, because they learned what the good formula is and keep using it over and over.

Loreen knows that if she sends another song that is just like all the others she made, she will get a high position. And now, thanks to yesterday’s victory, she knows she doesn’t even have to try. Why should she do something different, when doing the same thing twice made her win twice? Why try something different, why step out of her comfort zone? If she does the same thing, she can win. So she will keep doing the same thing.

Same goes for the entire country of Sweden. They learned that if they bring the most boring, generic pop song you can listen to on every radio on planet Earth, you will win. So, they will keep sending it. After all, a bland pop song is what the world is more accustomed to, so why change? Why do something different, when they can be teacher’s pet and always get a high score? This isn’t being stupid, this is being clever.

But is it elegant and fair too? Oh honey, absolutely not. This is the exact opposite of what elegance and fairness are.

On Saturday evening, when we reached the voting part of the show, the crowd literally CHEERED AND SANG Käärijä’s name or “Cha Cha Cha”. Multiple times.

Once the public clearly states who they want to win, then the competition is over. When the consensus is unanimous, there’s no competition anymore. The winner is already here. Everything else is just white noise and bureaucracy.

That’s what I felt, while I was forced to keep listening to a bunch of people loudly kissing Sweden’s ass. The public had already decided, we already have a winner. Why are we still wasting time?

And if forcing us to keep listening to this pitiful charade was not enough, the hosts decided to lose that shred of elegance that was still left on this joke of a show and not only shushed the public all time but even said “just ignore everyone”, as if their voices didn’t really matter. It’s not like this is a music competition and the public is the final receiver of said music, after all.

I don’t know you, but I don’t like to see the sovereign public being silenced and told they do not matter, all while a bunch of people takes the decisions for them. Maybe the Brits are accustomed to being silenced because an old rich man has to decide for them, but other countries don’t work like that. Like, you know, the one they’re hosting the competition for.

There was nothing democratic about Saturday evening. There was nothing fair in silencing the public and pretending they haven’t chosen their winner one hour ago, because teacher’s pet had to win again.

Do you really think Sweden deserved this victory more than Finland? Do you really think that a country that won six times needed to add this victory to their list, so they can say “ah ah we won as many times as Ireland”? Or just because they can do their stupid ABBA anniversary next year? Is this the reason why we choose our winner, now? The past glories of a country? Well, then in 2048 is the anniversary of Dana International’s winning song, let’s all go to Israel! And in 2056 we’ll go to Finland, because it’s the anniversary of Lordi’s winning. And in 2071 will be 50 years from the Maneskin’s victory, so let’s come back to Italy.

What, does that sound ridiculous? Tell that to the jury, then.

I feel immensely sorry for the Finnish people, because I read online how much this victory could’ve meant for them. This could’ve been so important, such a good chance to shine for a country that considers their language “too weird” and who hasn’t won in 17 years. And since they are stuck between that ticking bomb that is Russia and the always perfect Sweden, they really needed something that gave them more positive attention.

And it broke my heart even more to see Käärijä suffering. He even apologized to his nation. He did something amazing and he still apologized. He literally won and apologized for not winning. That’s unfairness to its finest.

And if all of this is not enough, the results of the public’s vote came out and oh, look, not a single country gave 12 points to Sweden, while almost every country gave 12 points to Finland. Wow, who would’ve fucking guessed that teacher’s pet won because of the teacher.

Again: does that seem fair and democratic to you?

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Oligarchy masqueraded as democracy

Let’s do a little bit of math, shall we?

Each national jury consists of five people + one backup juror. They supposedly vote for the best singer and performance- AHAHAH great joke, very funny.

But let’s not focus on this, now: let’s focus on numbers.

37 countries participated this year. So 37 x 6 = 222. The jury is made up of 222 people in total.

The entire population of Europe is around 451 million people, but let’s keep it low because Eurovision isn’t watched by all Europeans. Let’s take just the number of views on the Youtube streaming of the Grand Finale: 9.5 million people. Let’s round up to 9 million, okay?

Okay, so now we have 222 people on one side and 9 million people on the other. Let’s pretend that less than half of them voted at least one time.

Okay, now look me straight in the eyes and explain why the votes of 222 people should have the same weight as the votes of 4 million people. Please, explain to me how democratic this decision is, can’t wait to hear it.

But you know what? Even if it was 1 million voters only, that wouldn’t have been fair either. In no universe is fair to put one million voters on the same level as 222 voters.

There’s only one possible scenario in which this is fair: if Eurovision was a talent show specifically centered around performances and voices, with a jury made of vocal teachers and choreographers, and all I have to do is passively watch it on my couch.

But from the moment you gave the public the power to choose who the winner could be, then why do the votes of all the people from Europe (and Australia) have the same weight as what 222 people decided?

This isn’t a democracy. This is an oligarchy masquerading as a democracy: a bunch of people decides what you should like, basing their decision on their own interests. And you have no way to oppose them, unless you focus all your votes on one single artist, hoping it would defeat the one the jury chooses.

But this deprives Eurovision of the competition aspect. It’s not a competition if I have to endure a tug-of-war against the jury. It’s not a competition if I am forced to give all of my votes to one artist only, instead of spreading them out to all my favorites. And even in that case, basically all of Europe should vote for that specific artist to try and overcome the sheer power the jury has. Again: does this sound democratic to you?

Now you may say: but the jury is made of experts. Oh, you mean the same experts that proved multiple times they base their votes on politics, who their neighbor is and who can corrupt them better? Or do you mean the same experts that in the past made their choice even without listening to the songs?

The truth is that we have 222 people who can easily be influenced by anything and their power is as strong as the power of 4 million people at least. Four million people, who got invested and followed the entire show from start to finish, if I may add. Please, tell me about the fairness of this system again.

And before you say “but Eurovision is a music competition and we need experts”... sorry, but no. According to Wikipedia, the jury was present before televoting was born, but once televoting was extended to all competing countries (1997 ca.), the jury was no more. It came back only in 2009, with this unfair compromise of 50/50 between jury ad public votes.

So there was a period of time in which there wasn’t a jury and in that period we had the first win for Estonia, Turkey, Latvia, Greece, Finland, Serbia and Russia. How weird that, once the jury isn’t there, other nations have a chance to win too.

The thing is: Eurovision isn’t a simple music competition. It’s more like a window. A window where anyone can have their chance to shine. No matter if you’re from a well-known country and everyone knows who you are or if you’re from a tiny piece of land in the middle of nowhere and all you can do is speak your native language: if you have the right combination of song+performance+voice, you can win.

And it’s beautiful we have this window, because it allows us to see something we’ve never seen before: rock bands, silly songs, folk songs and straight-up weird songs. In Eurovision, you don’t have to listen to just the same generic bland song, but you are allowed to listen to different artists and different cultures - and if you like them, you are free to choose your winner, no matter how not mainstream it is.

And we Europeans need this. We need to celebrate the diversity of Europe and embrace them. We need to see people from different countries hanging out, having fun and becoming best friends. For a continent that has always had (and still has) a problem with wars, we need something that allows us to look at each other and not see a piece of land to conquer, but a place full of life and culture to learn about.

And since we pride ourselves to be the continent where democracy was born, let’s put this democracy in the show we’re so proud of. Do we really need the jury vote? Do we really need the vote of this bunch of people? Okay, let’s have them. But it’s not acceptable to give them the same weight as the public’s vote. 50/50 isn’t acceptable anymore. 20/80 is fairer. I’m feeling nice, we can even do a 30/70. It’s just not acceptable that 300 people should have power over millions over something those same millions will enjoy. As always, the public is sovereign.

And if the public’s taste is shit, at least we will be free to blame ourselves for something we brought unto ourselves - and not feel sick and angry over something others forced upon us.

Or everything can stay the same and the 50/50 system will keep going. But at least, be honest enough to not waste everyone’s time, by pretending the public can do something more than watch what a bunch of people decide for them. Do not pretend to be righteous and democratic, when you’re not.

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The triumph of people

This finale drained me. If it were just a little fairer, I would’ve been thrilled to see Luxembourg coming back after years. But right now I don’t feel like watching next year’s show. I know it will probably be amazing, because Sweden is very good at hosting. But I don’t want to see them masturbating over how good they are and how much they deserved to win - even if they didn’t win.

And, honestly, I don’t care about ABBA either. I don’t give a damn about them, nor about their anniversary. I’m definitely not looking forward to that either.

I will listen to the songs as always, then I might give it a try and watch the semifinals. It depends on how bitter my grudge will be, after one full year. If it will still be very bitter, I will probably spend my time better, by listening to the songs more times, watching the performances and making my own personal final chart. I won’t have ABBA or funny interval acts, but I can try my best to make it enjoyable to read. And it won’t be a fucking charade, at least.

Sorry, but I will keep being bitter for some time. And if you feel bitter too, you have every right to be, no matter what people say. Your voice has been silenced and ignored and numbers don’t lie. It’s very understandable you feel bad.

But you know what you can do? Use your anger in a positive way. And no, that doesn’t mean sending death threats to Loreen. You can accuse Sweden of its lack of elegance and decorum if you want, but always be polite. Don’t be like some of them, who are such sore losers they had the guts to be angry at Finland because it didn’t give Sweden any public points. Bo-hoo, may I add.

What you can do instead is make some noise: ask for the jury to be abolished or for this shitty system to change. And, even more important, support your winners. A lot of amazing artists have been wronged this year, so shower them with love.

And send your love especially towards our winner. Stream Cha Cha Cha, check his other songs, shower him with love and support, make a statue for him in Vantaa, pay me a plane ticket because I need to tackle him in a hug and tell him how much the world loves him. Let’s show the world that he slaps, Finnish slaps and we want more of this.

Do you still need more Cha Cha Cha in your life? Good news: Lord of the Lost made a cover for Cha Cha Cha and OH MY GOSH it’s insanely good. It has a lot of Rammstein vibes, it’s cool and it slaps even harder. Check it out because it’s amazing!

Also because the German singer learned some Finnish, just to spell every word correctly and, according to the Finnish people in the comment section, he did a great job. What a wholesome guy, I love and stan him and his band - and you should do the same, because they are amazing and they don’t deserve last place <3

And if you need more Käärijä in your life, there are amazing Youtube channels with great collections of his moments, like Eurovision Is Ambition and Uni Dash Corn. I especially suggest you see his bromance with Bojan - and speaking of him, another shoutout to Bojan! He’s such a nice, wholesome guy with great charisma, you cannot hate him. I am not head over heels for his song, but he’s so fucking wholesome, he deserves good things only.

And I also suggest you see how Käärijä has been welcomed in Helsinki. He has been welcomed like a fucking hero, a national treasure. And of course he was: he is the true winner after all, he deserved the welcome only winners get.

It’s a bit like he said in his apology: the better one won. And so he did.

You know, I think the only good thing that came out from this shitshow that was Eurovision 2023, is the people’s heart. People showed their kindness, their love, the best of humankind. We saw acts of friendship, we saw empathy and appreciation. The hug between Käärijä and Bojan, despite its sad meaning, is also a perfect example of what we all should be: kinder, softer, more empathetic, together, no matter how far and different our countries are.

In a way, I am happy that Ukraine’s message of unity was still carried out, even if indirectly and definitely not the way the UK wanted.

And in the end, the trophy isn’t so important: it’s just a piece of glass after all. And no piece of glass is worth the impact one little man from Vantaa left on so many people all over the world.

I know you will never read this post, but I wish you a lifetime of success, Käärijä. You have everything a winner needs and, in fact, you are one. So don’t be too hard on yourself, because the world still needs to show you how much it loves you. Take your time, relax, have fun and come back when you’re ready - just don’t leave us hanging for too much, ‘kay?

And you, Finnish people: please treat our beloved winner with love for us too. We will do our best from afar, so let’s be together on this as we should <3

[shewrites444]

fire [coriolanus snow x reader smut]

[Hello! It has been awhile. I wanted to switch it up and try out a fic on young Coriolanus Snow’s character from TBOSAS after hearing about the new Hunger Games movie! Please let me know if you enjoy his character. I also apologize if this story has some imperfections, I did not edit it.]

WC - 4.3k

SUMMARY - The reader is a prestigious pianist and composer for the Capitol. She finds herself in a mental, and physical, battle against her attraction to President Snow throughout his dictatorial rule and loveless marriage as months go on. Attempting to get under his skin through a rather bold encounter, she finds herself back to where she started as he reminds her of their similarities, but she holds more power above him than anticipated. 

WARNINGS - Cheating, angst, cursing, choking, fingering, detailed & unprotected sex. Coriolanus is a bit sexist and also doesn’t know how to shut the hell up, so fair warning on that. 

-

Coriolanus had spent the past few months focused on nothing but his political reputation, and the power he only continued to gain in the Capitol, along with the Districts. Well, it was more of a submission than anything, fear spread through Panem as his reign as President, or as many called him, a dictator, was unveiled. 

He had no focus on his chosen wife, Livia Cardew, knowing that she was solely a prop for visual acceptance, a showcase of a wife that he was able to find someone who supported him through his political career, and the most important time of the year, of course, The Hunger Games.

When the games were approaching, the Capitol organized several socials and meetings throughout the upcoming weeks in order to network Coriolanus with his political and social allies, the game-makers, the Academy students that were interested in working with Dr. Gaul and the rest of her associates, and any other connections that were essential to the duration of a successful season. 

I found it disgusting, and inhumane, just like those in the Districts, but I, just like everyone else who was ranked underneath President Snow, had to find ways to cautiously approach such a season of brutality. 

Serving the Capitol as a pianist and musical coordinator by trade, I found ways to avoid the Districts and remain in a fairly comfortable lifestyle as the years went on. I had been working mainly for Coriolanus’ wife, Livia, for her social events held with other women of the Capitol on weekends, typically. I had assumed Livia told Coriolanus of my talents, and the orchestra I would often accompany, so that’s when he had me perform before a meeting with several of his associates. That’s when it all began.

Was I just ashamed? Yes, but I was more disgusted with myself than anything. That was the best way to put it.

It was shameful, and quite out of character for me to be a mistress, for one, but it was worse to know the same man I often slept with was the reason for so many innocent and unforgiving deaths across Panem. How the hell was I supposed to get out of this entanglement, though? If I left, or even expressed that I was thinking about it, I’d be as good as dead. 

I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, but when the buzz amongst the games began to pick up, I knew he’d be in my vicinity soon enough. Livia had asked me to perform for a social before the Reaping Ceremony, which I obviously obliged to. Something in me felt that she knew of my arrangement with her husband, but something else told me she didn’t even care. She had all the power in the world, and Coriolanus wouldn’t dare harm her; it would forever damage his reputation. She had nothing to lose. She knew I had everything to lose. 

“You were wonderful, as always.” Livia chimed, handing me a glass of wine as I walked onto the marble floor soon after my performance. I returned a gentle smile, sipping lightly from the clear glass before clearing my throat to speak up. I was used to being rather quiet, given my nature as a pianist. I spent most of my time practicing and playing in solitary, so I was not much of a talker, especially now that things had changed over the course of the past few months, but I kept my composure, and I remembered who I was conversing with. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Snow. I find it an honor you allow me to perform for such special occasions.” I say, my eyes scanning the room as I watch men and women of heavy rank socialize throughout the floor, some already dining, some already on their second drink of the night, maybe more.. 

Livia looked me up and down briefly, watching my nervous demeanor unwind. She watched me stand still, glancing around the chattery room, my fingertips lightly tapping my glass. A small smile wrinkled onto her lips. “Well, I will leave you be, Miss [Y/N], I’m sure you are quite tired.” She reached to gently hold my shoulder, sending a cold shudder across my bare skin. “Have a wonderful evening, alright?”

“Yes, of course, you as well, Mrs. Snow.” I watch her walk away, feeling as if I could finally breathe again. 

I felt faint, nerves stemming from Livia’s appearance sending me over the edge, and the usual guilt I felt only more demanding as seconds passed. I set my glass down before walking out the ballroom’s door, which led down a dim hallway stacked with offices, and a bathroom more towards the back. I had been here plenty of times before, so I knew a spot where I could cool off and freshen up for a few moments. 

Opening the bathroom door, I felt a hand press against the wall beside me, to stop me. I glanced up, his pale, slim fingers planted to the side of my head, making my face turn white. I slowly let go of the door, turning to face Coriolanus. He looked down at me, a sly look on his already smug expression, no shame in his blue eyes. It made my stomach turn.

“President Snow.” I said, my eyes averting to each side of the hallway, scanning the wide space to assure that no one was around, before looking back up to meet his gaze. “You startled me. I was just going to freshen up before heading back to the party.”

“Please, spare me the formality, [Y/N].” He grinned, taking his hand off the wall before moving it to my cheek, making my face heat up. “Come with me, hm?”

“Your wife is not even two doors down, Coriolanus.” I drip his name out in a cautious whisper, which he had given me permission for ages ago. He struck me as the type of man who’d prefer a formal reference, maybe even find attraction in it, but I suppose he’d rather something else from me. I didn’t question it. “And the rest of your business partners, might I add.”

Coriolanus laughed, almost mockingly, at my seriousness. “You think she is not aware of you and I, [Y/N]? She is not a fool.” He patted my flushed cheek before he grabbed my hand. “Now come with me.”

I didn’t argue further, just nodding silently before following him down the hallway. I recognized where he was leading me, just from a different direction. The Capitol was like a maze, at least the inside of it, but I had memorized much of it from Coriolanus, and my work. We head to his bedroom, the sound of my heels clicking against the glossed floor while he walked me further.

I hear him close the door, mentally preparing myself for what was to come. It’s not like I didn’t want him, because I did, it was more that I didn’t want the reprimands of being caught, or feeling so dirty for what I was doing. There was an underlying guilt each and every time I slept with him, or even as much as I spoke to him, no matter what the circumstances were. 

As the door locked, Coriolanus turned to walk towards me, before I took a step back, much to his surprise. He raised one of his light eyebrows, a confused, yet intrigued look on his face. I never denied him, and who’s to say that I was? I didn’t even know what I was doing, other than thinking out loud, which only made my blood run colder.

The tension in the room was tight, and could be cut from a string as thin as the threads that held what was under my gown together. I could hear myself breathing, and my thoughts racing to spit out of my shut mouth. My eyes lifted up to his own, and I stood straight, and firmly.

“Out of all the women in the Capitol, out of everyone you could have in the ways you have me, why did you choose to tangle me into your mess?” I ask, rather impressed with my own forwardness. “Why must it be me?”

Coriolanus shared a similar look as my own, but his expression curated itself into some sort of cheeky grin, almost as if he enjoyed my slight rebellion. He knew I didn’t take orders, so he never bothered ordering me around. He didn’t have to ask, he knew I liked it, and he knew I’d comply, and he also knew I felt guilty every time, but I never posed such a question, until now.

He tucked his hands into his slacks, stepping closer, his slim, tall build hovering before me.

“It is you because I find everything I prefer in you.” He answered flatly, following my questions. “My wife has no regard for anything but her own status, which I can admire, but she does not have any reason to achieve anything more. The women who seek to improve their status, say, by sleeping with me or attempting to, seek to achieve more than they ever will. Then there is you, who is firmly placed in between all of these women, who holds prestige, who holds respect, yet, in every way possible, feels that she is less deserving of it because she holds attraction to the one man she cannot have.”

His words frustrated me beyond my usual measure, and I couldn’t contain the pressure pent up in my chest, eagerly awaiting to push through my quivering lips. He angered me, and he made me feel lesser, when this entire time, he was the one who took out his frustrations on me, and he was the one who ran from every ounce of affection he was once offered, and threw it at me. It was always in the back of my head, yet I found myself in a delusion, one where I would never allow myself to see the truth, but it all came to me as he spoke. 

“You are the one who cannot have me. How could I make that anymore clear? After all this time, all these months of you thinking your usage was one-sided, how could you not see it, Coriolanus?” I loosened up my posture, and stepped forward, nearly closing the irritable gap that was between the two of us. “You are the one who finds me after my performances, you are the one who pursues me, time and time again. I comply, yes, but I am not the one who soughts after you.”

He blinked. I could read it as clear as day that he was taken aback by my words. A satisfying feeling burned in me, yet the tension geared towards the uncertainty of our conversation never left. I spoke up, and I was not pretty about it. What would he do now? Surely a pianist disappearing wasn’t common, but I wasn’t Capitol royalty, so it’s not like he couldn’t disregard me if he wanted to. Would he do that? No, I was too valuable to him in more ways than one. How worked up he got over this affair showed me that.

“Seems we both have our issues.” He hummed. Another foot stepped closer to me, the tip of his shoe nearly stepping on mine, but he knew that. He reached forward after pulling his hands out of his pockets, and cupped my cheeks with both of his cold, large hands. His thumbs pressed against my lips, and I could feel my lipstick brush against his fingers. “Yet neither of us have ended the arrangement between us. Why do you think that is?”

“Don’t make me answer that.” I shake my head, reaching my hands up to pull him off of me, and lightly push him away. “I will not engage in such a conversation.”

“You’re the one who started this conversation.” Coriolanus grabbed my wrists, yanking me forward. He leaned down to press his lips against my own, causing me to gasp, and attempt to fight it, but I couldn’t.

He knew I liked it, and he knew how to use it against me. I sunk into the feeling for a brief moment, before I pushed him off me, my hands planted against his dress shirt as I gripped the material, holding him in place while he looked down at me, his once slicked back curls falling forward, a few loose hairs against his forehead as he grinned, my lipstick against his pale lips. He tilted his head, his hands moving to grip my waist rather harshly, just enough to keep me still.

“Do I have to remind you how crucial this arrangement is to you? To make you answer my question, hm?” He held me, walking me closer to the opposite side of the room. Aggressively, he kissed me once more, flipping my body to face his vanity, while still keeping my face turned to his own.

He ran his hands down the side of my gown, bunching it up enough that he could push it underneath my chest to remain upright. “You claim to despise what happens between us so much, and you hate that you are what stands between my marriage, yet you cannot seem to walk out the door. Come on, [Y/N], you and I both know you are a bit afraid to fully defy me, but you don’t even try to, until now. But it’s all talk, you’ll never really break anything off.” He reached between my legs, which nearly trembled at his touch, as his fingers slipped into my underwear. 

“And you’re already wet.” Coriolanus mocked, looking at me in the mirror as he slowly slipped one of his fingers into me. He watched my mouth open, a pleased, and frankly, egotistical grin on his face, knowing he had gotten to that part of me so quickly. “Is this why you have not ended what continues on between us? Because no man can make you cum the way I do? Am I really so vital to you?”

“You are insufferable.” I gasp, closing my eyes as he began to work his fingers into me, the sounds of my pleasure much more relevant in his room than I’d prefer them to be. “There are many things you refuse to admit to me, too.”

“Exactly.” Coriolanus looked between my legs as I stood before him, the pressure in his pants brushing against the back of my gown. “We are two different people, yes, but we both have secrets that we strongly refuse to admit, yet we can read it on each other’s faces. You know I’m right. I see you more than anyone else, and you hate it. You hate that I can see you.”

“Then why do you treat this with such amusement?” I chime back, opening my eyes to glue them to what was occurring before me. I could feel his free hand move to begin sliding my underwear down. “Why do you mock me, when the scenario applies to yourself?”

“Because I have nothing to lose.” He returns, shooting me a glare as he drops my underwear to the floor as they pass my hips. “My wife is aware of my distaste for her, and for much of any affections. The Capitol will never question me because they know their lives, and their families, are at stake. No one will question me, [Y/N]. They have too much to lose.”

I feel him move his hand behind my back, tugging at the zipper that restrained him. He keeps his rhythm, and he keeps his eyes against my figure. He knew he had the upper hand, it would be impossible for me to overturn his rank, and his power, and nearly everything he had that I did not. I was constantly reminded of it, especially like this. 

“Then why entertain the idea of me holding any sort of power over you through our affections? Why bother administering mockery upon me, Coriolanus?” I hiss through clear annoyance, struggling to hide the pleasure that wouldn’t seem to brush away from my core. He wasn’t giving up any sort of competence. 

Coriolanus lightly pulled his fingers from me, grazing them against my inner thighs before turning me around, and holding them to his mouth. He licked his fingertips, causing my stomach to drop at the sight, while a smirk cracked onto his tinted lips. 

“I have never been with a woman who tastes as good as you.” The sound of his tongue swirling against his fingers made me weak, and the way that someone so manipulative, so cruel, was licking a part of me, felt wrong, yet it didn’t. It was a confusing battle with oneself. “You hold that power, if you must know.”

He pulled his fingers away from his lips, wiping his hand against my dress before tugging it out from under my covered chest, standing straight as he began to pull it off me, and I just let him. Fucking hell.

“You think I’d fuck a woman I didn’t hold any sort of value to? You think I would waste my time with mindless affairs filled with women whose sole purpose in life is to please me, and to please their husbands? The only pleasure they gain from me is validation, nothing more.” He moved my dress down my shoulders. “You want me to fuck you, [Y/N]. Not just any man of rank, me. It makes you sick, doesn’t it?”

“You fancy me just as much as you do anything else you do for yourself.” I feel him move my gown above my head, over my long, slicked ponytail. “You do this for yourself, no one else. You like that I feel such a way.”

He shook his head, dropping my dress on the floor beside my underwear. “Power and value are different. If I wanted to have power over a woman, I’d be fucking my wife, not you.”

My eyes widened at his words. What was his angle here? This argument was endless. “Then why do you act like you have so much power over me? You want to talk to me about value, yet you show none of it. You only exert power, and your ego, against me everytime I feel your touch. You fuck me like you own me, like you hold such a rule, yet you claim that I hold some sort of power. You baffle me.” 

He took my hands and moved them to his length, in which I nearly shivered upon touch, reminded of each and every time he came close to me, and how large he felt when he was inside me. I lightly stroked him soon after I spoke, watching his bottom lip slightly fall at my fingers. He began to unbutton his shirt.

“Am I supposed to make this easy for you?” He teased, sliding his shirt off his shoulders, now standing in nothing but his unzipped pair of pants and boxers that rested just above them. “Must all you women figure things out without assistance for once?”

“Oh, god,” I scoff, my eyes rolling off irritable instinct as I continued my actions against his stiffened cock. “You are-”

“Insufferable?” Coriolanus cued, raising his brows, his hands moving to guide me towards his bed, as we mutually climbed onto it. “I don’t imagine my cock is insufferable, at least, given your generous duration of touch.”

I groan, watching him lay as I motion my body on top of his. If I had some sort of power, as he seemed to suspiciously claim I do, surely I could show it? I glance at him, feeling his hands reach below to grab my ass, toying with the loose flesh as his instinct brought me above him. 

I don’t respond, rather slide on top of him in a swift motion, causing the both of us to moan rather loudly, nearly echoing across his lavish suite of a bedroom. I watched his eyes fall to my bare chest, before gliding down to the movement between us, as I began to move my body forward. 

“If you claim that I am of such value to you… and you give into submissions at times, then you’ll allow me to control you… hm?” I speak between heavy breaths, feeling his thick, restless cock bury between my thighs as I create a rhythm above him. 

“Like I said to you before, [Y/N], I’m not supposed to make it easy for you.” His eyes never left our bodies while he guided me down. “You’ll see.”

I lean down, his cock angling itself at a curve as I reach to slide my hands to his shoulders, gently kneading at his flesh before resting both palms against his pale neck, my nails digging into the back of it, sliding into his blonde locks. A grin tugs at my lips while I press them against his own, feeling his tongue slide into my mouth and muffle the moans I made with each stroke. 

I squeeze at his neck, my thumbs pressing against his adam’s apple while I ride his cock. Thrust after thrust, I could feel him twitch, knowing he was growing weaker and weaker as I went on. He liked the dominance, but he’d never admit it. Instead he’d toy with me, attempt to make me feel as if I had to work for his value, when I already had it. I had him, and I had all this time. I had nothing to lose. 

“What if it melts?” I ask vaguely, looking down at him amidst the loose hairs against my face. “What will you do then?”

Coriolanus released his hands from my ass, moving them higher to my chest, his thumbs toying with my hardened nipples as he held me up, but my hands remained on his throat. I could feel it move as he spoke. “What if what melts?” 

“Snow.” I breathe heavily at his stimulating touch, while I begin to pick up my speed between us. “What will you do if the snow melts?”

Coriolanus scoffed, pressing his thumbs down. “It won’t.”

I press down and lean down simultaneously, shaking my head as I laugh, the feeling of my physical position never leaving, only growing as I mocked him further. I knew how it felt now, to toy with the one who peaked your interest so high. No wonder he enjoyed this.

“If I hold such value, such power over you, Coriolanus, it’s bound to melt. Snow cannot be on top if something is to compromise it, hm? Must I remind you of what occurred the last time you allowed someone to hold power over you?”

I couldn’t believe I brought her up. Yes, I knew of Lucy Gray, just as many of us musicians did. I never knew her personally, but I was aware of what lengths Coriolanus went to erase her from existence for his political, social, and mental gain. Is that part of the reason I feared walking away, even if I wanted to? Yes. But I knew he wouldn’t kill me, or send me off. He’d have no one if not. 

“Shut the hell up.” He moved his hands to hold me by my face. “This is different.”

“In some ways, yes.” I feel his hands move my hair behind my ears, his eyes locked against mine. He was angry, but he was allowing me to speak further, so not angry enough. “In other ways, it is quite the same.”

“Damn you, woman. Experiencing quite the power trip, aren’t you? Why don’t you do so after we fuck?” He growled, one of his hands reaching past my face to grab the end of my ponytail, yanking it down to cause my head to rise up, my back arching in the process, gasping as he thrusts upward, sending volts through my stomach. 

Don’t lose control, [Y/N]. Don’t you dare let him fuck you into submission.

“If you think for just a second that this is not changing things for you, then you are a fool.” I spit, opening my eyes to stare down at him, fighting his grip against my ponytail. I feel his other hand move from my face to my jaw, holding my face down to face his own. “You can’t do this without me. You spend far too much time with a mistress to disregard her, and you fucking know it. That’s what makes you sick.”

All he could do was curse under his breath, his grip on my hair, and on my face, loosening. Was he admitting defeat? Was he finally showcasing some sort of disadvantage? 

I leaned down to pull him into a sloppy kiss, my tongue sliding into his mouth as he lightly pressed his own against mine, yet allowing me to hold the dominance. The feeling was strange but enjoyable, knowing that I was able to hold mental and physical assertion over such a man. 

I could feel him grunt underneath me, his body limp as I fucked his restlessly, until I could feel myself tighten against him, and his cock pump into me, lightly thrusting upwards to ride out the high that he pushed into me. I watched his face as I held his neck still, his eyes closed and his mouth agape while he came. His cheeks were flushed. I knew he felt defeated, and I knew in some way, he enjoyed it. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

I slowly got off of him, feeling his cum lightly stick between my thighs while I motioned to lay aside him. My hands were warm from their grip, and I rested one against his cheek, turning him to face me. 

“Do you know what makes snow melt?” He asks through a horse tone, looking up to me. He knew I wouldn’t give him the answer he was looking for, so he watched me silently shake my head. He reached forward to hold my own cheek, pulling me down to his lips, but not for a kiss. He let me hover, before he spoke quietly, his hot breath against me. 

“Fire.”

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 24: Behind the Scenes

Word Count: 701/Rating: T/Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader/CW: Eddie's got a crush, theatre girl!Reader, reader wears a dress, one dirty joke thanks to Gareth/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, theatre girl!Reader, Principal Higgins

Divider credit to @silkholland

“This is all your fault,” Gareth hissed at Eddie. “I should be behind the bleachers, making out with Annie right now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, swiping a paint brush over a two-by-four. “Sure, blame the guy standing up to The Man. Let’s not consider that Principal Higgins was the one who banned us from the talent show.”

Jeff hiked up his sleeves and grabbed the nearest hammer, ready to construct the Scarecrow’s perch. “Higgins didn’t ‘ban’ us,” he countered. “He just told us we couldn’t play War Pigs.”

“And that’s better?” Eddie shook his head. “No, we were given freedom of speech for a reason! We should be able to play whatever we goddamn want!”

Mrs. Porter, the school play’s director, glared at him and shushed. Eddie held up his hands in surrender, but continued complaining in a loud whisper. 

“All I’m saying is, if he didn’t want us putting on our own lunchtime performance, he should’ve let us do our thing at the talent show.”

“I think the lunch ladies enjoyed it,” Grant chimed in, earning himself a thwack in the back of the head from Jeff. 

Eddie was about to thank him for his support, but a flash of pink caught his eye. You were standing in front of the girl playing Dorothy and twirling in your Glinda dress. After a few spins, you got dizzy, and Dorothy caught you as you both burst into laughter.

Gareth resumed his rant, oblivious to Eddie’s sudden smittenness. “I’d rather play Girls Just Wanna Have Fun than build sets for the fuckin’ school play.” He held the perch in place so Jeff could hammer in the nail. “At least we could write lyrics and plan campaigns in regular deten–are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” Eddie blinked a few times, snapping himself out of his daze. “Yeah. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Got it.”

“What’re you looking at?” Grant peered around one of the fighting trees, his face splitting into a grin when he saw. “Oh, that’s why you’re not pitching a fit about this set design detention.”

Jeff batted his eyelashes flirtatiously. “Eddie, do you have the hots for the fairy princess?”

“Shut up!” Eddie grumbled. “And she’s not a fairy princess; she’s Glinda the Good Witch.”

The backup guitarist put up his hands in mock surrender. “My apologies.” 

“You gonna ask her to play with your wand?” Gareth snickered, but he quickly stopped once Eddie shot him a look that could kill.

You disappeared back into the makeshift dressing room, and Eddie let out a silent sigh of relief. He might not be able to stare at you from afar, but at least he could think about you without the guys interfering. The subject naturally shifted to the songs they wanted to add to their setlist for their Hideout gigs, and Eddie was in the clear.

Until.

“Those look great!” 

Eddie’s head shot up at the sound of your voice. His cheeks reddened and his mouth relaxed into a sheepish grin.

“Thanks, yeah. I’m not much of an artist–like, a painting artist. I band. Um, I mean, I play in a band. So, like, music artist. I do music. Yeah.”

You raised your eyebrows, clearly unsure how to interpret his rambling. “Well, a music artist is still an artist.”

“Yeah.” Christ, Munson; is that the only word you know?

Gareth was more than happy to supply further conversation. “Sorry, he’s kind of an idiot around girls he’s hopelessly in love with.”

‘I hate you’ was perched on Eddie’s tongue, but you stepped in. You paid no attention to the menace-formerly-known-as-Gareth as you spoke directly to Eddie. “Well, we always need music artists to help make the orchestra pit fuller. If you’re interested.”

“No–I mean, yeah, I’m interested. Super interested.” The paint brush clattered to the ground, but he barely noticed. “Where do I sign up?”

As Eddie followed you to where the orchestra conductor was tuning violins, Gareth leaned closer to the two remaining bandmates. “Think it’s a good idea to tell him that Higgins is technically the reason why he got to talk to his dream girl?”

Jeff clapped a hand on the drummer’s back. “Good luck with that.”

--

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

old solar doodle from back in march in reference to that one post about him playing cello (you can't tell me he wouldn't play an instrument i don't believe you) (yes specifically cello or base i dunno he does have violin or viola vibes)(couldn't say for percussion or band cuz i was an orchestra kid so sorry bout that)

[woaza]

Could you do a Dino Classico x reader, human noble. They went to the study during a party to take a break and secretly to read a book they brought. Theodore snuck out because he wanted to be grown up and saw them in the room. They talk about the book and lent it to Theodore. Dino sees the book with the readers name in the cover after the twin girls tease Theo about his new crush much later in the week.

Dino Classico X (Fem)Human!reader

Contains : Long fic.

Word count : 2.7k words

Warnings : Dino being mean to his son, Dino Being a waving red flag and use of Y/N and L/N.

A/N : Hey I got a tone of requests which I’m super grateful for! I’m working on all of them and super appreciate your patience and i promise to get them done even if it takes a while! Plus some of them are a bit confusing so once I decipher them I’ll be getting to work lol. Also We got to get Theodore to a psychiatrist ASAP. Your toys talking to you is not normal. 🌜

It was the annual Classico Ball event, held at the Classico Estate. The ball room was magnificent with a large porch wrapping around the party room. Large stained glass windows and even bigger glass doors. The garden was well kept but vines grew up the glass and white pillars due to the grand age of the manor. Yet the natural but well kept garden was just charming and magnificent. Which was simply another way the Classico’s parade their power in such a subtle way. It was a humid summer evening, despite the sun setting it was hot. The ladies and lords doing their best to stay inside as to not sweat in their nice evening wear. Of course the head of the Classico house thought of this and kept drinks on display all night, free for the guests of the Ball. Especially as everyone danced it was gravely important for anyone to stay hydrated. It would be frowned upon if the host left his poor guests grow parched.

Yet as each lord and lady danced to the melody of the posh orchestra, all the human bodies in the room heated up the large space. Most people in attendance were simply enjoying the evening far too much to notice or if they did notice the growing heat they shrugged it off.

Thus far you had been brave in the battle against the heat. You grew hot as you stood with your house, doing your best to present your face and your family. The expensive party wear fitted to your body perfectly was doing little to cool you down. Your conversation was growing weak and you knew you needed to excuse yourself. Lucky for yourself you had predicted such an event and brought a book to accompany you on your escape. At least once you made your escape.

You looked to your family who seemed unbothered and in a pleasant conversation with some fellow Nobels. This was a perfect chance for you to politely slip way which you did with ease, your family almost never seemed to notice until much later whenever you did your own personal ‘journeys’. You couldn’t help but smile as you politely excused yourself to the outside patio, thinking of the last chapter in your book. It was finally time for the conclusion of what you would consider one of the best books you’ve ever read. It was a thrilling feeling as you sat on one of the benches illuminated by the lights from within the ballroom. Your fingers moving between the pages as you flip to the last chapter.

Word by word you digested the written art piece. You had read the last word when you felt someone’s eyes fall unpon you. You looked up from your book, not noticing anyone. You quickly turn your head around looking left and right until your eyes fall onto a little boy. He stood a couple feet away, standing by one of the shrubs in a glass pot.

You fixed your posture a bit and smiled at the young boy. “Hello.” Your tone was sweet and somewhat quiet as he shuffled away from his somewhat concealed hiding spot. He nodded respectfully and walked up to your. “My apologies my lady. I am Theodore Classico, Heir to the Classico family.”

He had definitely practiced his introduction, which was a bit surprising to hear such a formal introduction from a little boy. Your composed yourself quickly and looked over to him. “I am lady L/N, a pleasure to meet you.” He nodded before he glanced past you looking at the party that was happening within the ball room.

“Are you not enjoying your self?” He said his tone concerned, he knew the Classico annual party was an important part of his family’s reputation and wanted to uphold that quality. “No, no, I am.” You smiled a bit, what a strange thing for a child to be concerned with? “As a matter of fact, excuse my behavior but you don’t seem to be dressed for an event like this?” You said with your tone coming more as a question rather than a statement.

He frowned at the comment but sighed. “I am not allowed till I reach a certain age, my father forbids it.” As he returned an answer to your question you smiled wider. So that meant he snuck out to see the party. He noticed your smirk. “You won’t report this to my father will you?” Which you couldn’t help but snicker, and shake your head “Worry not young Theodore, I will not tell such things to Master Classico.”

He was grateful before he quickly glanced to the book you had on your lap. You followed his eyes with your own. “The fall of Arkmunster written by William Le Franc, are you familiar?” Theodore paused for a moment before shaking his head no. “I am unfamiliar with the title but have read pieces by the author.” Leaning closer to you to look at the cover. You held the book out to him prompting him to take it. Which he does after some hesitation.

“I’m surprised you have heard of William Le Franc but not the tittle it’s a classic in Philosophy. It’s wonderfully written and it is a challenging read.” You had throughly enjoyed this read and more than happy to discuss the book. Which he seemed to return the sentiment. “I’ll just have to take your word for it, I’m sure we don’t have it in the manors collection I’ve read all the William Le Franc books it has to offer. I’ll have to purchase a copy.” You nodded your head in agreement, before you thought for a brief moment. “Actually I’ve just finished, would you like to barrow the book?”

Theodore didn’t really have any adults who were kind to him, at least in that sense. His father would never have trusted him with a book no matter how hard he tried to prove himself responsible. He smiled a bit and pulled the book closer to himself. “If it wouldn’t be a burden I would be extremely grateful ma’am”

You smiled and watched the boy clutch onto the book. “Of course no matter at all, I’ll have to write in you in a month’s time or so once you’ve finished and we will talk of the contents. If you’d enjoy that of course?” In your head you felt silly, what child wanted to read a book written by William Le Franc? It had rather big ideas in the book. This particular book discusses death. How the human mind grapples it. Something a child surely wouldn’t understand. Yet he had read other pieces, what mature child indeed.

Time passed by and you and Theodore discussed some of the other works of William Le Franc. He was a bright boy and it was possibly the best conversation you had all night! Yet as the night grew later you and the young boy said your goodbyes. With the hopes to write to each other. Theodore the young boy was ecstatic! He had a companion who had looked pasted his age and gave him a respectful conversation. Let alone some proper attention! He was eager to read the book and started almost immediately after the conversation you two held.

Weeks later it was the usual routine, him and his father left so he could be under his supervision. ‘The nursery’ as it was named. Theodore tired to enjoy it but under his father’s supervision he couldn’t. Far too embarrassed to play with the other children, let alone with his father present. So as he usually did sat on the couch and read his books. Today only bringing one book; The fall of Arkmunster written by William Le Franc. It was hard to understand, most certainly the hardest book he’s ever read. The meanings and word play was intense but deeply meaningful. A hard but awarding book. He was stuck on a paragraph that didn’t make any sense when the twins walked up to him. Lucia and Elena walked up tried to get his attention. Elena snapped her fingers but they were always so loud and chaotic. Theodore paid them no mind.

Lucia rolled her eyes and quickly swiped the book out of his hands as Elena laughed. Snapping Theodore out of his focus. “Excuse me? Lucia return that to me!” Theodore said with a scowl, Lucia started to flip through the pages while Elena blocked his way. “What’s so fun about a book anyway? play with us!” Elena stated holding out her arms. Frustrating Theodore to no end.

After a moment Lucia reached the cover page and widened her eyes a bit. “Theodore who is lady Y/N L/N?” Which caught all three of the young children’s attention. Elena quickly came to an unreasonable conclusion that this must be Theodore’s love rather quickly. “Is that your betrothed Theodore!?” She said rather loudly causing everyone in the small room to look at the small commotion. Dino Classico stood up almost immediately and marched over to the commotion. Lucia held the book wide open with your signature on the cover while laughing loudly. Theodore was immediately red in the face. “Elena do not say such things!” He pleaded as he felt pure dread as his father walked to them. Lord Classico quickly grabbed the book and held to examine the pages. “Theodore. Let’s discuss in the hallway. Now.” Classico didn’t wait for a response nor for Theodore and went out into the hallway. Theodore glanced angrily at the girls before following Behind his father Into the hallway.

“Father I can explain.” Yet as his father always seems to do, quickly interrupted. “Theodore I do not know how you received this book but I am not amused by the disturbance it caused. I am annoyed and disappointed. Do not let such things happen again! Understand?” Theodore simply nodded and looked towards the floor. “You children are far to young to discus such things.” Classico said with a grumble before opening the book and examining the name. “Lady Y/N L/N? How did you get this?” A small pause before he looked and Theodore angrily. “Did you steal this? You soil the Classico name!? You owe lady L/N and immediate apology!” Dino seemed to be getting more angry by the second. Theodore tried to compose himself the best he could “father I did not steal the book it was lent to me.” Theodore could barely look his father in the eyes, stumbling his words dispute his best attempts.

Dino scoffed as he held the book, starting at your signature. How did his son ever come into contact with you? Especially after his many attempts to, he had specifically invited your family to all the Classico events and gatherings. Yet you seemed so allusive, he’d see you walk in but he’d never catch a conversation or a dance with you. Much to his annoyance but of course no one else knew of his intentions to speak with you. “Theodore don’t bother me with such nonsense ever again. Understand boy?” Theodore nodded moving his eyes to look at the book his father held far above his head “Yes father.” Was all he could say, and the only answer Dino would accept. “Now we will go back to the room and you will not Cause any more bother.”

Theodore spent the rest of the day sitting in the Conner, that had been the only book he had brought with him. He couldn’t help but stare at the book as it sat on the table next to where his father was. Just out of his grasp. Yes, potentially he could read one of the books that nursery had to offer but that was of no interest to him.

A couple more days passed and Dino found himself with a small break. The investigation meeting had ended a bit earlier than usual and he was left to his alone in his manner. Which was rare, he almost had time off. Your book still was on his desk, he couldn’t help but open the book and let his eyes linger on your signature. He could mail the book back to you with a letter of apology. Yet the Classicos and your house were plenty friendly with each other. What could be wrong with an impromptu visit? Your father being one of the few humans he did business with.

A little later he finally arrived at your family’s estate. The Servents are quick to greet him and lead him to the front parlor to wait. Your father and Classico spoke for a moment before you were called down. A maid knocked on the doors to your private chambers.

“Lady L/N, your presence in the front parlor is requested by your farther immediately.” The fimillar voice at the door snapped you out of the new set novel you were indulging in. You quickly opened the door. “My father? Why, what business could he have to request me?” You weren’t trying to be snarky but more so curious. “The head of Classico is present, other than that I am no more informed than you are my lady.” The maid said as she walked a couple steps behind you. Classico? Your first thought was of Theodore, maybe he had come to discuss the book. But some things didn’t make sense. It had only been a little more than a week, surely not enough time to read a book of the difficulty and size.

You made your way to the front parlor, your father and Dino Classico sat across from each other drinking tea. You walked in confusion to see Dino Classico holding the book you had lent his son.

“Father, Lord Classico.” You did a small curtsy and looked at them both. Formally announcing yourself. “My daughter, Lord Classico came to return your book. You should thank the man.” You nodded with a confused smile as you walked over to Dino Classico as he held the book out for you. “Thank you my lord, but if I may be so bold I lent this to the young Theodore. Has he already finished the novel?” Your father raised a brow and looked at Dino. Making sure you didn’t offend the man.

“I had assumed he had stolen it?” Which made your eyes widen. “Oh my goodness no! He was such a well mannered boy I happily lent it to him.”

“Really now? When did you and my son get the chance to talk?” He said leaning a bit forward in his seat, that he was much too tall for. You immediately thought of how Theodore wasn’t supposed to have snuck out. In an attempt to not throw Theodore into anymore trouble you quickly thought of a reasonable explanation. “At the annual ball I excused myself for the ladies room and had the good fortune to have had bumped into the young boy who recognized the author.” That seemed reasonable enough and Dino seemed to seem fine with that answer while your father sat in silence.

The room grew quiet for a brief moment before Dino set up in his seat. “I see that this has been a misunderstanding now. Unfortunately I have some more duties to attend to. Lord and lady L/N I appreciate your patience with my unannounced visit.” He stood up walking over to you, gently placing a kiss on the back of your hand. His butler quickly got the message and fetched his hat. Within a moment Dino bided you and father a goodbye.

Once Dino had left he immediately wanted to talk to you more. For once he was grateful for one of what he would consider Theodore’s ‘childish outbursts’. Within in own thoughts he planed to speak with Theodore about you. Maybe he would but Theodore a copy of the book. You were such a strange woman, he couldn’t help but be intrigued. He’d have to pursue another conversation with you.

Dino would never tell any one of how he was attracted to you. From your mannerisms to your polite nature. Yet you were so educated. He could simply tell by the way you carried yourself. No longer would be subtly hope to run into at an event, or visit your family. He needed a more direct way to speak to you, and with Theodore maybe he had one.

Another A/N: I kinda escaped the prompt and for that I am sorry. Also I assumed the read was Fem but if they weren’t supposed to be lmk!

[bl4nchetts-lvr]

Hello, can u please write Lydia Tar smut? I love the way u write, even if english is not your first language.

teacher's pet

lydia tar x fem!younger!reader (semi-SMUT)

summary: What will a student be willing to do for her teacher's approval?

PART 1

word count: TO BE ADDED

guide:

this font is lydia's words as thoughts in Y/N's head

this font is Y/N's thoughts

this font is just the dialogues!

"you are the worst";

"you will never get better";

"why do you even try? you are worthless";

"that's all you can do?"

this is what you have been hearing from lydia every lesson,every practice. you can't take it anymore. you are desperate for her validation.

she is your teacher,your conductor. she is the lydia tar. How could you dissapoint her so much?

"you are such a dissapointment."

you want her to praise you. you want to be the best,you hate seeing her praise other students who do better than you. you want to be as good as them,no,you want to be BETTER than them

"good girl"

you want her to call YOU a good girl. you want her to aknowledge your hard work..

19:37

the lesson had just ended,every student had left. You and her are alone in the hall.

she is fixing her hair which is up in a messy,loose ponytail. her shirt is slightly unbuttoned,tucked into her pants which where slightly baggy but still showed how small her waist was.

"what do you want now,y/n?" she asks with her raspy voice,perhaps from smoking so much,she looked at you with her pale blue eyes.

you couldn't talk,your throat went dry from anxiety. "Will she get mad? what if she will hate me even more now..?" you heard your thoughts.

"speak up." you heard her say.

you got closer to her,fidgeting with the end of your shirt. you took a deep breath,heart beating fast. "Why am i so nervous..?"

"I .." you bit your lip again. "i.. wanted to apologize for the .. the dissapointment that i've caused you." your voice broke. "i never wanted to be like this,i've been trying hard to please you and be the student you're proud of,miss Tar." your eyes were filling up with moist,she could see this and it made her chapped lips merge into a faint smirk.

"i will do everything to stay as your student,i will show you how .. how serious i take music,really,i will! i will do every-" you froze when you saw her get up and tower over you..she quite a tall woman,masculine appearance,no make up,her wrinlkles around her eyes make them even more alluring.

"Alright,alright .. i hear you." she looked down at you,pulling a strand of your hair behind your ear. "if you really want to show me how dedicated you are to music,how much you truly desire to be apart of my orchestra,how much you are willing to do to be my good little girl .. then i will let you."

her cold smirk got slightly more visible.

"i will see you at my apartment tonight,at 10PM. be on time and do not dissapoint me even more,got it?"

you couldn't say anything as your moist eyes dried up from shock and suddeness of this situation.

"my good little girl" is what echoed in your head. her good little girl..?

You will do everything for it,won't you?

all you could do is nod a little,while feeling her strong hands on your shoulders.

"i will do everything she desires. i will show you that i'm worth it." you thought,as your eyes filled up with determination.

----

21:57

you got to her apartment and saw all its glory: very big,luxurious,lydia's photos and awards were on display. her office door was open and you could see her desk,a piano,some other instruments you couldnt really make out because the lights were off in the room.

you got called to her living room.

your heart was beating faster than before,you were determined to not dissapoint her. not anymore.

for about 30 minutes you two were talking,and while doing so you could feel her glance full of lust on yourself.

at the end,lydia put her hand on your thigh. Her eyes were eerily cold,like that one of a psychopath,you could see her slight smirk that was making you feel quite uncomfortable and worried.

"You said you would do everything for me to keep you in my team,no?" she said with her raspy voice. "i want you to prove it."

she pulled her hands from your thigh to your waist,pulling you down on her lap. her hand slid down under your dress,as she felt your cold yet soft skin.

her face got closer to your neck,her nose faintly touching it. her warm breath was one of the many things you could feel at that moment. then,you felt her chapped lips making a contact with your neck,kissing it.

your breath hatched as you felt her lips. your eyes widened a little,looking down at the floor while your hands were pressing into the back of the couch to keep yourself steady. your heart is beating incredibly fast,you're scared .. nervous .. excited.

Yes,this is what you had dreamt of.. every lesson when you got to sit close to this incredible,yet creepy woman,you felt her masculine perfume .. you had seen her veiny hands that you wished were wrapped around your neck,which,in fact,is happening right now.

her cold and rough left hand is on your neck as she bites down on it. she smirks again,feeling the fast pulse of her student's.

you couldn't remember anything after that,but you were already on her soft,luxurious king sized bed with lydia in front of you,laying right at your legs and holding them open .. her chapped lips are kissing your left inner thigh,her blue eyes piercing into you ..

her teeth teasingly bit into your plush thigh,then pulling back and sitting up. her hands pulled you closer to her and she looked down at your most vulnerable parts covered by thin fabric. she smirked again,satisfied with what was happening.

The older woman's overly veiny hands grabbed your panties,slowly pulling them down to reveal your most vulnerable part. her twisted smirk widened as she licked her lips a little and looked into your eyes.

"Can't wait for it,hm?" she said with a dark chuckle.

she was right,you couldn't wait for it. You wanted to be her favourite,you wanted her to praise you,to aknowledge your hard work and for her to finally fuck you.

"Show me what you are willing to do,Y/N."

--------------------------

Part 1 is here <3

this little fic will have 2 parts and the 2nd one will be the smut. i promise,i'll post it soon! i'm sorry for being so inactive,i didn't feel like writting at all.

hope you liked it. Stay hydrated,eat well,take care of yourselves and i hope you all have a great day/night !!

[ataraxiaspainting]

Cherry Wine.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: It is your last day of actual freedom, and Chrollo intends to have it end with a mix of your design and his own. Everything is perfectly set. All he has to do now is wait for you to come into the web.

Warnings: Yandere themes, a wild Feitan appears, stalking, drugging/restraining (chloroform/handcuffs), and kidnapping.

Word Count: 1k.

*~*~*~*

A familiar jingle accompanies the turntable’s rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers. It is your keychain, moving with your key as you unlock your apartment door, moving as your feet shuffle on your doormat to get rid of the dirt the soles had acquired from walking. The sounds of tired sighs, your headphones being placed beside the rack where your jackets and umbrellas and shoes are placed. Chrollo knows all of these melodies by heart because those notes make up the beautiful orchestra that is you. 

He hears the little creaking noise of the door closing, along with the lock being turned, sealing your fate. A small sound of the closet you keep near the entrance, which holds your bags and fancier footwear like high heels. Chrollo respected the silent rule of never wearing shoes inside, something that is out of character for him whenever he breaks into other peoples’ homes, and had placed his own black loafers behind that one expensive purse you only used one time for a presentation you had to make for your professors and peers. 

He had Shalnark record the entire thing and has rewatched it multiple times, each one seeming better than the last.

Everything about you, from how you walked, how you were so expressive with your facial expressions, how you seemed to be able to befriend anyone, everything about you felt like it came from another world. Or perhaps he is the one who came from another world, metaphorically? Chrollo chuckles at the thought. It would make sense, really, Meteor City felt like another world, that is for certain.

One of your cats meows loudly, the larger but older one from the way the meow was scratchy like nails on a blackboard, most likely being right next to you. He is distressed, perhaps. Chrollo is an unwanted visitor, after all, and despite being more of a cat person, he had to deal with your cats more than your dog, oddly enough. While your dog cowered and hid under the table, whining like she had been reduced to that of the small puppy she was when you first adopted her, your cats teamed up to attempt to scratch his eyes out whenever they jumped on the kitchen table or couch, hissing and possibly screaming bloody murder. Somewhere deep within Chrollo’s heart, it hurts a bit.

He knows that because of your naivety, you will just pet the cat, take off your coat, and your boots, and go upstairs, where your dining table has been set by Chrollo. It’s a welcome gift, in Chrollo’s opinion, but also perhaps an apology one as well.

As soon as you walk into the kitchen, your fate is as doomed as a little fly caught in a spider’s web.

“Come on,” You grumble. “Already? Geez. I just got that bag too…” Are you talking to your cat? “What the hell? I know you have stomach problems but… gosh.”

Ah. Do you plan on switching out the brand of cat food again?

“I guess that’s my own fault though for getting a cat I knew has digestive issues, huh? I can’t be mad at you. You’re almost the same age as me and… that’s a lot in cat years.” Chrollo hears the sound of a yawn as he presumes you are stretching. You must be tired, you have been on your feet all day today helping out your peers with their assignments, as usual. “It’s just now I have to clean up all this puke… argh.”

Should I speed things along? 

A text message from Feitan, who has been outside your apartment door, though you didn’t see him, unsurprisingly. He is most likely getting annoyed, from the tone of the writing, because Feitan can be doing much more important things for the Troupe instead of helping you “settle in” as Chrollo put it.

That won’t be necessary. Trust me. Everything is going as planned so far, even if this is a minor setback.

The reason why Chrollo didn’t choose someone like Phinks or Nobunaga to help him with this task is because Feitan is the most silent. He can easily imagine the other two scaring you away accidentally if they accidentally lose their cover.

The table is set, with flowers and books and other things you love. All he has to do is wait.

You should have just brought Machi.

Chrollo sighs at that, just barely audible. But he knows Feitan is nothing but loyal to him, so he knows that he will not try anything that he does not like.

Machi is busy shopping with Paku and Shizuku for the other things I need for [First], it would be rude to ruin their own task, Fei.

With that, Chrollo’s message is left on read.

Everything is going according to plan, and Feitan will not ruin it, even if he had wanted to.

All that is left is to wait. You’ll come on your own.

Feitan is only here if you attempt to run afterward, after you see your gifts, after all.

He hears footsteps, coming up the stairs, at long last.

One.

Two.

A large meal is placed on the side of the table that has an empty chair. Chrollo sits across, smiling. Plates and bowls filled with things that are sweet, savory, and everything else in between. They are all your favorites, Chrollo double-checked with Shalnark before he had left. Other items are placed on the table as well, like that jewelry set you were eyeing last week but unfortunately was too expensive for you. You were trying to limit how much you spend, a good habit to build surely. It is a shame you will never get to use that skill, though. Unless Chrollo gives you an allowance each week based on how well you behave, an entertaining concept in his opinion, but if it ever becomes reality it will have to wait a few weeks at the very least.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Chrollo also had Feitan carry handcuffs, in case the chloroform does not work as it was intended to.

But that is after you two talk, it would be rude to not introduce himself and show off everything he has bought for you.

Seven.

[juliasturnz]

“You don’t have to hold me anymore”

Chris sturniolo x fem!reader

🜸 - I love this song so much, it actually pains my heart sometimes😭

★ - summary:

You and chris are having a big fight and something he said fully broke your heart.

༆ warnings:

Cussing, slight push, mad!chris, crying, use of y/n, I think that’s all!

✫彡 - writers note:

Yes I’m gonna apologize again😁, sorry for being so inactive. I didn’t have any ideas at all😔😔

“COULDNT REALLY LOVE YOU ANYMORE”

‘what the fuck Chris? Why are you making such a big problem about this?’ You can’t help but keep questioning what’s happening between you and Chris, Chris is just standing in front of you with a blank stare. Maybe even a death stare you can’t really figure that out, your head has been spinning. Nothing seems real, ‘hello fucking dumbass are you here?’ Chris snaps in your face with his long and somehow loud fingers. Fuck you have been zoning out, he isn’t even giving you a death stare.

“I DONT THINK I LOVE YOU ANYMORE”

‘God you are so stupid.’ ‘What the fuck do you want from me Chris, I don’t understand.’ ‘I don’t think I love you anymore.’ Chris seems like he has calmed down, like he needed to get this of his chest, meanwhile you’re just standing in front of him with a teardrop slowly falling down your cheek. ‘get out of my face please.’ Chris surprisingly has tears in his eyes and you could barely hear his voice, you were both hurt. ‘I was going to sleep anyway.’ you almost say whispering, another teardrop falling down from your cheek while slowly walking to Nick’s room.

“YOU DONT HAVE TO HOLD ME ANYMORE”

You walk up the stairs where you surprisingly find Matt and Nick standing there. Your hair is messed up and so is your makeup, you feel embarrassed while also wondering if they heard everything. Matt and Nick have the exact same worried look with furrowed eyebrows. You can’t help but start sobbing, ‘oh come here.’ Nick opens his arms to hug. You slowly walk up to Nick and he gives you the warm and comforting hug you needed, Matt also joined you and Nick, and softly pats your messy hair.

“YOU DONT OPEN YOUR EYES FOR A WHILE, YOU JUST BREATHE THAT MOMENT DOWN.”

Nick takes you to his room while Matt walks down to get a bottle of water.

Matts pov:

Matt quickly walks down the stairs to get a glass of water, he sees Chris sitting down in the corner of his eye with tears in his eyes while scrolling through something. Matt knows exactly what Chris is doing.

When Matt has y/n’s glass filled with water he places the glass down on the dinner table. Walk over to chris and leans against the couch. ‘Bro what did you do.’ Chris looks up from his phone scrolling through the pictures from y/n and him together. ‘Just leave me alone bro, take her if you want she doesn’t want me anymore.’ Matt furrows his eyebrows, ‘aren’t you the one that doesn’t love her anymore?’ ‘Shut up leave me alone.’ ‘Chris just go to sleep.’ ‘Whatever bro.’ Chris gives Matt a eye roll before Matt picks up the water and brings it upstairs to Nick’s room.

Matt walks into the room with my glass of water and places it down on the kind of dirty nightstand. ‘There you go, I’m so sorry about Chris.’ Matt looks at me with a worried look. ‘It’s okay.’ You give him a weak smile before you quickly drink the glass of water. Matt also crawls up Nick’s bed with you laying in the middle. ‘You wanna watch a movie?’ Nick looks at you while handing you the remote. You nod, click on netflix and skip through the movies, you find Chris’ favorite. ‘That’s his favorite.’ You look at the movie without any expression on your face, almost cold. Nick grabs the remote and puts on a random movie. ‘This is a healthier way no?’ ‘Yeah probably.’ You give nick a little smile while he side hugs you.

After a while you look over to Nick and he’s sleeping, he looks so peaceful something you need rn. On the other side of the bed you see Matt rapidly tapping on his phone. ‘Matt what are you doing?’ ‘Chris wants to talk to you.’ ‘Oh uh..’ you kind of stay quiet, you have no idea what you are supposed to say to him, Everything has been said. ‘I told him no, don’t worry, I don’t think he has the right to talk to you yet.’ ‘Mhm’ Matt looks over to you and gives you a big hug. ‘Where do you wanna sleep tn?’ ‘Can I sleep with you or? I don’t wanna disturb Nick, he has been working hard lately.’ ‘Ofcourse .’ Matt gives you a little smile.

“I BELIEVED YOU WERE CRAZY, YOU BELIEVED THAT YOU LOVE ME.”

After watching a couple more movies with Matt, you tuck Nick in with some warm blankets, and walk with Matt to his room when you find Chris still sitting on the couch looking over at you. ‘Oh so your fucking her now huh?’ ‘Dude what.’ You are just staying silent, what do I need to do? What do I need to say? ‘N-no I am not.’ ‘Ofcourse you aren’t.’ ‘For fucks sake just go to bed, stop scrolling to old pictures of you and y/n and talk to her tomorrow give her some space. Jezus.’ ‘Shut up bro.’ Chris spits at Matt with a furious looks in his eyes, but does exactly what Matt says him.

You are standing face to face with Matt looking at each other but you aren’t looking at him peacefully you are giving him a scared look, a uncomforting look. ‘I- I’m scared idk what to do anymore.’ ‘You are going to be alright. I promise.’ Matt guides you to his bedroom. ‘Do what you need to do, I’m in my room prob watching something on Graffiti falls.’ ‘I think I’m going to take a shower, is that okay?’ ‘Oh for sure, let me get you some towels.’ Matt walks out of his room grabs some towels next to his bathroom and hands you the still warm and soft towels. ‘Thank you.’ ‘Ofcourse.’ He walks to his room and falls on the just made bed. You look into the room before going into the bathroom and give him a little smile. And lipsync ‘thank you.’ Matt gives you a warm smile before turning on his tv.

You turn on the shower, a little above the temperature you normally do. Hopefully the burning shower would hide the thoughts in your head that have been non stop playing in your head. You wash your messy hair and you take of your makeup.

half hour later 11:45 PM

You walk out of the shower with fresh hair and a clean face, but Chris is standing in front of you. ‘Um hello?’ You furrow your eyebrows, ‘um hello?’ Chris mocks you. ‘What do you want, I wanna go to fucking sleep.’ ‘nothing I just hope you have fun fucking my brother.’ Chris’ face is cold, not a single expression on his face. ‘I’m not fuck off, your just jealous.’ You turn around and before you could open the door Matt has paused his serie and stands in the doorway. ‘Chris go to fucking bed.’ You’ve never seen Matt this pissed, it’s lowkey scaring you. Chris pushes Matt, this never happens what is happening? You are scared, you don’t know what to do. ‘Your a fucking dumbass Chris, you were lucky with her. Why the fuck do you ruin that?’ Chris is quiet, tears coming up in his eyes, ‘.. I - idk.’ Chris covers his eyes and walk away.

Nick is coming down the stairs standing there in shock, ‘what the actual fuck happened here?’ His voice is raspy, definitely woke up bc of the fight. You kind of run to Nick, you don’t know what else to do. ‘They got into a fight. I don’t know why.’ ‘Oh for fucks sake, let me handle this. Chris come here.’ Chris was going to walk by but Nick stops him with laying his hand on his shoulder and giving him a slight push. ‘Come here crybaby.’ ‘Fuck you.’ His voice is shaky, it makes you wanna give him a hug but that’s probably the last thing he wants from you right now. ‘Yeah whatever come.’ Nick takes Chris to Matt and takes them into Matt’s room.

You walk to the living room, still in complete shock but you turn on the tv to silent the arguing you hear coming from Matt’s room. You hear so many different things a mix from yelling, cussing and crying, your nightmare came to life.

A little while later they all come out of the room, Chris walks up to you. Falling down on the couch next to you, very close to you. ‘I-Im sorry I do love you I- i really do, I just.’ ‘Oh shut up Chris.’ You don’t let him talk what you feel bad about but you kiss his beautiful lips, the kiss was the thing you needed all along. His hands slightly on your waist, your hands in his hair. Everything seemed perfect.

‘Well you guys made up I see,’ you totally forgot that Matt and Nick were standing in front of y’all, but you couldn’t give a fuck. Things were okay again. You break the kiss look over to them and give them a hug. You whisper in their ears a thank you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I couldn’t help making this a good end🥹

if you want to be tagged comment down!♥️ hope you enjoyed this, leave down a like if you like to see more from me stay save 💞.

Tags:

@042502 @chrisslut333 @chrissslut @chriscamopants @chris-slut @chrissv4mp @didiswrld12 @slutz4sturniolos @hollandsangel @hoeformatt @h3arts4harry @heartmatt @mattsfavbitchhh @mattstattos @mattslittleprincess @mattsturnswife @mattsgf @sturnioloshacker @monroesturnns @sturnslesbo @sturniolonmc @sturnioz @sturnzsblog @sturnsblunt @sturnsbaby @sturnslcver @sturnsdoll

[nohoney]

Bakugou who says that the chick flicks or romantic dramas you watch are stupid but then sits down with you to watch it and gets into it too.

He just casually passes by you, poking at your cheek and his eyes glancing to the screen of your movie with flowery words used and a rising, romantic orchestra as the soundtrack. He only came by to fix himself some lunch, was gonna eat at the table and then go back to his rec room. Bakugou makes his bowl of food and decides to eat beside you on the couch.

“Katsuki, don’t leave-“ you start to chastise him.

“No crumbs and no mess, I won’t alright? Fuck, my sandwich fell apart one time on me and you freak out about messes every time.” Bakugou sighs but knows to follow rules. “What’s this movie?”

You explain that the summary is apparently about an accused crime that effects the lives of two lovers. It’s only first fifteen minutes of the movie so you’ve barely just started. He sits quietly beside you, not really pulled into these kinds of films you like, but raises his eyebrows at one scene. “Did he just write that he wants to kiss her cunt?”

Now he’s intrigued.

Bakugou is intrigued when the filthy letter is accidentally sent instead of the proper, flowery apology. He’s intrigued at the library scene of the two lovers confessing to each other. His bowl is sent down during the scene of the arrest. He’s leaned back into the couch with his lips pressed into a thin line of the panning scene of a war zone.

And at the reveal of who the actual perpetrator was, Bakugou throws his hands up in frustration, “So the fucker just gets to get away with it! And now after all that shit happened, there’s no goddamn justice!”

“Shhh!! It’s not over yet!”

When the movie ends and the credits roll, Bakugou groans at the ending. Not so much from the drama he thought he’d be bored with but from how tragic it ended up being. “I thought your movies had happy endings, what the fuck was that?”

You laugh a little and blow your nose into a tissue, having cried a little over the reveal of what happened to the lovers. “I know, that was so sad huh? Really makes you think how much they could have had.”

“Fuck that! How the hell did she decide that, what, almost ten years later that she got the wrong fucker’s face? When that cabin boy or garden boy or whatever the fuck he was had known her for so many years? And all because of a letter she shouldn’t have opened too!” Bakugou huffs over the movie ending, “But I guess the only good thing that bitch did was write the ending they should have had… I guess.”

You smile at your boyfriend, happy that he actually managed to give one of your dumb dramas a chance.

-@blaquejaguar ♡(｡- ω -)

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 2 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Ahead of your first rehearsal with the Los Angeles Symphony, you become reacquainted with Maestra Agatha Harkness.

Word Count: 4.6K

A/N: Helllooo, welcome to chapter 2 of The Lark Ascending! This chapter features a very, very special piece that I strongly recommend giving a listen, I'll link an earlier post with the video. I'm going to try to do updates around every 2-3 weeks but it will sadly depend on my schedule. I'd also like to give a special shoutout to 🫂 anon, who told me of an idea they had of Agatha using her baton to secure her hair back. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the inspiration, I hope I did your idea justice. As always I hope you enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think :)

Danzón No. 2

Previous Chapter

The head of marketing for the orchestra, Pepper Potts, motioned to the promotional materials laid out in front of you. “So what do you think?” 

Squinting, you tilted your head to look at it from a different angle, taking it all in. They were certainly…interesting. Your face had been blown up on all of them, some featured you holding or playing your violin. 

“Um….” You trailed off, trying to keep your tone cheerful. “Well, they’re a little different from what I was expecting, but they look nice.”

The last time you spoke with Pepper, you had explained how you were more interested in focusing on the music than yourself, you had even brainstormed on a few different campaign ideas. At the time you thought it had been a productive conversation. 

“I know they’re not what we originally discussed, but we’ve found that interest groups respond better to a face, or rather, the face of what we’re trying to promote,” Pepper explained, laying out a few different options in front of you. “As our newest artist in residence, you are the face, the center focus. We’ve been trying to appeal to a wider audience, as well as a younger audience. This is the perfect way to accomplish it.”

“What she means to say is, your original idea was boring. But she’s too professional to say that, isn’t that right, Pepper?” Tony chimed in from where he was sitting on the opposite side of the room, scrolling through his phone. 

Pepper let out an exasperated sigh, shooting Tony a glare. “That is not right, Tony.” She gave you an apologetic smile, something she appeared to be used to doing. “Just ignore him. Everyone else does.”

Tony checked the time on his watch, before turning his attention back to you. “If we could wrap this up in a few, is there anything else we need to cover?”

Pepper glanced at her tablet, shaking her head. “We’ve gone over everything as far as marketing is concerned.”

“Fantastic,” Tony said, standing up, stretching his legs out. “Let’s get those materials finalized before next week’s Donor Gala.” As he began walking to his desk, he paused, snapping his fingers. “See if we can get Harkness to conduct something? Something more modern, maybe, but not funky Glass modern. The donors will love that. She’s so much more entertaining to watch than Strange.”

“Well that’s not too difficult to accomplish when the man conducts like he’s performing surgery,” Agatha drawled out, and you jumped at the sound of her voice. 

The door to Tony’s office was now wide open as Agatha came strolling in, followed closely by Tony’s assistant.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I told her you were still in a meeting,” the woman profusely apologized, giving Agatha a terrified glance before adding, “but she wouldn’t listen.”

Tony waved off the apology, clearly unphased by Agatha’s behavior. “It’s fine, Sharon. Maestra! Please, come in. I hope you’ve found everything to your liking?”

“You know me, Tony, I’m not particularly picky,” Agatha replied, enunciating every last syllable as she gave you a simmering glance that resulted in you blushing and looking down at your feet. “But I must say, I’m rather enjoying my time so far.”

“Have you met our artist in residence?” Tony prompted, and you suddenly realized he had no idea of your history with the conductor. “Peps, why don’t we get a photo of the three of us for socials? Ask that one intern for a caption, she’s pretty clever. Kamala, I think?”

Pepper sighed in defeat, fishing around for her camera. “Don’t call it socials, Tony.”

Tony then turned his attention to you, as you finally broke the rather intense staring match with Agatha. “Y/N? Have you had the pleasure of meeting the Maestra?” 

Oh have you ever, you thought to yourself. Agatha merely smirked, arching an eyebrow as you stammered for a moment. “I, um, you know it’s funny you mention that, actually. I used to work for her.”

Both Tony and Pepper appeared to be equally surprised with that revelation, and the CFO’s face lit up. “You’re kidding. What a small world!”

“Y/N was my assistant a few years ago, right before she moved to Vienna,” Agatha interjected, still gazing at you with a look you couldn’t decipher. “I’ve been…quite proud of her accomplishments since.”

She was proud of your accomplishments? You knew she apparently watched a video of one of your last performances; you were curious if she had seen anything else (while also wondering why she never bothered to reach out). 

“Rather high praise coming from you, Maestra,” Tony said, folding his hands across his chest as he leaned against his desk.

“Well I wouldn’t have been able to have done any of it without Agatha,” you insisted, various memories of late night practice sessions with the conductor rushing back in nostalgic flashes. “She mentored me while I was still her assistant. She always believed in me, sometimes even more than I believed in myself.”

Tony nodded, and you watched him silently brainstorm as an idea hit him. “That’s it. The Maestra and her protegee. Who wouldn’t want to see a series of concerts with one of the most beloved conductors and her former mentee turned rising soloist? Pepper?”

Pepper was already typing on her tablet, nodding along to Tony’s words. “Already on it. I’ll book a shoot for promotional materials, and we’ll have the press release ready by the end of the week.”

Tony folded his hands together, grinning as he looked back and forth between you and Agatha. “Outstanding. What a lucky coincidence you happened to be in LA, Maestra.”

What a lucky coincidence indeed, you agreed, giving Agatha a curious look. The conductor shrugged her shoulders, her usual poker face hiding whatever emotion she was feeling. “What can I say, it must have been fate.”

Tony started rambling on to Pepper about various ideas for both the Donors Gala and marketing, all whilst you found yourself getting lost once more in the enigma that was Agatha Harkness.

Eventually, you found yourself back in the concert hall right before the start of that evening’s rehearsal. The meeting with Tony had been rather successful, even if your obligations now included doing a handful of press and events with Agatha. How the conductor felt on that subject matter was a mystery to you, as she remained uncharacteristically quiet the entire time, offering only the occasional sarcastic, witty comment whenever Tony suggested something particularly outlandish. 

Now, as you walked with your violin case in hand, you once again thought about being reunited with Agatha after all this time, as it forced you to think about your feelings for the conductor. Even after all this time, it felt as though a large part of your heart was reserved solely for her, and you weren’t entirely sure what to do with that information. Agatha wasn’t exactly the most open individual, and last time you nearly had to wrestle her feelings out of her. Plus, who’s to say she even feels the same way- you knew a lot could change in five years. 

As usual, you were getting ahead of yourself. Right now, you just need to focus on getting through your first rehearsal, and worry about your relationship with Agatha later.

You greeted a few musicians you passed, and you nearly froze as you saw someone very familiar waving at you. Standing in the front row with her violin case was your friend and formed stand partner, Monica Rambeau. You stayed in touch with the violinist after you moved to Vienna, but she never mentioned coming to LA. Running up to her, you set your violin down before embracing her in a hug, fully in disbelief she was here. 

“Monica, what are you doing here?” You breathed out, grinning at your friend who smiled back at you.

“The MSO is off for the summer while they remodel the symphony building, so a few of us are filling in out here for the season,” Monica explained, and it was then that you noticed one of the MSO flutists, Dottie and the principal cellist, Hope, up on stage.

“Dottie certainly looks happy,” you noted, watching the flutist enthusiastically chat with a few members of the orchestra on the stage. 

“I think she’s looking forward to having a break from Harkness,” Monica admitted, taking a quick glance around to make sure no one else was listening before adding, “not that Maestra was even around for the majority of the season to terrorize her.”

You felt a twinge of pity at the mention of that. Poor Dottie. Agatha did seem to get some sadistic form of pleasure from tormenting her. But it was the latter part of Monica’s sentence that caught your attention, and you gave her a curious glance. “What do you mean she wasn’t around for the majority of the season?” 

Although you and Monica had stayed in touch over the past few years, you made a point to never ask about Agatha. While Monica never knew about your relationship with the conductor, she at least knew not to bring her up whenever you talked.

Monica shrugged, grabbing her sheet music from her bag. “She was traveling a lot this year, and missed a lot of rehearsals. You know how she gets. Anytime someone would ask where she was, she would change the subject and find someone new to pick on.”

It didn’t take much effort for you to picture that particular scenario. “That certainly sounds like Agatha.”

“A few people think she’s looking for a job with a different orchestra,” Monica quietly told you. “But between you and me, I think she’s seeing someone.”

You froze in place, choosing your next words carefully. “Seeing someone? Why would you think that?”

“She seemed different whenever she’d come back,” Monica explained as she gently grabbed her violin from its case. “Happier, or as happy as she can be, I guess.”

You fell silent at that, trying to keep your facial expression neutral. Was Agatha dating someone? Was it serious? Is that why she came to LA? The questions began to pile on in your brain, the biggest of all being why did you even care?

As if Monica sensed your discomfort, she changed the subject. “So, have you met Strange yet? I’ve heard he’s pretty straight-laced during rehearsals.”

Strange? Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the question, until you remembered you never told Monica the news of the change in music directors. 

Clearing your throat, you nervously bit your lip. “Actually, Monica, I should have mentioned this earlier, but Stephen isn’t conducting-”

The all too familiar sound of clapping rang out from the entrance of the hall, cutting you off as everyone turned their attention to the noise, and you were unsurprised to hear frantic whispering at the sight of Tony Stark eagerly conversing with a brooding Agatha Harkness.

The conductor had changed from the outfit you last saw her in earlier that day, opting for a pair of black dress slacks and a violet button down. Her dark brown hair messily fell over her shoulders. In one hand she lightly grasped her baton, while a few music scores were held by the other. 

“Orchestra!” Tony called out, motioning for everyone to gather around him as he walked to the center of the stage. “Unfortunately, Maestro Strange will be taking a personal leave of absence for the duration of our summer season. But I’m very pleased to announce our interim conductor will be none other than Agatha Harkness. She’ll be taking over for the time being, so any questions or concerns are to be directed to her.”

From where you were standing, you watched Dottie’s face turn a sickeningly pale shade of white as Tony went on about what a fantastic marketing opportunity this was for the orchestra. 

“I’m going to turn it over to you now, Maestra. I think you’ll be pleased to see a few members from your orchestra are filling in for the summer,” Tony informed Agatha with a grin, giving her a final handshake before exiting through the side stage doors. 

Agatha leisurely strolled to stand on the podium, her music dropping down with a loud thud as she twirled the baton between her fingers. “Good evening, orchestra. I understand all of you on the West Coast tend to enjoy your relaxed, Erewhon smoothie drinking, sandal wearing, kumbaya lifestyles, but I have a lot to get through tonight. So, I would like to formally invite those of you not on stage to please grace the rest of us with your presence.”

“Sorry, I should have told you sooner,” you whispered apologetically as Monica stared in disbelief at the sight of the conductor. “She ambushed me earlier when I was practicing.”

“It’s fine,” Monica insisted, carefully managing to hold her violin and bow with one hand, while grasping her music with the other. “I’ll see you after rehearsal, good luck!”

While the rest of the orchestra filed on stage, quickly taking their seats, Agatha's eyes scanned the rows of musicians until she stopped, fixating on the empty chair directly to her left. “I see we’re missing our concertmaster? What a pity.”

As you settled in a seat towards the front of the hall, you noticed Dottie squirming uncomfortably in her seat. Unfortunately, Agatha also took notice, and you watched her shark tooth grin widen. “Dottie, I must say I’m rather surprised to see you. I don’t know if I should be more flattered or alarmed, are you stalking me now?”

A strikingly tall woman with jet black hair suddenly appeared out of nowhere, taking a seat next to you, as she gently opened a violin case on her lap. “She’s certainly something, isn’t she?” 

Cocking your head to the side, you frowned. “Who?” 

The woman nodded to the stage, where Agatha was still berating an increasingly embarrassed Dottie. “Harkness, she’s a bit of a wild one. Quite different from our usual Maestro.”

You nodded, watching as the mysterious woman applied a generous amount of rosin to her bow, before carefully placing her now empty case under the seat. “She’s definitely one of a kind. I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Y/N.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” the woman quipped, a knowing smirk on her lips as she stood up. “Our esteemed artist in residence. I caught your performance with the Boston Philharmonic last winter. Your interpretation of Mendelssohn was…surprisingly tasteful.”

You weren’t sure if she was insulting or praising you, but you chose to believe the latter, offering her a polite smile. “Thanks, and you are?”

“Hela Odinson,” the woman introduced herself as she towered over you, giving your shoulder a brief squeeze before she turned away, adding, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have an orchestra to tune.”

Sauntering on stage, Hela cordially nodded to a few of the violinists who said hello to her, making her way to her seat at the front of the section.

It appeared Agatha also noticed the late arrival, as had she paused her verbal rant, curiously eyeing the violinist. “Nice of you to join us, Odinson. I see time management still isn’t one of your strong suits.”

“Well we can’t all be deranged tyrants, Maestra,” Hela playfully fired back, settling in her seat as she placed her bow on the stand, using her free hand to adjust her shoulder rest. “Some of us don’t feel the need to adhere to strict schedules.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Dottie nearly fall out of her chair at Hela’s comment.

Rolling her eyes, Agatha’s grip on her baton tightened, eyes narrowing. “It’s always such a treat to speak with you, Hela.” Tapping her baton on the stand, she waited for the side chatter to stop. “Orchestra, your revered Mr. Stark has requested our presence at next week’s Donor Gala. So, we’ll be switching up our rehearsal schedule. We’re starting with Márquez.”

Dropping her baton on the stand, she stalked off the stage as the orchestra began to tune, the sound of winds, brass, and strings filling the hall, making her way to where you were sitting. 

“I thought you said Stephen was sick,” you reminded the conductor as she approached you.

“A personal leave of absence is just that, dear, personal,” Agatha waved off your concern, “I promise it’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.”

She looked at you and for just a moment it felt like nothing had changed, as if you were still her assistant and you hadn’t spent the past five years apart. You used to love sitting in on rehearsals, always eager for any excuse you could to watch Agatha conduct. Although you’d never willingly admit it, heaven knows her ego didn’t need it, you failed to find a conductor you enjoyed working with as much as Agatha. While most conductors shared the same stubborn, prideful qualities, there was no one quite like Maestra Agatha Harkness. 

But, as quickly as the bittersweet feeling came over you, it was gone again, and you were left with the reminder of how much changed, how much you’ve changed. Leaving you to wonder if Agatha has changed much too?

Taking a step closer to you, the conductor pursed her lips, humming to get your attention. “Did you hear a single word I just said?” The guilty expression on your face gave you away, and Agatha sighed. “I hate to do this, but I need to cut Vaughn-Williams today. You know classically trained musicians have difficulty with more…wild rhythms. I’ll need the rehearsal time to run the Márquez to beat every single last syncopated rhythm into their thick skulls.”

“It’s fine,” you insisted, and you should use the extra time to rehearse other music for the Gala, but you felt something urging you to do something else entirely. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay and listen? It’s been a few years since I last played Danzón, I’d love to hear it.”

As if she was somehow expecting you to say that, she smirked. “It’s funny you mention that, because I’m short a violinist today. I know you’re a hot shot soloist now, and I’m sure this is beneath you, but why don’t you sit in with them.”

It wasn’t a question as much as a demand, but you didn’t mind. You never did when it was coming from Agatha.

“I wouldn’t say it’s beneath me, but of course, Maestra. I’d be honored,” you accepted, turning to grab your violin from its case, and your expression fell as you saw a distraught Dottie slouching in her seat. “Hey, maybe you could try to take it easy on Dottie? She really isn’t that bad, you know.”

The once familiar scent of the conductor’s perfume, subtle hints of violet, jasmine, and sandalwood, overtook your senses as she took yet another step closer to you. “I know my memory isn’t what it used to be, but I seem to recall you used to enjoy being beneath me, hm?”

Of course she brought up the memory comment you made earlier, knowing the conductor she would torture you with it for all of eternity. You felt your face grow hot as you blushed, before remembering where you were. “Agatha…”

“Besides, I thought you liked how mean I was,” the conductor murmured, in reference to your comment on Dottie, as she stood far too close to you for far too long. “This is my orchestra after all, at least for the next few months.”

Agatha gave you an absolutely filthy wink, heading back to the podium. Raising her baton, she tapped the stand to signal for the orchestra to pay attention. “We’ll be joined by our summer artist in residence, Y/N, for the rest of rehearsal.” 

She paused as the orchestra broke out into a brief round of applause, and you dared to think she looked pleased at that reaction. After a few seconds she waved her hands to cut them off. “From the top, please.”

You were thrilled to find the open chair was next to Monica, and you grinned wildly. “It’s like I’m having deja vu.”

“I know, right. I’ve gotta say, Maestra seems happier than I’ve seen in a while,” Monica said coyly, giving you an inquisitive look. 

“What?” You whispered, wondering what she was implying. Surely Agatha’s good mood had nothing to do with you, there were a few things that occasionally made her happy. She always appeared happier after picking on Dottie, for example, or when one of the interns got fired. 

“Oh, nothing,” Monica innocently replied, getting the music ready. 

Agatha raised her baton, and the room fell silent in anticipation of her downbeat. Then it began, as her hands masterfully began to conduct, cueing in the solo clarinet, piano, and then oboe with a swish of her baton. You loved almost every piece of music you ever performed, but your heart always held a special spot for Danzón No. 2. Filled with sultry and exquisite melodies, it had several different tempo changes that required you to keep your eyes locked on the conductor. In this case, you had no difficulty doing that, as Agatha Harkness was the most engaging conductor you had ever met. 

You were always surprised at how well she was able to connect with any piece and make it her own, with every flourish of her baton and wave of her hands, it was as if she was the one composing the musical masterpiece herself. Danzón No. 2 was no exception, you realized, mesmerized at the sight of Agatha in her element after so long. There was a tempo change shortly after the start of the piece, and the conductor increased the speed of her baton, urging the orchestra to follow her with little difficulty. This was a particularly fun run to play as a violinist, and you allowed your muscle memory to guide you through the familiar rhythms and notes, as it had been a few years since you had last played it, bow moving in unison with the rest of the first violin section. 

As much as you loved being a soloist, there were few things that could compare to the feeling of playing in the violin section. Mastering difficult passages while your fingers moved completely in sync, counting every rest until you were cued back in, it was a special, tingly, heartwarming feeling that you hadn’t realized you had missed until now. 

One of your favorite sections of this piece was the violin solo, and you watched Agatha cue Hela in. The concertmaster was, unsurprisingly, extremely talented, as she used an impressive amount of vibrato on all of her notes, ringing out through the hall. It was a slow, seductive melody, and every shift of her fingers was exaggerated to draw out the intended luscious sound. As you counted the rests until the rest of the section came back in, you couldn’t help but notice the prolonged eye contact between the conductor and the concertmaster. You then thought back to their brief exchange at the start of rehearsal. Did they know each other? Is Hela the reason why Agatha seemed so happy?

The solo came to an end as Hela played her final note, and as Agatha cued the rest of the section back in, she did something you had never seen before. Using the hand not holding her baton, she pulled her hair back, twisting it into a bun before securing it with her baton. Both hands now free, the conductor took more freedom with the slower tempo, leading the orchestra through the gorgeous melody. As the strings took over, Agatha exaggerated her conducting pattern to encourage the orchestra to grow in sound. Closing her eyes to truly feel the beat, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, completely content with watching her in all her beauty.

Her eyes opened, suddenly, and they landed on you, her lips twisted upwards to form a rare, but genuine, smile. You couldn’t help but smile back, you had missed this; had missed her. You never stopped missing her. The moment was broken all too soon, as the next tempo change was approaching, and the strings went back to the background syncopated rhythm, Agatha beat out the faster tempo with her hands, baton remaining in her hair. It continued on, with the brass leading the rest of the ensemble to the home stretch, as the violinists did another run up the fingerboard. 

Embracing her dramatic flair, the conductor whipped the baton back out, her hair flying every which way as she furiously laid out the last tempo change, and the orchestra followed suit. A final piccolo and piano duet played out as the brass accompanied, and you were pleased that Agatha wasn’t glaring at Dotite at all. The rest of the piece was a colorful, loud blend of syncopated rhythms and passages filled with scales that were embellished, pushing the orchestra forward with every measure, unrelenting until they reached the ending. Agatha conducted the last beat with a final twirl of her hands, effectively cutting the orchestra off.

“That wasn’t half bad,” Agatha offered, flipping back through her score and making half scribbled notes with her pencil. “If we could go back to the beginning, I need to hear more of the oboe when they come in, so strings make sure you stay below that.” She turned another page back, making a huge circle, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, and Dottie I need you not to fall over, but that wasn’t terrible. I need more piccolo, so play out more…please.”

From where you were sitting, you noticed the MSO cellist, Hope, raise her eyebrows almost comically high from shock, and Monica stifled a gasp. Craning your neck, you watched Dottie nearly fall out of her chair once more, and you were happy for her. You knew Agatha meant well, in most cases, but sometimes she could take things a bit too far. 

In the back of your mind you were still wondering if she had something to do with Stephen’s sudden personal leave of absence, but when you looked back to the podium, those thoughts were swept aside as the woman who occupied nearly all your thoughts was looking at you expectantly, her baton lowered. She didn’t give Dottie a half-compliment because of you, did she? 

Her hair was still flying all over, as it was even more uncontrollable than normal, and you could make out the beads of sweat on her forehead from the effort of conducting such a fast-paced, intense piece. A rather intrusive thought popped in your head as you stared, reminding you the last time you had seen the conductor that out of breath and glistening with sweat was when you were naked in her bed with her fingers curling inside you as she counted how many times she could make you come. 

No, you could not reminisce on those particular memories now, you thought as you tried to keep the blush from spreading on your cheeks.

It hit you full force, for what felt like the millionth time, how much you had missed Agatha Harkness. But here she was, in all her glory, looking at you for some sort of response and all you could do was stare dumbly at her, trying to wordlessly convey every thought, every feeling you had bottled up for the past five years. 

“Thank you,” you mouthed to Agatha, grateful if she had indeed listened to you.

Finally raising her baton, Agatha gave you a wink, another one of those special, rare smiles on her face. “Let’s take it from the top!”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being the reason my mom and her boyfriend broke up?

My (23) mom has been with this person since I was 7 years old. They do not nor have they ever lived together (in fact, he lives a state away and drives here every thursday-sunday). To his credit, he has shown up for me for orchestra concerts, graduation, flight pick ups, etc almost my whole life whereas my dad has not. However I have not liked him since I was around 17 years old (we were in the middle of a very long drive two states away from home yet AT NIGHT. My mom has high anxiety and can't see very well at night and he screamed at her for not driving but then didn't even stop the car to let her drive anyway?? And when she started crying he jerked the radio up to the highest volume and ignored me kicking and yelling at him in the back because I could've driven instead but whatever)

Anyway. He has a history of tantrums and outbursts like the above. He's never been violent, but one time he hid my mom's cat's ashes just to upset her. He broke her potted plants, showed up at her work to yell at her more, etc. Thanksgiving of 2020, he had me cornered against the wall and was screaming in my face about how ungrateful and disrespectful I am because I didnt talk to him enough while I was home for break. We ended up having to leave our house and stay at a friend's.

And yet my mom forgave him because he cried and apologized to her. But never to me. And she expected me to forgive and move on because she "knows he has a good heart."

Anyway anyway, my mom knew how I felt after that. To prevent him having meltdowns on Christmas or his birthday or fathers day, she would get him gifts and put my name on them. Which I never asked her to do.

Well this year for Christmas he decided I once again was not being grateful or respectful or appreciate enough to/for him. My mom told me to call him and apologize and I said no, because he's never apologized to me and I didn't think I had even done anything. Plus, if I DID apologize out of nowhere for not meeting his expectations he would've known my mom told me to do so.

I was on the long drive home for break when they got into a big fight about me. He asked her if she would choose him or me and she chose me. He broke the brand new TV she bought him for Christmas and the entertainment stand it was on. They haven't seen each other since.

My mom says it's not my fault, but I feel like I've always been the one wedging between them. I'm the one who couldn't let things go, I'm the one who obviously avoids him, I'm the one who won't accept his apologies through a third party. She says this is for the best because they're on different paths and now she can focus on herself, her own happiness, and her faith (which is very important to her and not at all for him).

I just wish my mom was able to come to this conclusion without me being the catalyst. There had to have been a better way to go about this. I don't think I'm blameless here. AITA?

What are these acronyms?