#straight laced 9

[scribbleseas]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Reading,

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

November 11, 1895

The Royal Opera House’s Backstage, Your Dressing Room

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking for notes to make, you noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

You would have to touch base with Ciel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was what set you apart as a professional.

Two Hours Later

The Royal Opera House’s Main Stage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was Natasha manipulating you now, too?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swan Lake was only a story, after all.

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

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

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

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

Until there was a knock at the door.

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

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

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

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

The doorknob rattled as Ciel likely realized it was locked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could have been persuaded that you imagined it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[roseyuri]

⋆｡𖦹°‧ PUSHIN’ N PULLIN’ kim minji x reader

𝜗𝜚 MINJI & YN BEING AND OLD MARRIED COUPLE FOR FIVE MINUTES 972k veiws

౨ৎ warnings: idol!au, 6th member reader, minji and yn argue like it’s their 9-5 job… again, yn and minji from pushin’ n pullin’

⋆｡𖦹°‧ CLIP ONE

“yn, you’ve been quite popular lately huh?” the interviewer said to yn, this was new jeans first comeback and their first time being on a radio show and yn seemed to be the target of questions so far with her popularity right off the bat after their debut.

”she’s everyone’s ideal type.” another one of the guys added as the watched her bashfully smile while laughing nervously, brushing the comments off.

“why are you acting all shy, we all know you have a big ego.” minji cuts in looking at yn who sat across the table from her and immediately gave the girl a deadly glare while everyone in the room laughs.

“if I have a big ego you have a big mouth.” yn snaps back at minji quick not even flinching when haerin pinched her arm, while everyone laughs even harder not even realizing this wasn’t some kind of playful banter between minji and yn.

⋆｡𖦹°‧ CLIP TWO

“you know me like no other…” yn sang towards the mic that’s in front of her, she swayed to the live band feeling the music.

“see me like no other, and I think I like your point of view…” she sang the words beautifully before looking at minji who raised her brow at yn questioning why the girl was staring at her.

as danielle sang her lines all yn did was stick her tongue out at minji, causing minji to playfully move her face closer to yn but definitely way to close for yn’s comfort.

yn screeched in her mic the sound interrupting danielle while minji bursted out laughing at the way yn embarrassed herself.

as much as yn wanted to give minji a peice of her mind because she hated when minji did that, she saw the look their manager gave them and decided to just look straight ahead for the rest of the song.

⋆｡𖦹°‧ CLIP THREE

the group was gathered in a comfy decorated room for their anniversary live, having a casual conversation about their day. the camera captured minji and yn sitting on the couch together, with minji casually resting her arm on the backrest behind yn.

“yn, remember that time you got lost in the building after practice?” haerin asked, giggling at the memory.

yn groaned, covering her face with her hands. “don’t remind me. that was so embarrassing.”

minji leaned in closer, teasing, “you were so panicked that you called me five times in a row. you were practically in tears.”

yn glared at minji, her cheeks flushing. “I was not in tears! I was just... concerned.”

minji chuckled, patting Yn on the back. “sure, let’s call it that. but who came to rescue you, huh?”

yn sighed, knowing where this was going. “you did, okay? you came to rescue me.”

minji grinned triumphantly, giving yn a nudge. “that’s right. see, you need me around.”

yn rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the annoyed smile on her face. “yeah, well, don’t get too cocky. It’s not like I’d get lost again.”

minji leaned back, looking at yn with a knowing smile. “we’ll see about that.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧ CLIP FOUR

the group was filming behind-the-scenes content for their fans. the camera captured yn trying to tie her shoelaces while minji stood beside her, impatiently tapping her foot.

“hurry up, we’re going to be late,” minji scolded, leaning down to help yn tie the laces.

“I can do it myself,” yn grumbled, swatting minji’s hands away.

“you’re taking forever,” minji retorted, finally giving up and crouching down to finish the task herself. “you know, sometimes I feel like I’m raising a child.”

yn pouted, crossing her arms as she watched minji tie the laces perfectly. “I’m not a child, you’re just bossy.”

minji finished and stood up, ruffling yn’s perfectly done hair causing the girl the glare at minji with a smug smile. “you’re right, but at least you know who’s in charge here.”

as minji walked ahead of yn, yn shook her head the camera before following behind the girl.

⋆｡𖦹°‧ CLIP FIVE

during a live, the members were reading comments from fans when one particular message caught their attention.

“yn and minji, you two argue like an old married couple,” hyein read out loud, causing the rest of the members to giggle.

yn scoffed, “yeah, well, minji’s the one who always starts it.”

minji, who was sitting beside yn, shook her head in mock disbelief, “excuse me? you’re the one who always has to have the last word.”

“oh please, I just defend myself because you never stop nagging,” yn shot back, glaring at minji.

the fans flooded the chat with laughing, thoroughly entertained by their banter. meanwhile, the other members simply watched with amused smiles, knowing this was just another typical day for minji and yn

⋆｡𖦹°‧ CLIP SIX

during a photo shoot for a magazine, the concept required the members to pose in pairs, showing off their chemistry and friendship. naturally, minji and yn were paired together for some reason that two girls could never understand . the photographer asked them to do a playful pose, so minji put her arm around yn’s shoulders, pulling her closer.

as they posed yn couldn’t help but groan. “minji, you’re holding me too tight!”

minji side eyed yn , tightening her grip just a little more. “I’m just making sure you don’t run away.”

yn whined, trying to wiggle out of minji’s hold. “I’m not going anywhere! but seriously, loosen up a bit.”

the photographer snapped a few shots, capturing their natural banter. “perfect, just like that! You two are so comfortable with each other.”

both yn and minji side eyed the man at his words.

[alyrasturnz]

pls write an angsty fic where matt gets mad at reader for being too clingy but he finds her shivering on the couch and yeah just a happy ending

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎TOO CLINGY ?

❐ summary » when matt falters and, in a moment of weakness, channels all his pent-up anger towards you, the weight of his mistake hangs heavy in the air. his frustration, like a storm, lashes out, leaving emotional wreckage in its wake.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » angst, argument, lowkey toxic!matt

❐ a/n && w/c » this was sloppy af.. my vision is so blurry dude its so late and im so sleepy i cant think straight • 2.80k

the tension had been simmering all day, a cauldron of unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings, teetering on the brink of eruption. you had sought refuge in his presence, your touches and embraces a desperate attempt to bridge the widening chasm between you. yet, he remained indifferent, his demeanor as impenetrable as a storm cloud brooding on the horizon, casting a shadow over every fleeting moment of intimacy.

each time you endeavored to initiate any form of physical connection, he would instinctively recoil, as if your touch carried the weight of an unspoken burden. his reactions were swift and unyielding, a silent rebuke that deepened the chasm between you with every attempt.

»--•--«

9:37 AM, saturday

your eyes fluttered open, the absence of matt's arms around your waist immediately unsettling you. this deviation from the norm sent a ripple of unease through you. as you rolled over, you were met with the sight of his side of the bed, meticulously made and conspicuously empty, a silent testament to his early departure.

you cast your gaze over to his desk, where he was seated with an air of quiet concentration. his hair, still tousled from sleep, framed his face in a disheveled halo. before him, the glow of his open google docs illuminated the scene, a silent witness to his early morning endeavors.

you smile softly, the gentle curve of your lips a fleeting expression of warmth. sitting up, you rise to your feet, the chill of the ground seeping through your soles as you make your way towards him, each step a delicate bridge between the realms of your shared solitude and his focused sanctuary.

you wrap your arms around him from behind, feeling the subtle shift in his posture as he tenses beneath your embrace. the tension radiates through his frame, a silent testament to the unspoken complexities that linger between you, each heartbeat a whisper of the uncharted emotions that bind you together.

you furrowed your eyebrows, a fleeting expression of concern that you quickly brushed aside. leaning down slightly, you planted a soft kiss onto the top of his head, the tender gesture infused with unspoken affection, a delicate attempt to bridge the silent chasm that had momentarily formed.

"hi baby," you muttered into his hair, your voice a gentle murmur that wove through the strands like a whispered secret, carrying with it the weight of unspoken emotions and the subtle promise of comfort and connection.

"hi," he said, his voice cold and distant. you furrowed your eyebrows once more, the chill of his tone reverberating through you as you straightened up, the moment heavy with unspoken questions and a palpable tension that seemed to hang in the air.

"you okay? something bothering you?" you ask, your voice laced with concern. he responds by shrugging your arms off of him, the gesture a silent yet poignant rejection that leaves a lingering ache in the space where your touch had been.

"i'm fine," he muttered, his fingers dancing around his keyboard with a restless, almost mechanical precision, each keystroke a testament to the emotional distance he was trying to maintain.

"okay, i'm gonna go make breakfast," you say, walking around him with a measured grace until you're beside him. you cup his face gently, leaning in for a kiss, but he subtly swerves, the motion a silent yet unmistakable evasion that leaves your gesture hanging in the air.

"mm yeah okay," he mumbles, shrugging you off again, leaving you perplexed. the weight of his dismissal lingers, but you choose not to dwell on it as you walk out of his room, the unanswered questions trailing behind you like shadows.

»--•--«

3:34 PM, saturday

matt was on the couch, his eyes glued to the tv screen. a small smile crept onto your lips as you watched him, the flickering light casting a warm glow over his focused expression, creating a momentary haven of tranquility amidst the chaos.

you saw this as the perfect chance to cuddle with him, the opportunity presenting itself like a rare gem. you moved towards him, the anticipation of his warmth drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

you walked towards him, each step deliberate and measured, before settling down next to him on the couch. he slightly shifts in his seat, his eyes still glued to the screen, the flickering images reflecting in his gaze, creating an almost hypnotic trance.

"what are you watching?" you ask, your voice a soft murmur as you gently rest your head on his shoulder. the question hangs in the air, mingling with the ambient sounds of the television, as you seek to bridge the quiet distance between you.

he gently shrugs you off, his voice still cold as he mumbles, "10 things i hate about you." the words, though simple, carry an undercurrent of detachment, creating a chasm between the two of you that feels both vast and unbridgeable.

"you love that movie, don't you?" you giggle softly, inching closer to him, your attempt to rest your head on his shoulder interrupted as he abruptly gets up. the suddenness of his movement sends a jolt through you, and you watch as he stomps away, the sound of his footsteps echoing the unspoken tension in the room.

you furrow your eyebrows, a deep crease forming as concern washes over you. he's been acting strange and distant, his avoidance like a shadow that has lingered over you both all day.

have you done something to provoke his ire? you wonder, the question gnawing at the edges of your mind, casting a long shadow of doubt over your thoughts.

»--•--«

11:12 PM, saturday

now, you find yourself lying on his bed beside him, his back turned towards you in a gesture that feels like a silent barrier. the room is filled with an unsettling quiet, each second stretching into an eternity.

as you gaze at his turned form, a frown tugs at your lips, the weight of his silent withdrawal pressing heavily on your heart, leaving you to ponder the invisible chasm that has grown between you.

as the night deepened, you made another attempt to bridge the ever-widening gap, slipping your arms around him in a tender embrace, hoping your warmth might melt the icy fortress he had built around himself.

"can you just give me some space?" he snapped, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a whip crack. "i need to breathe without you constantly clinging to me," he continued, each word a sharp, stinging rebuke that left you reeling in the wake of his sudden outburst.

your heart felt as if it had been struck by a hammer, the sting of his words reverberating through every fiber of your being. "i was just trying to be close to you," you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your hurt and confusion.

"why do you have to be so cruel?" you continued, each word laced with the raw pain of his unexpected harshness, leaving you to grapple with the emotional chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every passing moment.

he turned to you, his eyes cold and unyielding, like shards of ice piercing through the dim light. "because i can't stand it anymore," he spat, his words dripping with venom. "you're suffocating me with your neediness. it's pathetic," he continued, each syllable cutting through the air like a blade, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable under the weight of his cruel declaration.

the harshness of his words cut deep, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your very soul had been laid bare. "i'm not trying to suffocate you," you whispered, tears streaming down your face like rivers of sorrow.

"i just want to be there for you," you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of your earnest longing and the pain of his rejection, hoping against hope that he might see the sincerity in your eyes.

he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "you think you're helping? you're just making everything worse," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "i can't even think straight with you around, always needing something from me," he continued, each word a dagger aimed at your heart, leaving you to grapple with the crushing weight of his contempt.

you felt a tempest of anger and sorrow welling up inside you, your hands trembling as you struggled to hold back the flood of tears. "i never knew you felt this way," you said, your voice barely audible, a whisper lost in the storm of emotions. "why didn't you tell me sooner?" you continued, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread, seeking answers amidst the turmoil of your heart.

"because it's pointless," he said, his tone dismissive, like a door slamming shut. "you wouldn't understand. you're too wrapped up in your own world to see how you're dragging me down," he continued, his words like heavy chains, binding you in a prison of misunderstanding and despair.

the weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders, leaving you feeling small and insignificant, as though the very ground beneath you had shifted. "i'm sorry," you said, your voice breaking like fragile glass. "i didn't mean to hurt you," you continued, each word a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that had opened between you.

he rolled his eyes, his expression one of contempt, a cold mask that concealed any trace of warmth. "save your apologies," he said, his voice like ice. "i don't need them. i need you to back off and give me some space," he continued, each word a barrier, pushing you further away, leaving you to grapple with the chasm that now yawned between you.

with a heavy heart, you nodded, the weight of resignation settling over you like a shroud. "fine," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a fragile echo of your inner turmoil. "i'll give you the space you want," you continued, each word a reluctant surrender, an acknowledgment of the widening distance that now separated your worlds.

you turned and walked away, each step a painful relinquishment of hope. the sound of the door closing behind you echoed through the room, a final punctuation to the conversation, leaving him alone with his anger and the oppressive silence that followed, a silence that seemed to swallow all the unsaid words and unresolved emotions.

»--•--«

2:45 AM, sunday

matt had been caught in a relentless dance of restlessness, his body twisting and turning in the sheets as the hours dragged on. sleep eluded him, a distant and unattainable dream, for the absence of your presence left a void too vast to ignore.

without the comforting weight of your head resting on his chest or the warmth of your body nestled in his arms, tranquility slipped through his fingers like sand, leaving him adrift in a sea of sleepless longing.

he extended his hand toward the vacant expanse of the bed, the emptiness a stark reminder of his solitude. guilt, like a relentless specter, tugged at the delicate threads of his heart, weaving a tapestry of remorse and sorrow. a frown, unbidden and sorrowful, etched itself onto his lips, a silent testament to the ache of your absence.

he was acutely aware of the distance he had imposed between you both today, a chasm carved by the weight of his own burdens. guilt gnawed at his conscience, a relentless reminder of how he had unfairly unleashed his stress upon you. you, with your unwavering patience and kindness, did not deserve to bear the brunt of his turmoil.

he swallowed his pride, the bitter taste lingering as he rose from his bed. with a heavy heart, he made his way out of his room, each step echoing the weight of his resolve, and ventured into the living room, seeking solace or perhaps redemption.

he discovered you shivering on the couch, your delicate frame curled up in a futile attempt to capture any semblance of warmth. the sight of your vulnerability pierced through him, a silent plea for comfort etched in the contours of your form.

a blanket was draped over you, yet it did little to stave off the shivers that coursed through your body. the sight of you, cold and vulnerable on the couch due to his actions, tugged painfully at his heartstrings as he approached, each step laden with the weight of his remorse.

his heart clenched at the sight, the pang of guilt nearly overwhelming. without uttering a single word, he gently scooped you up, cradling you in his arms as he carried you to the room, each step a silent vow to make amends for the pain he had caused.

you stirred, drowsy and disoriented, your eyes fluttering open in a futile attempt to grasp the reality unfolding around you. "what... what's going on?" you murmured, your voice a fragile whisper, barely audible in the quiet of the room.

"shh, it's okay," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm as he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking the blanket around you with tender care.

his eyes, brimming with remorse, held a depth of sorrow as he sat beside you, delicately brushing a strand of hair from your face. "i'm so sorry," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his genuine regret. "i never meant to push you away. please, forgive me."

you reached out with trembling fingers, your hand finding his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "it's okay," you whispered, your voice a soothing melody amidst the tension. your eyes, softening with forgiveness, met his with an understanding that transcended words.

"i understand," you continued, each word a gentle balm to his aching heart, conveying a depth of empathy that only the closest of bonds could foster.

but he couldn't shake the guilt that gnawed at him, a relentless specter haunting his conscience. "no, it's not okay," he insisted, his voice quivering with the weight of his remorse. "i was wrong, utterly wrong. i should have never treated you like that. you deserve so much better, more than i have given."

you shook your head, a small, bittersweet smile playing on your lips. "what matters is that you're here now," you said softly, your voice imbued with a gentle warmth. "and that you're truly sorry. that's enough for me. the past is a shadow, but your presence now is the light that dispels it."

he looked at you, his eyes a tumultuous sea of guilt and gratitude. "i promise i'll make it up to you," he vowed, his voice resolute despite the emotion that threatened to choke him. "i'll never hurt you like that again. i'll spend every moment proving that you're cherished, beyond words and beyond measure."

you nodded, your heart swelling with a profound mixture of love and forgiveness. "i believe you," you whispered, and in that moment, the oppressive silence that had once filled the room began to lift, replaced by a fragile yet hopeful sense of reconciliation, a delicate promise of mending what was once broken.

he sat there for a moment longer, his hand still holding yours, as if afraid that releasing it would shatter the fragile bond you were rebuilding. "i just... i can't forgive myself for making you feel this way," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with sorrow. "seeing you like this, it breaks my heart into pieces."

you squeezed his hand tighter, your eyes locking onto his with unwavering resolve. "we all make mistakes," you said gently, your voice a soothing balm. "what matters is that we learn from them and grow, becoming better versions of ourselves. and i believe, with all my heart, that you will."

he nodded, swallowing hard as he fought back the tears threatening to spill. "i will," he promised, his voice trembling with emotion. "i'll do everything within my power to become the person you truly deserve."

you smiled, a serene sense of peace washing over you like a gentle tide. "that's all i ask," you whispered, your voice imbued with a quiet strength. your eyes fluttered closed as the weight of exhaustion began to envelop you. "just be here with me," you murmured, the words hanging in the air like a delicate promise, an unspoken plea for presence and companionship in the face of weariness.

he watched as you drifted off to sleep, his heart a tumultuous blend of guilt and unwavering determination. he understood the arduous journey that lay before him, a path fraught with challenges and the need to earn back your trust.

yet, he was resolute, ready to traverse every step, no matter how treacherous. for you, he would move mountains, conquer any obstacle, and face any hardship.

tags — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetameivous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike

[wanderingsimsfinds]

WanderingSims Fave CC - Teen Female List

1-2, 15 - Anzuchansims - CloudCat OneLastKiss Top Long Sleeves, Short Sleeves, & Skirt

3 - Nightospheresims - dissia Penelope Top

4-6, 18 Nightospheresims - jellymoo Grim Hoodie, Undead Tee, Zinc Tee, & Ghoul Skirt

7-8, 36 - Nightospheresims - Serenity Cate Top, Taylor Top, & Taylor Pants

9-10 - Nightospheresims - babytears Horror Void Sweater & Star Top

11, 59, 64 - AmerikoSteelie - Satellite 4t3 Elliesimple Cropped Sweater Top, SkittleSims 4t3 Elliesimple Midi Dress, & RolloRolls 4t3 Elliesimple Angel Dress

12 - polaesims - Serenity Barbie Fluffy Sweater

13-14, 46-47, 67-68, 72, 83-86, 88-89 - AmerikoSteelie - 4t3 Rimings Lazy Sunday Crop Top + Shorts, 4t3 AdriendPastel Keira Outfit, 4t3 Rimings Autumn School Uniform Outfit, 4t3 Rimings Summer Poison Midi Dress, 4t3 Arltos Evening Dress, 4t3 Rimings Summer Poison Swimsuit, 4t3 Jius Bowknot Hell Pumps, 4t3 Jius Bowknot Platform Loafers 01, 4t3 Jius Daisy Sandals 01, 4t3 Jius Y2K Loafers With Leg Warmers, Platform Leather Sandals, & 4t3 Arltos Geta Kimono Shoes

16-17 - SimSongs - Rusty Taylor Jacket & Belted Trousers

19-20, 45, 65, 80 - AmerikoSteelie - SugarSSims 4t3 BRS Sugar Skirt + Top, PuChiHouse School Uniform, R0ach3z 4t3 Serenity Lolly Dress, & UWillNeverFindMe 4t3 KK404 Japanese Kimono

21-23 - Nightospheresims - AxA Olivia Skirt & Trillkye Moonwalk Pajamas Top + Pants

24, 48 - AmerikoSteelie - simsoficeandfire 4t3 LazyEyelids Denim Miniskirt & simsoficeandfire 4t3 NitroPanic Cute ASF Dress

25 - VMSims - 4t3 School Korean Uniform Fem Skirt 2 + 2b

26-29 - KotaJose - Pleated Skirt + Loose Slacks & Kristal Leggings + Skinny Jeans

30 - SuteFlower - Gorilla3x Basic Jeans

31, 62 - RStar - Strada Jeans & Enchanted Dress

32-33 - elvgreen - Elliesimple Straight Levi's Bottom & Clumsyalien Riona Bottom

34 - xxbomixx - b0t0xbrat Dark Cargo Pants

35 - MickeyMouseClubhouss - Orion Sweatpants

37 - teekapoa - EP11 Bottom Edit

38-42 - Anzuchansims - CloudCat Avalon Outfit V1 + V2 & CloudCat Blight Outfit Jacket + Outfit & Marigold Ribbon Strap Off Shoulder Sweatshirts Dress

43 - VMSims - 4t3 Korean Girls School Uniform

44 - Nightospheresims - kumikya Carly Outfit

49, 91-92 - Anzuchansims - Nell Transparent Sleeves Dress & Carnival Scene Shoes V1 + V2

50 - VMSims - 4t3 Gorillax3 Blazer Vest Dress

51-53 - Nightospheresims - demondar Audrey Dress + Amity Dress & Trillkye Delight Dungaree Dress

54 - AmerikoSteelie - 4t3 NitroPanic Suspender Dress V2

55 - Nightospheresims - Trillkye Splash Cardigan Dress

56-57 -AmerikoSteelie - 4t3 Arethabee Secret Society Sabrina Dress & 4t3 Arethabee Wildflowers Violet Dress

58 - AmerikoSteelie - 4t3 CloudCat Fatal Frame Ruka Lace Dress

60 - elvgreen - 4t3 ekinege Chiffon Mini

61, 79, 90 - AmerikoSteelie - Xiasimla 4t3 SP23 Dress Silk, Xiasimla 4t3 Zeussim Asian Affair Dress, & VenusPrincess Zori With Tabi Shoes

63 - Nightospheresims - RR Marie Dress

66 - Nightospheresims - Madlen Daisy Dress

69 - AmerikoSteelie - 4t3 Elliesimple Pajamas Two Piece V2

70-71 - VMSims - 4t3 Gorillax3 Short Piping Pajama Full Body & 4t3 Sudalsims Homewear Dress

73-77 - Nightospheresims - Trillkye Thea Bikini, Madlen Sandy Bikini 1 + 2, Kumikya Lola Bikini, & ciao Glitter Bikini

78 - kent404 - Female Yukata

81 - sweetdevil - WA Cheongsam

82 - AmerikoSteelie - 4t3 Astya96 Lolita Platform Shoes

87 - AmerikoSteelie - 4t3 Madlen Sweet Harmony Melody Shoes

93 - Jamiesplayhouse - 4t3 Converse

94-95 - pixicat - Vans Sneakers & Dr Martens

96 - SimSongs - Madlen Kai Sneakers

97-102 - SuteFlower - Jius Platform Heeled Boots 01, Jius Star Fuzzy Boots 01, Jius Canvas Platform Sneakers 01, Jius Platform Pumps With Socks + Jius Heeled Jelly Sandals, & Jius Leather Ankle Boots 04

[jsluvtzu]

housewife

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

summary: she shows her appreciation in better ways

cw: SMUT! evil, vile, degrading smut, sana treats you like a 1950s husband would, cursing, slapping, just filthy, men dni

wc: 2.1k

a/n: sana in a suit sana in a suit sana in a suit

the aroma of the food you had been slaving on for hours dispersed through the whole house, filling the empty rooms and seeping into the thin walls.

since 7 am, you’ve been cleaning, tidying, mopping, wiping, and cleaning some more around every single corner of your shared home with sana.

you were what they called a “housewife”, but in sana’s eyes you were nothing more than a disappointment. a nuisance. a body that just does whatever is asked of her.

wiping your hands clean of any leftover sauce on your apron, you grabbed your phone from the counter to check the time.

- “5:48”

she should be home by now. sana worked a 9-5 at a corporate insurance company and usually came home around 5:30. you started preparing the dishes nonetheless and set the table with the proper silverware, one set of knives and a fork for her and one for you.

just when you finished plating the meal for her, you heard sana’s car pull into the driveway and her keys jingle against the lock of the door.

sana opened the door hastily and slammed it behind her, throwing her suitcase down and kicking her shoes off on the floor without a care where it landed.

you knew what this attitude meant. it happened at least once a week when her boss would overwhelm her with something and she would come home with a storm going on inside her head.

you hesitated to greet your wife and ultimately decided against it when she didn’t even look your way and just went straight to the living room, plopping down on the couch with a loud thud and letting out a heavy sigh.

sana took her suit jacket off and loosened her tie, turning on the tv and flipping through random channels to try and distract herself from whatever she had to deal with at work.

you brought over her plate to the couch, handing it to her. “hey honey, long day at work?”, your voice was gentle, but laced with a hint of worry.

sana paid you no mind, grabbing the plate from your hands and gluing her eyes back to the tv screen.

“get me something to drink.”, was the first thing sana said to you since she walked through the door.

you just smiled and went back to the kitchen to grab her a soda.

sana never ate dinner without taking a big sip of something first, so you knew better than to keep her waiting.

opening the can and handing it to her, you slightly blocked sana’s view of the tv and heard her tsks of annoyance. you quickly moved out of her way and went to go sit at the dinner table, the both of you eating alone, together.

that’s when you jumped at the sound of a plate slamming onto the hardwood floor. your eyes drawn to the scene of the crime, finding pasta and sauce splattered everywhere with pieces of ceramic mixed in.

“i’m not eating this shit. it’s disgusting.” sana said it in a monotone voice with no regards to how you might feel about it.

you slowly got up and walked over to sana, scanning the mess you had to clean up and avoiding stepping in shards of the now broken plate.

your face was contorted with both shock and anger, but you held in the last part with a clenched fist.

breathing out shakily, you mustered up enough strength to question sana’s childish behavior.

“why did you do that..” your eyes avoided hers and the grip on your apron grew tighter. sana was glaring at you through your peripheral.

“i come home from a long day at work and you expect me to eat that? i work hard just to be fed dog food?”, sana scoffed and leaned back into the couch, stretching her arms over the top of the couch and manspreading, shaking her head in disbelief.

“i spent at least three hours on that ‘dog food’, sana. it wouldn’t hurt to show a little respect.” your eyes had tears welling up at the edges, just restless to come out.

hearing that, sana’s eyes turned dark and her gaze was narrow. you fucked up. she tapped her finger rhythmically on the soft surface and nodded to herself, planning.

“you think i give a fuck? seriously, do you? i don’t owe you a single ounce of respect, whore. if i don’t like something, i’m not fucking eating it. now clean up your mess.” sana was fuming at this point. not only did she have a ruined dinner, she also had to deal with you talking back to her.

you grabbed the broom and dustpan from the closet and swept up what was left of her tantrum. you were so exhausted from cleaning all day, your body was spent. so tired to the point where you didn’t even notice you were wiping your own tears along with the sauce off the floor.

sana heard your sniffles and whimpers, peering over the arm of the couch and seeing your drained figure. she practically jumped off the couch with aggression and stopped in front of you, grabbing your face violently between her fingers and forcing you to look up at her.

your cries were cut short and you gasped at the sudden action.

“the fuck you crying for? can’t even do the one thing you’re made to do huh? all i ask is that you keep my house clean and have something fucking edible for me to eat when i get home. can’t even fucking do that?” at the end of her question, you felt the cold absence of her touch from your skin, only to feel a stinging heat when her hand lands on your face again, slapping you. the wedding ring she had on was sure to leave a bump. your eyes widened and the hand that you once had at your side went to caress your burning cheek.

“you’re so fucking pathetic.” another slap. this time you unknowingly let out a small moan at her strike, catching yourself and keeping your head down.

sana paused in shock, processing your response to her abuse.

“did you just fucking moan?” sana grabbed your chin between her pointer finger and thumb, lifting your face up to hers again.

“i slapped you.. and you fucking moaned? sana was genuinely curious, never hearing you react like that. her eyebrow was quirked with her lips slightly parted.

your eyes were glassy and bloodshot, your left cheek was marked red with her handprint and stained with your salty tears. to sana, you’d never looked better.

the darkness in sana’s eyes turned into lust in less than a millisecond. seeing you at her mercy and so helpless turned her thoughts into unspeakable ones.

sana looked you up and down once more before she grabbed your throat and lifted you off the ground, dragging you towards the counter by the stove with your back turned.

she stopped at the edge of the marble countertop and you winced at the bruising pain on your lower back.

sana trapped you between her arms at both sides, her hands flat against the cold marble surface. she shifted her leg between yours, pressing up against your core.

you were still recovering from the slaps you just received, mind blurry between wanting to be fucked and wanting to be comforted. but of course sana wouldn’t comfort you, the only way she expressed her “love” was by absolutely breaking you.

sana’s white undershirt was slightly unbuttoned and her collarbone was visible. her loose black tie and messy hair on top of that made every rational thought you had disappear. you didn’t even care about the disrespect she showed you earlier. if anything, you liked it.

“maybe i just needa fuck you until you learn how to cook properly hm?” sana snaked her hands around your back to untie your apron, sliding it over your head and onto the floor. her leg was still slotted between yours and you grinded on her ever so slightly, searching for relief.

“fuckin’ whore can’t think right unless she cums.” you whimpered at her words as sana crashed her lips onto yours, sucking and biting at them. the sounds that filled the room were sloppy and unsynchronized.

sana untied her tie completely with one hand and slid it off her neck without breaking the kiss. she wrapped it around the front of your throat and overlapped both ends at the back, tightening it and bringing it back towards her to hold you there. you moaned at the loss of circulation to your brain, the pressure in your head building up just enough to make your vision fuzzy.

you were wearing nothing except one of sana’s white oversized t-shirts and black lace panties underneath that apron. sana’s free hand slid under your shirt and up to grope your bare breast. the sensation of her cold touch against your warm body made you whine.

“mm- fuck, sana.” she rolled your erect nipple between her fingers and pinched it hard, eliciting pained moans from you.

sana observed you and saw your face losing color, immediately letting her grip on her tie go and pulling it off your throat with one smooth motion.

her hand trailed down to your hip, expecting to pull off a pair of shorts, but feeling the intricate pattern on your lace panties instead.

she ran her fingers over the material, humming in satisfaction. “you wearing these just for me?”

you nodded and pouted at her, whining. “all for you, sana, please..”

“please what? use your words, slut.”

“ ‘need you to fuck me so bad, please.” sana smirked at your desperation, hooking her finger onto your side and pulling your panties down, letting them slide down your legs.

your pussy was sticky from your arousal and throbbing from her teasing finger running through your slit.

sana teased your hole and went back up to your swollen clit, rubbing lazy circles around it and spreading your slick all over. you grinded yourself on her hand, silently urging her to give you more.

you glanced up at sana and saw her eyes fixated on your exposed core, watching the way her hand slid between your folds with ease and how the dim overhead light reflected perfectly off of your pussy, making you shine and glisten.

sana furrowed her eyebrows and held her bottom lip between her teeth, slowly sinking two fingers into you. she bottomed out at your cervix, pulling back out only to pick up her pace and slide inside you again. the erotic squelching sound from just how wet you were was disgustingly hot.

her groans were right in your ear, hearing her curse to herself about how tight you were. your eyes were stuck on sana’s flushed chest, her tendons popping out everytime she breathed. her breathing was heavy and uneven, and you could tell sana was losing herself in the trance that you put her in.

suddenly, sana stopped her movements and grabbed the back of your thighs, lifting you up and onto the counter. you hissed at the cold feeling against your bare skin.

sana pulled your shirt up, revealing your whole upper body to her.

she grabbed the front end of your shirt and held it up to your mouth, motioning for you to open and bite down on the cloth.

“keep it there, you understand?” you nodded, holding the shirt between your teeth and arching your back for sana to see exactly just how much you understood. she responded by tapping your thigh for you to open your legs wider, scooping her arms under your legs and sliding you forward to give her easier access.

sana’s eyes didn’t peel away from your chest for one second when she started fucking you again. her pace was inhumanly fast and yet she still managed to hit your sweet spot every time.

“oh my god, sana- fuck, don’t stop please, fuck” your moans were sporadic and words were mumbled, completely rid of any thought other than cumming right then and there.

“yeah? i’m fucking you so good right baby? don’t i deserve a good meal when i’m fucking you like this?” sana grabbed your face and squeezed your cheeks together, slapping you lightly a couple times.

you agreed with squeaked moans and squeezed your eyes shut, drawing out long yeses in between.

“yes, fuck- oh my god yes,” at that point you weren’t sure if you were answering her question or just begging for her to keep fucking you like that.

“ ‘fuck kinda whore doesn’t know how to cook for her wife? dumb fucking bitch. so useless.”

sana pushed her thumb against your clit and you felt the tightness in your core building up. moaning her name repeatedly, you threw your arms over her shoulders and pressed her face down against your bare chest, holding her there and cumming on her fingers with a loud groan.

you attempted to calm down your breathing and stabled yourself with your hands grabbing sana’s arms. she pulled her fingers out and shoved them between your lips, gagging you and swirling her fingers around your tongue.

“that’s what a good meal should taste like.”

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our Girl – Part 8

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader

Summary: Azriel and Cassian fight to rescue you from Beron's lair.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Violence, torture, blood

<<&lt; Part 7 | Part 9 >>>

Cassian revelled in the warmth of the guards blood on his hands.

Never before had he considered the sensation a pleasant one - he was always focused on the next kill, defeating the enemies that followed, winning the war. But killing his way through Beron’s guards to find you? It released some sort of primal desire, as if it pleased the Gods. 

He was snarling as he plowed his way through, unnatural strength driving his bare fist straight through chests, hearts ripped from their cavities. 

He could hear Azriel’s growls amongst the clang of swords meeting, of armour being punctured and thuds of bodies dropping, one by one. Azriel’s urges matched his own, melding together, stronger as one entity instead of two. The males weren’t High Lords, but this was their beast form. They would slaughter their way to you, pile the bodies as high as any beast to get to their mate.

It was unfair really, for Beron to have convinced his guards they stood a chance, even without knowing of the innate itch to kill irked by the bond. After a short fight, Cassian and Azriel - now dripping with sweat and blood - cornered the last of the guards, prowling with lethal rage. 

“P-please, it was B-Beron, he ordered us to-"

If the male hadn't died from the blow as his head hit stone, Cassian was sure to choke the last of his breaths with a lethal grip at his neck, holding him up against the wall as the rest of his body slagged with lifeless form.

Bursting through another door, Cassian and Azriel flew down the winding staircase at a godly speed. No longer were your panicked calls concealed under layers of ground and iron – your shrill cries suddenly so loud they pierced your mate’s minds, hands flying to their ears in hopes to shield them. 

You were here, they had found you.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, a long corridor of cells beheld them, the bond pulling them towards a cell they could not yet see. 

Wait! Your voice rang in their ears, laced with distress that fuelled their wild hearts. Wait! If he knows you are hear, he’ll kill me. Don’t-

Beyond words, Azriel sent a wave of reassurance down the bond, as he concealed himself and Cassian in shadows, sending some sprawling on the ground, racing ahead to find you with lethal stealth.

Silently, they moved further into the dungeon, stopping briefly to observe a weeping women in her own cell, bright auburn hair cast down her back as she wept into her arms. Serafina seemed unharmed for the most part, and Cassian sent a mental image to Rhys, ensuring Hellion his mate was here and alive. 

As Cassian and Azriel reached the end of the winding row of cells, they halted at the sight before them. A frightening cold seized their muscles, and hands raised to shield their eyes at the blinding silver light flickering from your cell. 

There you were, bound to a slab, sword pierced at your heart.

Veins pulsed against muscles, their fists shaking with adrenaline as they stalked closer for the kill. Beron was speaking, but neither of them could hear past the roar in their ears.

Before they could charge to tear down those iron gates and free you, Beron’s hands were at the hilt of the sword, and then he was pushing, severing the bond yet again. 

————

You know they were here – from the way your heart swelled and the bond ignited, a frayed rope pulling tight after being left slack for so long. But it was an instinct you could not let on with Beron so close – your only hope was that they heard you warning. 

Beron had grown dangerously impatient, not knowing the bond would fight back.

“This is taking too long, Y/N,” he roared, pacing as he ran shaking hands down his face, sweat sliding down his neck. “You will give me what I want!”

“F-fuck you,” you managed to cough out, chest heaving with short breaths as you tried not to deepen your wound with the sword at your chest. 

Beron snarled as he stepped towards you. “Give up Y/N. Give in.”

You didn't have a chance to bark a warning to your mates as Beron forced the rapier further into your heart. 

————

Azriel and Cassian fell to the ground – that slicing, searing pain sending them slack, unable to breath as they grabbed at their chests. 

Blood and spit passed through clenched teeth as it took all they had not to make any noise, to join you in the one freedom of screaming in pain. But they had to stay silent, to stay hidden. For you, they would embrace agony. 

————

It was an odd clarity, to smell your mates in that moment. 

They were closer now, only a few paces from your cell. You had to endure this next insertion, to give them a fighting chance. So you clenched your teeth, your cry of pain turning to a furious growl as you called for your heart to resist and fight and survive. 

Beron was thrown back at a sudden wave of magic pushed from your chest, the bond forcing the weapon clean from your heart entirely. It almost killed you, that pain, and you heaved against your restraints as Beron’s back smashed into the iron gates of your cell, weapon clanking to the ground. 

Beron pulled blood-stained fingers from the back of his head, eyes raising to you in murderous rage. “You bitch! How dare-"

Beron’s words were clipped, his eyes suddenly turning wide. He tried again – to speak, to breath, chocking against an invisible threat. Vision reeling as you danced with death, you had missed the shadow that had seeped past the gates, snaking through Beron’s nose and cutting off his air supply. 

Scarred hands snatched through the gates then, one around Beron’s neck, the other around his abdomen, forcing his against the cell door as he choked. 

Your cry of relief was a stangled, raspy thing. Cassian - twined in red, pulsing magic - ripped open the door to your cell, the warmth of his hands a sensation you would never forget. 

“Cass-" you strained, tears pouring as you cried weakly. 

“My girl, my girl,” he cooed as he caressed your head, panicked by the blood spilling from your chest as trembling hands moved to press at your wound. 

With Cassian’s large form in front, you only saw the outskirts of a blinding flash of silver that threw him from you, crashing him into the wall with a groan. 

Beron stood before you, eyes glowing with other-worldly light, laps of silver death consuming him. 

In an instant winnow, Azriel was beside Beron, Truthteller swishing fiercely, aimed directly for his neck.

Another pulse of silver, and Azriel was thrown against the opposite wall.

Beron was panting, fingers twitching and silver coursed at his frame. He had given in entirely, his sanity, his very soul lost to that power. He had become death itself. 

As if like called to like, the sword flew from the ground to find home in his hand. 

Beron’s growl was a deep, demonic thing. “I suppose I’ll kill all three of you now.” 

Azriel still lay on the ground, wings sprawled from his back, and Beron raised that awful sword, knowing exactly where to strike. 

It was a honing, almost peaceful moment to know you would do anything to stop from Beron harming your mate’s wings. It was as if the Mother spoke to you directly, welcoming you to her pool of magic, letting you drink generously as she raised the cup to your lips. 

You took what you needed, using her strength, your eyes alight with brilliant yellow. Your magic, untrained and undefined, blasted through the entire cell, igniting the room with a brilliant zap. 

All three males yelped with pain, metal surfaces now alive as your current zapped and moved between then. 

Your magic, powerful and brilliant, caused Beron to jolt still. He turned with an eery slowness - and instead stalked towards you, marking his next kill and leaving Azriel weak on the ground. 

Good, this was good. The innate selflessness to ensure Azriel's safety was instinct, and you would die with content knowing you had done all in your power. In these final moments, as death prowled closer, you understood you would die for your mates, just as they would for you.

But there was more hope to be found in that cell than you realised – because your magic thrummed with life, a gift from the Mother herself. And as your surroundings continued to zap and dance with your power – Beron was ignorant to how it weakened him, raising slow, shaky arms to land the sword at your neck. 

Azriel and Cassian were on Beron before he could have hoped to make the blow. There was a flurry of red and blue, fists flying and a series of growls, the world slipping further away as your vision blurred from blood loss. 

You weren't sure if you had dreamt it, but you could have sworn the entire bracket of iron bars was ripped from the hinges of your cell, revealing Rhys and Feyre.

Flashes of star-speckled black, and then warm hands were pushing at your chest. 

“Rhys!” Feyre called, her hand pressing harder, pushing a silent yelp from you. “Rhys, my magic isn't strong enough to stop the bleeding!”

Your head was lolling, your mind screaming at you to hold on just a little bit longer. And then there were two sets of hands, violet and grey eyes panicked as they poured healing magic into you, flooding you with warmth.

From the other side of your cell, Beron was weakening in his fight, his magic at odds with Azriel and Cassian’s. In a swift manoeuvre, Azriel grappled the male, forcing his hands behind his back. Cassian was in front of him then, shoving him to his knees, readying to snap his neck with his bare hands. 

Both of them panted, bearing the pain of your magic that flooded the room, delighting in what every instinct begged for them to do. 

“Wait!”

The males froze, turning to you. 

“Wait, don’t kill him,” you rasped. 

They stopped. 

“My love?” Azriel all but growled. 

“He killed Lucien,” your words were just above a whisper, and you felt Feyre’s hands drop from you. “He killed Lucien, as has kept the Lady of Autumn prisoner. They-they deserve a trial. They deserve to see him pay for all of his crimes.”

“What did you say?” Feyre’s voice was small, her arms slackened at her sides. You could offer no comfort in your state, blinking with a furious attempt to stay awake.

Azriel and Cassian exchanged a look, before nodding to you. Cassian drew his fist back, before landing a blow to Beron’s face, with only enough strength to render him unconscious. 

Shackles were ripped from you, and then hands - their hands - were everywhere, their lips too. Holding you, kissing you, rocking you as you wept at their touch. You were beyond grief and sadness in that moment – cries of relief went muffled as Azriel and Cassian held you up as you clung at them and just sobbed. The bond pulsed at the proximity, and you used the little strength you had to hold them both tighter, imprinting their scents to memory. You relished in the safety of their embrace as they cried with you, kissing you, checking you for more injuries as you healed slowly, swearing they would never let you go and that they were so, so sorry. 

The moments that followed were a blur. 

Illyrian soldiers flooded the dungeons, dragging Beron’s body with careful handling of the sword. Feyre’s cries were a sorrow sound, Rhys’s arms around her as she wept at the loss of her friend. You hated to have bared the news of Lucien's sacrifice, and to have to inflict the same pain on Tamlin. 

Oh gods, Tamlin.

“T-Tam-?” you gasped between sobs. 

Rhysand’s eyes were heavy, but fond as he smiled brokenly. “He was still fighting alongside the Illyrians when we entered. But he is safe.”

Your heart swelled at the bravery of your friend, and you wouldn't let yourself think about the damn battle that had erupted above your head.

Your hands shook then, knees buckling as the weight of the events caught up with you. A scarred hand rubbed at your back.

“You’re safe, my love, rest now.”

“Serafina–"

“Is with Helion. Everyone is safe my girl. You can let go now,” Cassian added, cupping your face.

It was the sweetest of lullabies you had ever heard, and now finally at peace, you gave into the exhaustion, falling into a safe slumber in the arms of your mates.

————

You were not alone when you woke.

Acutely aware of the soft snores of Cassian and Azriel, their deep breathing a song of its own as you came to in what felt like days. 

Cassian’s head was in your lap, face down as locks of chestnut hair mopped outwards, your hand held limply in his. 

Azriel slept upright, slumped against the postings of your bed, scarred hand upturned where your other hand lay in his, shadows gently caressing your side. 

A snort of laughter escaped you. 

It was a raspy, broken sound with no voice beneath it, but the movements of your chuckle rocked the bed gently as you indulged in the comical sight of your mates that had fallen asleep in such a way.

You wondered if their necks hurt as much as you hurt all over. 

Cassian's hand tightened around yours on instinct as he stirred.

A scarred hand touched your jaw, gently coaching your eyes to find Azriel beaming down at you with a soft smile, dark lashes still blinking from sleep. “You’re awake.”

Cassian squeezed your hand, his head turned to face you from where he still lay in your lap. “Hello, love.”

Your lip quivered, and then you laughed again, overcome with an intense amount of gratitude, hopefulness and glee. With a hoarse voice you were able to speak through your tear stained smile.

“My mates.”

--------

Part 9>>>

AN: Oh my gosshhhhh thank you for reading Part 8 of Our Girl!!! I so so hope you enjoyed it!! And can I tell you - to have these 3 properly reunited has genuinely warmed my heart while writing. I think I got really bogged down in the angst - which I love - but I'm warmed by building to this happy ending. There will be one more part of Our Girl – it will explore the events following the reader's rescue, and also another time-jump, maybe a certain special event?? The reader's mission work is definitely not forgotten either - it will play a vital role in how the story ends. I always want to hear your thoughts and feelings - I actually can't believe we're close to the end 6 months later! Damn I really dragged this one out... sorry friends. Comment if you want to join my general tag list, and please take care. MWA!!

[theta-walti]

Shy

Summary: R and Lucy are in love but both scared that the other won’t like them back. The team send Lucy to convince R to go to team bonding and ended up her confessing her feeling to R

Warnings: none

A/N: First time Writing Lucy bronze! I really liked writing her! Feel free to send in more requests!

Word count: 1.5k

Every day is the same. You wake up at 6, take a shower, do yoga, make breakfast, and drive to training at 9. You have a routine, and you like to stick to it. You're always on time, never early, never late. When you arrive at training, you walk straight into the changing rooms with your headphones in and start to get changed. Your cubby is just next to Mapi and Ingrid's, and they know not to talk to you in the mornings. It's an unspoken rule that everyone knows: you don't talk to anyone until training starts. If you have extra time, your teammates will often find you sitting in your cubby, reading a book. To you, it has always been like this, and it will always stay like this.

But today feels different somehow. As you go through your usual routine, there's a lingering feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you feel like something is going to happen today, and you don't like that feeling.

When you arrive at the training grounds, you follow your usual routine and head to the changing room to get changed. The atmosphere seems normal, or at least you think it does.

You start to get changed, with your headphones in, unable to hear the discussion going on in the room.

"Do you think she's gonna show up?" Patri asks, sitting in her cubby and trying the laces on her boots.

"She has to; it's team bonding night," Pina answers, glancing at you. You don't notice her; it's like you're in your own little bubble.

"Do you think she knows it's team bonding tonight?" Patri shoots back with a raised brow.

It's true; you're famous for skipping any team bonding nights or gatherings on the team. Usually, you just stay at home and read, no matter how your teammates beg you to go.

"I think she knows, but I bet she'll just say no like last time or the times before," Ona chips in as she ties her hair in a ponytail.

Just after Ona finishes her sentence, you take your headphones off, and the changing rooms become quiet. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion at the silence; usually, there would be chatting, and the room would be full of noise, but somehow, it's quiet today. It adds to your suspicion that something is happening today that you don't know about. Unknown to your or Lucy, your teammates had set up a plan to confess your feelings to each other, theor plan was to send Lucy to ask if you are going to team bonding night and hopefully you two and talk and sort out your feeling with each other, unknown to all of this you just flashed Lucy a smile and walked out of the changing rooms. Their plan was in place. The first step was convincing Lucy to go ask you if you wanted to go to team bonding night. They all shared glances before someone spoke up.

"So, who's going to ask her?" Patri says, sitting down as they still have some extra time before training starts.

"She'll definitely say no to me," Aitana claims.

"Me too." "And me." "She'll say no to me too," the rest of the team agrees.

"That means we need someone that y/n trusts enough to say yes to," Mapi says, looking around, lost in thought. Next to her, Ingrid notices something. "Lucy has been awfully quiet."

Lucy's head shoots up at her name. "Sorry?"

Patri and Pina start to smirk as an idea comes into their heads.

"You're going to ask y/n if she wants to go to team bonding tonight," Pina speaks up among the two of them.

"No, I'm not. She'll say no, just like the other times."

"How would you know?"

"Why am I the one who is doing it?" Lucy asks, trying to avoid the question.

"Because you're the one she trusts the most," Ona exclaims.

"No, I'm not," Lucy argues back.

"Yes, you are! You two are so close; you're practically in love! It's so obvious," Aitana says, crossing her arms.

"I'm not in love with y/n."

"Oh, don't pretend I'm blind. I see the way you look at y/n, and I see the way y/n looks at you," Patri says, crossing her arms. "In fact, we all see the way you look at each other, plus you spend more time with her than any of us do."

"No, I don't! You can't prove that!" Lucy says, trying to defend herself by denying it, but deep down, she knows that she has fallen for you. Hearing that you like her back, her heart skips a beat.

You and Lucy always partner up together on training days or sit together on the bus. You always put your head on her shoulder when you feel sleepy; whenever that happens, Lucy dares not move and only wakes you up when the bus stops. She's the one who calms you when you're freaking out. You are the person that's on her mind 24/7. So she's pretty sure that she's in love. She is just scared that you like her back.

"I have so much evidence," Patri chuckles as she shakes her head.

"So are you going to do it, Lucy? Are you going to ask her if she wants to go to team bonding tonight?" Frido speaks up, the first time in the changing rooms today.

"Yeah, I do want her to come tonight after all. I'll try my best. If she doesn't come tonight, it will not be my fault," Lucy warns as she starts to walk out of the changing rooms.

Step one done, now on to step two: talk to you and make you realise that you are in love with Lucy.

Ona slipped out of the room silently and went to go find you. She knows that it will be pushing your boundaries. You don't talk to anyone before training starts. Hopefully, you won't get mad at her after this.

She found you jogging laps around the field slowly, she waited till you reached to a certain point of the field and she joined in

"Hi" she said, a bit nervous of what's going to happen

"Hey Ona," you answer back politely while you continue to jog

"You alright?" Ona was really bad at this. She did not think beforehand of what she was going to say, so now she's just stuck at an awkward moment between you and her.

"Yea," you stop jogging and turn to face her. "Is there something you need?"

Ona stopped too as she spoke up, "Are you going to team bonding tonight?" She already knows your answers are going to be no. But maybe she can open the conversation like that?

"No, sorry, l'm busy tonight" you words come out your mouth mechanically, like you have answered this question lots and lots of times before, you have! Hence your reputation on the team.

"Lucy's gonna be there tonight. Are you sure that you don't want to go?"

As Lucy's name has been mentioned, you raised your eyebrow. "What has Lucy got to do with all of this?"

Ona thought for a while. She really hadn't prepared for this. "Errr, maybe you guys can talk? And have fun?"

You got more amused by the second. "Are you saying that you want me to be there because Lucy is there?"

"No! I'm just saying that, errrr, maybe because Lucy is there, you wouldn't be awkward!" Ona exclaimed. The sentences were just on the top of her head, rushed.

"Maybe not, me and Lucy are just friends, l don't think she wants to spend the night with me by her side, anyways, she's got Keira, didn't she?"

Just friends? Nooo, you and Lucy are not "just friends." You guys are practically in love every time you see each other.

"No, Keira isn't coming tonight, so Lucy is all alone, so you should come. Don't want her to be all alone now, do we"

"I don't think she even likes me enough to want me to be there, just leave it, Ona." You are in love with Lucy, of cause you are, and you know that, but Lucy is always with Keira. You know that they were close as they went through England EUROs win together, Lucy will always be closer to Keira than you will ever be to her. You bet that she doesn't even like you that way. Maybe it'll just be another silly like your other ones.

Just ad you, the conversation finished, and Ona left you alone. Lucy spots you on one of the benches on the field, looking sad, she desided to make her way over, a concerned expression on her face, unknown to her the sad emotion was just caused by the subject of her just moments ago.

"Hey, are you okay?" Lucy asks, her voice gentle as she studies you.

You offer her a small smile, trying to push aside your own worries. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… a bit under the weather and not feeling like going out tonight." Knowing it is team bonding night, you felt a bit shy. You don't want to go out. You just want to stay home after a long day of training.

Lucy's gaze softens, and she reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. "I get that. But hey, maybe it'll be good for you to get out and have some fun."

You nod, but the knot in your stomach only tightens. Despite Lucy's reassurance, you can't shake off the feeling of dread that has settled over you.

As the team begins to gather for training, you find yourself retreating into your shell even further. You focus on the familiar routine of warming up and getting ready, avoiding eye contact with anyone around you. But then, just as you're about to slip away into your own thoughts, Lucy appears in front of you, her presence impossible to ignore.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" Lucy asks, her voice hesitant but determined. Maybe she finally wants to say what she held off in the changing rooms?

You nod, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension bubbling up inside you. "Sure, what's up?"

Lucy takes a deep breath, her gaze meeting yours with a newfound intensity. "I… I just wanted to say that… I really like you. And I'm scared that maybe you don't feel the same way."

And as you stand there, hand in hand with Lucy, all your fears and anxieties melt away, replaced by the comforting certainty that you have found someone who understands you like no one else ever has. From that moment on, you know that nothing will ever be the same again.

Your heart skips a beat at her confession, and you feel a rush of emotions swirling inside you. "Lucy, I… I like you too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

A relieved smile spreads across Lucy's face, and she reaches out to take your hand in hers and leans in closer. "I'm so glad to hear that. And hey, we don't have to go out tonight if you don't want to. We can just stay in and be together."

You blush and look down, but Lucy gently tilts your chin up to meet her eyes, and your face turns even redder. "Can I kiss you?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. You simply nod, and as your lips meet, it's a short but absolutely magical kiss. You grin as you pull away.

"Come on, let's go back before the others wonder where we've gone."

As you walk back to the field with Lucy, your heart is filled with contentment and happiness. Aitana sees that you're back and starts to approach you.

"So, are you coming to team bonding tonight?" she says with excitement in her voice.

Upon hearing the question, you smile softly and look over to Lucy, who is now talking to Alexia.

"Yeah"

A/N: l hope you enjoyed this! I love Lucy Bronze and will definitely write her again! Thank you for the request! This is Theta signing out! See you next time!

[evnovaa]

Blame | Chris Sturniolo.

Chris Sturniolo x reader

“I feel stripped of my skin and alone.”

Genre: angst

Warnings: slight anxiety and swearing

a/n: alrightie cuties enjoy!

“Chris you are seriously starting to piss me off can you MOVE.” Nick says to his brother as he stands in his way from getting into their shared apartment.

"Kid, you can walk around me you know that right?" Chris says in an annoyed tone.

Nick rolls his eyes and pushes past him "fucking imbecile, I swear" Nick said mumbling under his breath.

Chris was standing in the door way mainly because he was trying to get a hold of his girlfriend who doesn't seem to be answering the phone. Recently she's been distant and he has been assuming the worst either she is cheating on him or she's hiding something that she might be enduring without his knowledge.

Chris ⭐️ : y/n can you please just respond to say you are okay

Chris⭐️: y/n I don't know what's been going on with you recently, and I'm not fucking akinator this shit is getting annoying.

Read at 9:59pm

Chris is still getting no response from y/n, she's clearly reading his messages which now indicates that she's ignoring him.

"Dude are you gonna stand there there the whole night?" Matt says to him coming down the stairs.

Chris goes ahead and ignores what his brother just said to him, in that moment it sounded like nothing but gibberish as he is still staring at his phone.

"Before Christmas Christopher." Matthew says to him awaiting a response.

Chris sighs and puts his phone in his pocket and walks into their apartment. He shoots straight to his room and shuts the door behind him.

Next morning

Y/n pov

I can see my boyfriend texting me and I know he's gotten irritated with me, but right now he is the last person to be irritated.

Me and Chris have been together for almost 3 years now, he is really amazing and been amazing all these years.

What has changed you may ask? Well all these years he has been amazing but like everyone else their boyfriend may do something they dislike but don't have the heart to say anything. For me it's him and his never ending friendship as he'd like to say with his ex-girlfriend

Earlier yesterday

"She really is incredible, but y/n hates the mention of her, l've noticed anytime I mention Lola around her she tends to get quiet and isn't present in the conversation anymore" Chris says venting to his friend Larry.

"Chris imma have to be honest with you, it is lowkey weird that you're so close to Lola while dating y/n, I don't know the boundaries surrounding your relationship, but usually girls don't want their man parading around with their ex-girlfriend."

"But listen she's more of a friend to me, dating her was like something I did because I felt alone, and needed the reassurance of a partner, but Lola and I grew into friends more than a couple, hence we broke up" Chris knows what he's saying is true in his mind but in his heart he loves Lola still, but refuses to come to terms with it.

"I don't know chrissypoo, you're gonna have to figure that one out with her." Larry says knowing this conversation will be far from productive if anything it was moving in retrograde.

“But Larry nothing is going on with me and Lola so I don’t understand y/n’s avoidance with her.” Chris tries to sound convincing but deep down he know he is spewing utter bullshit.

Chris’s phone stars to ring and he sees it is his girlfriend, he answers the phone as if he is trying to cover up something.

Larry gives him a look of “why do you sound guilty” but they let that moment die silently

“Hey baby!” Chris says

“Oh hey babe…why do you sound like that” y/n says chuckling lightly, but laced with concern and curiosity.

“Oh no it’s nothing I’m just kickin it with Larry, uh do you wanna come over maybe? I miss you.”

“I mean sure I just left the nail salon, but you won’t believe who I bumped into”

“Huh? Who? Was it Aaliyah?” He says mentioning one of their best friends

“No unfortunately, but it was your girlfriend Lola.” Y/n says sarcastically and laughing, hoping Chris would return the same reaction.

“WHAT? Lola is NOT my girlfriend, you are baby why would you say that.” Chris says shocked, mainly because Lola was the person they were talking about not too long ago and the conversation being about y/n’s feelings toward Lola.

“Chris are you okay genuinely what the fuck are you on about” y/n says slightly taken aback by his erratic response.

“Baby I have no idea what you’re talking about, actually let’s talk more when you get home alright?” Chris says quickly, now he knows he is being weird but is trying his very best to play it cool, newsflash it’s not working in his favor.

“Oh uh okay…” y/n says before ending the call not even exchanging goodbye’s and I love you’s like they usually do.

Y/n always had suspicions that she might be Chris’s rebound for Lola but they have been together for too long for that to even make sense in any kind of way. But again y/n is anxious by nature, she overthinks everything. Well tonight she decided that she was gonna go through his phone, she’s hoping and praying to find absolutely nothing to suggest that he’s doing something he shouldn’t.

She gets to the triplets apartment and they all exchanged greetings and ate their brunch together, Larry left a bit earlier so y/n was bummed she couldn’t see him but she continued with her early afternoon with her boyfriend. Chris went with his brothers to film their Wednesday vlog.

Y/n got bored and decided to go to Chris’s room and stay there for a bit, she decided to also watch some Netflix on Chris’s MacBook. She’s done with the episode of her favorite show and as she is about to close the laptop she sees a new IMessage notification from Lola.

Lolaaa👩🏽‍❤️‍👨🏻 : I’m almost there!

Chris : alright hurry tho😭

Chris: oh also we can’t hang for too long, told y/n I’m out filming with Matt and Nick

Lolaaa👩🏽‍❤️‍👨🏻 : lying to your girlfriend to meet me🤭 should I be honored?

Chris : should be she would flip if she knew what was happening

Lolaaa👩🏽‍❤️‍👨🏻 : where are Matt and Nick if she thinks you’re with them?

Chris : oh yeah they are in the area, thrifting lol

Lolaaa👩🏽‍❤️‍👨🏻 : ohh okay, also parking rn so see you soon 💋

Chris : ight

Y/n wasn’t crazy, she couldn’t believe what she just read. Everything Chris has ever promised to her has become a lie,

“we never hang out without you around.”

“She’s not even that important to me anymore.”

“I’m glad the friendship is drifting, gives me a chance to focus on us.”

everything he has ever said to her about Lola starts to ring in her head like a bell going haywire. Her vision gets blurry and she couldn’t hold it in, she broke down, she felt like her trust with him is broken and things were going wrong. She doesn’t think straight and decides to call him.

She starts calling him as her tears stream down her face as she sniffles.

“Chris?”

“Hey uhhh I’ll call you back alright? I’m just in the middle of something I promise I’ll call you back”

“Oh okay” before she could finish her sentence he hung up.

Her heart shattered, she was picturing the worst, Was he cheating? Was he out doing things couples would do with her? How many times has she been lied to regarding Lola? All these questions were in her head and she didn’t know how to cope and feel in that moment.

She broke down even more in Chris’s bed and in his hoodie that she wears all the time. She feels her chest closing and her head spinning.

minutes pass and y/n is on the edge of the bed facing the floor and she has never felt more alone in that moment. Chris knew y/n wasn’t social, she didn’t have many friends, if not all her friends were his friends so we’re they actually ever y/‘s friends? She wouldn’t think so.

She gets her car keys and she leaves his apartment.

The drive home felt almost like an out of body experience. She felt like her whole world just ended, she never had trust issues with him till recently, he would mention her more than he should. she didn’t realize it but she was becoming distant in her realization and overthinking when it came down to Lola.

Chris pov

“I missed you a lot y’know” Lola says to Chris with eyes that show yearning and slight sorrow.

“I missed you too, life has been weird without seeing you as much, but I’ve adjusted I guess.” Chris says genuinely, he meant every word, in all seriousness he didn’t know if he still liked the thought of himself with Lola.

“I mean, you’re in a relationship and it made me back off, I didn’t want to but it was out of respect.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, I need you too Lola.” Chris realizes he said the last part of his sentence out loud, if anyone was there they would say that was the worst freudian slip ever.

“You need me? Since when? y/n was all you ever talked about day in and day out.” Lola says looking up at her best friend.

“I mean you’re my friend right? Friends need each other.” Chris says trying to save himself.

“Chris do you still want to be with me? I can’t tell and I need to know I can’t keep sneaking around to meet you.” Lola says pleading with the boy.

Chris has major whiplash in that moment and looks at here with shock, as if she almost read his mind.

“I- no, I’m with y/n, we broke up for a reas-“ Chris gets interrupted by Lola’s lips and he cannot stop it, his lips melted into hers and they shared a moment that only they will be able to describe.

Lola pulls away first from the kiss and is the first to speak.

“You can’t keep lying to yourself Chris, the way you just kissed me contradicts everything you just said does it not?” Lola says looking at him knowing she’s right

“Lola what the fuck was that? You can’t fucking do that I have a girlfriend, I don’t fucking want you!” Chris says yelling out of guilt

“Tell me you don’t want me, say it.” Lola says

“Lola-“

“IF YOU DON’T WANT ME FUCKING SAY IT CHRISTOPHER”

“I CAN’T SAY IT OKAY? I CANT!” Chris yelling at Lola, her eyes enlarged and his eyes were filled with tears and he was filled with guilt and distress.

“I can’t fucking do this Lola.” Chris says as he walks away from Lola leaving her in the middle of the empty parking lot.

Chris calls Matt to tell him to come get him, which he does, Chris enters the car without a word to either of his brothers.

“You okay kid?” Matt says concerned

“Yeah I’m fine, fuck I need to text y/n.”

Chris calls and texts to no response, they arrive at home and still nothing from his girlfriend.

They arrive at their apartment, see y/n’s car isn’t there, sends Chris into a panic.

Chris ⭐️ : y/n can you please just respond to say you are okay

Chris⭐️ : y/n I don't know what's been going on with you recently, and I'm not fucking akinator this shit is getting annoying.

Chris feels nothing but guilt and anger in his body, and he has no idea how to deal with it. His night is filled with crying and silent suffering

He in this moment only has himself to blame.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

A/n: well! That went well didn’t it 😟 #prayfory/n free you my heart 😭🙏🏽 lmk if y’all want pt.2

[scribbleseas]

straight laced chapter 9 will be posted in about an hour !

warning: it’s 10,000 words.

[genacity]

ᚙ GENACITY’S KINKTOBER 2023! ୭ৎ

hello everyone, it’s gen! this year, i’ve decided to participate in kinktober to make up for the lack of content i’ve been producing. to put it short, i’ve been super busy and demotivated because i haven’t played hoyo games in a while. but, i thought it’d be fun to crank out a few halloween themed stories for you guys to let y’all know i’m still alive. every monday and friday of the month i will be posting a blurb or story with one character and a few kinks. so, without further ado, genacity’s 2023 kinktober prompt list!

the kinks written in this masterlist may be considered graphic or extreme for some audiences. please be advised.

this may or may not include mythical species / monsterfucking (vampires, lycanthrope, ghosts, etc), bondage, aphrodisiac / drugging, somnophilia, unhealthy obsession, blood (no gore), impact play, etc.

in all works, each party explicitly verbalizes their concent and is aware they are consenting. in the case of established relationships, it is to be interpreted that the couple has mutually agreed to anything beforehand (ex. somnophilia, aphrodisiac, etc). and is aware and okay with what their partner is doing. safewords are present, consent is key.

this masterlist will also be multifandom to reach more audiences and test my comfortability writing for new media.

as always, minors, do not interact with any of my works or me in general. this blog contains mature content.

thank you for choosing whorror airlines. ✈️

OCTOBER 2. gojo satoru

your boyfriend gojo satoru is convinced you’ll never be able to knock him off of the pedestal he stands on. saying he’ll always be the one to fuck you good and straight, that you’ll never one up him. maybe it’s time to show him that he’s not always right.

bratty! first time sub! gojo, overstim, dacryphilia, anal penetration & fingering, hair pulling, dumbification

OCTOBER 6. rengoku kyojurou

when a clueless hashira wanders into your layer of operations, you can’t help but put up a fight— and admire his fat tits through the inconvenient tear in his uniform you inflict.

demon! reader, masochist? rengoku, feminization, body worship, praise, nipple play, impact play

OCTOBER 9/10. armin arlert

as a vampire and a parent, it’s hard to find a babysitter that’ll stay up all night with your nocturnal little one while you’re at work. luckily for you, armin is here to get the job done.

vampire! parent! reader, babysitter! armin, blood kink, blood sucking, slight pain kink, handjob

OCTOBER 13. vi (league / arcane)

after coming home from a long day of work, your darling girlfriend vi surprises you with some gourmet chocolate. a sweet affection laced with something she thinks she’ll get away with, little does she know that you know her all too well.

afab! reader, aphrodisiac chocolate, degradation, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, slight overstimulation

BREAK. OCTOBER 15 — 21.

OCTOBER 23. kaeya alberich

as a werewolf, it’s hard to control your animalistic urges as is. but while in a heat; dizzy and restless and constantly feverish with your tease of a boyfriend around, it just gets that much more difficult.

amab! werewolf! reader, breeding kink, heat, anal pen, “monsterfucking”, spanking, belly bulge, established relationship

OCTOBER 27. simon “ghost” riley

you and your partner ghost have to train on how to get out of hostage situations. luckily for you, you’re good at tying knots.

sadist! reader, masochist! ghost, bondage, temperature/wax play, suggestive

[sapphire-writes]

Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 9 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: You continue to worry about what summer ending means for you and Aemond.

word count: 4.7k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, explicit p in v, fingering, praise, mild choking, titty squeezing, light nipple play, cock warming, hospitals, mentions of death, themes of grief and loss, pregnancy, themes/descriptions of high-risk pregnancy/birth.

note: I appreciate your patience for this part so so much! hope you enjoy it!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected ❤️

The house is quiet when you wake up, besides the sound of Aemond’s breathing. Sunlight streams through his open windows; the light cotton curtains blow gently with the sea breeze. You can smell the salty sea air, and feel the coolness of it on your skin. 

You’re pressed up against Aemond, your back against his chest. One of his long arms lays under your head, the other thrown across your waist. His body is firm and warm against you, with each breath pressing his chest closer to your back.

Aemond kept well on his promise. Goosebumps blossom on your arms as you recall the remainder of the night. 

Helaena and Aegon had teased you ruthlessly as you all stumbled into the Targaryen manor; you and Aemond a tangled mess of limbs, unable to separate from each other for even a moment. Of course, the bottle of champagne you’d shared while stargazing didn’t help your clinginess.

You’d teased Aegon and Helaena right back, ending with a small fight in the kitchen. You don’t remember who exactly started throwing marshmallows like they were weapons of mass destruction, but you think it had to have been Aegon. You’d pushed a button when mentioning how close he seemed with Sara earlier in the evening. 

Aegon had flushed crimson and began raining fire with the marshmallows he’d previously been snacking on. The fight only ended when Aemond picked you up, slinging you over his shoulder and carrying you upstairs. You were giggling like a mad woman all the while; even as he threw you on his bed, stripped your lace thong from under your dress, and buried his face between the softness of your thighs.

It was still very funny, but that did get you to stop laughing. 

Aemond hums, tearing you from your thoughts. His arms tighten around you, melting your body against his chest. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, his nose dragging against the smooth skin. 

“How long have you been awake?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, lips ghosting against your neck.

A pleasurable shiver rolls through you, eyelashes fluttering shut. 

“Not long,” you admit, as he places a kiss right below your ear.

“Sleep well?” he asks, chest rumbling. 

“The best,” you tell him, earning another squeeze, another kiss. 

He’s so affectionate, you never expected him to be this way. Like a dragon hoarding his treasure. 

“Would you like some breakfast?” he asks, “Coffee? Tea?”

“I’d love that,” you tell him, fingers stroking his arm, “But I don’t want to get up yet.”

Aemond chuckles, the vibrations reverberating through his lean frame and into you. 

“Not yet then,” he agrees. 

You scoot closer, as close as you can get, pressing your backside against him. You can feel him getting hard through the boxer briefs he wore to bed. It presses against you sending a delicious pang of need straight to your center. You had opted for one of Aemond’s t-shirts for bed; a black one with red lettering on the front for a band you hadn’t heard of. 

“Dracarys,” Aemond had told you when you asked, “It means dragonfire in High Valyrian.”

The arm that isn’t trapped underneath your head moves to stroke a path up your thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Aemond plays with the hem of your shirt, before dipping below it.

“Aemond,” you breathe, arching into his touch.

“Shh,” he coos, following the curve where your thigh meets your hip, “Let me.”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth, head tilting backward as he continues to nip and suck the sensitive skin of your neck. He bends his opposite arm, moving it from under your head and letting it dip through the neck of your t-shirt, taking your breast into his palm. He squeezes just as his fingers spread through your folds, causing a small gasp to escape you. 

“Fuck,” you mewl as his fingers dip lower, gathering some of your arousal before rubbing circles around your needy clit. 

Sparks of pleasure tingle through your veins, warmth flooding through you. You’re burning everywhere he touches, happily consumed by his flames. 

“You like that?” Aemond asks, lips pressed against your neck, fingers working your bud and your nipple in tandem. 

“Yes,” you breathe, pressing your ass against his erection. He’s fully hard now, straining against the confines of his briefs. 

Aemond’s hand moves away from your clit, and he lets a finger dip into your center curling upwards against your spongy walls. The pleasure heightens, your abdomen tightening as he searches for your most sensitive spot. He finds it effortlessly, as though he’s mapped your body and memorized it completely. 

“You need more?” Aemond asks, a teasing tone present in his sleepy voice. 

He curls his finger as he asks, causing you to whine. They’re so long. Aemond’s hands have become somewhat of an obsession of yours the longer you’ve been together. Your hips grind against his finger, wanting it deeper. He’s teasing you slightly, you know it, keeping his thrusts shallow and focused. 

“What is it, baby?” he teases, teeth sinking into your shoulder.

“Yes….please, please,” you whimper, “Please I need more--Oh.” A second finger breaches your entrance, joining the first in its movements. 

You’re so much more full, warmth blooming in your abdomen, but it's still not enough. You need him, completely in all ways possible. 

“This feel good?” he murmurs, curling his fingers against your walls. 

Aemond thrusts his fingers inside of you expertly, his palm grazing your clit. You buck your hips against his hand, desperately riding his fingers as pleasure grows in your belly. His languid pace is maddening, steadily building your orgasm with no rush. 

There are no distractions this time; no park full of moviegoers, no carnival, no hot tub. It’s just you and Aemond, in the comfort of his bed. Door locked, siblings occupied. Nothing to come between the two of you. 

“Cum for me,” he growls in your ear, “Come on baby, cum, then I’ll give you my cock.”

You writhe against him, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave of white-hot pleasure, pussy clenching around his long digits. 

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder, “My good fucking girl.”

“Aemond,” you whimper, reaching behind you to tug at his briefs, “I need you, please.”

He removes his fingers from your soaked pussy, bringing them to his lips. You turn your head, watching as he cleans them, moaning at the taste of you. When he’s finished, you feel his hand against yours, helping you ease off his briefs. 

“Wanted to eat that pretty pussy of yours,” Aemond says, chuckling at your neediness, “Perhaps later then?”

“Later,” you agree, feeling his hand curl around your knee, bringing your leg up towards your chest, “I need you inside me, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Aemond says, smiling against your shoulder.

You can feel the head of his cock pressing against your slick opening, as he eases his length inside you. The angle is new, with you laying on your side and him pressed against your back. Your pussy grips him like a vice and he groans as he bottoms out in your warmth.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “You’re so tight, baby.”

He rolls his hips, sliding his cock in and out. It’s similar to the attention of his fingers; unhurried and sweet. If you thought you were on fire before, it's nothing compared to the feeling of Aemond’s cock inside of you. Fire erupts in your belly, stoked by every roll of his hips. 

Aemond is in no rush, keeping one hand wrapped under your thigh as he slowly thrusts into you. His other hand moves to your neck, his long fingers wrapping around your throat. It’s not quite choking, just a comfortable presence. You’re sure he must feel your pulse fluttering against his thumb like a butterfly’s wing. 

A desperate noise leaves your lips as he moves against you, sliding effortlessly in and out of your wet heat. Aemond groans, letting out a breathless gasp before sinking into you again. “Fucking love this pussy.”

You whimper in response, and his hand moves upwards gripping your jaw. He turns your face toward him, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. Blistering heat courses through your veins as he kisses you; you nearly lose yourself in the sensuality of it. The passion. The coil in your gut tightens, and your eyes squeeze shut. 

“You close baby?” Aemond murmurs against your lips, before pressing a kiss to your cheek. You clench around him as he releases your thigh, bringing his fingers to play with your clit, “That’s it, baby, that’s my good girl, go on….let go…”

The tightly wound ball of pleasure snaps and you shudder against him, a strangled cry leaving you as he presses kisses to your cheek, your neck, any part of you his lips can find. 

“So good for me, that’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, chasing his own release, “Such a pretty girl, fuck you’re beautiful.”

You feel the warmth of his release deep within you, the twitching of his cock inside you maddening. You turn to kiss his lips once more and stop him as he begins to move.

“Stay,” you murmur, reaching behind you to touch his face.

You look back at him through your lashes, running the back of your fingers against his cheek and down the curve of his jaw. Aemond’s eye watches you, staring intently with such compassion it nearly takes your breath away. You caress his cheek again, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Stay,” you whisper again, “Stay with me.”

Your voice is thick with emotion as you speak, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. A different question lies below the surface of your request, soon to be answered but summer’s end. 

“I’ll stay,” he says, leaning into your touch, “I’ll stay.”

You remain in bed for a while longer, before both you and Aemond succumb to the rumbles of hunger your stomachs emit. Begrudgingly, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Aemond beelines toward a cabinet as you enter the kitchen behind him. 

“I didn’t know you could cook,” you comment as he places two bagels in the toaster. He chuckles at your comment.

“I think I can handle a bagel,” he says, flashing you a smirk. 

You smile in response, cheeks warming as he meets your eyes. You bite your lip, moving past him and opening the fridge, peering inside. It’s well stocked with fresh-cut fruit and vegetables, and Helaena’s fancy kombucha is placed next to Aegon’s Red Bull stash. You chuckle at the juxtaposition of items before grabbing a tub of cream cheese. 

You place it on the counter, turning your back to it before hoisting yourself to sit atop it. Aemond raises an eyebrow at you as you wiggle back further onto it. 

“Chair not cutting it?” Aemond asks, his eye intently focused on where you tug your shirt to cover your thighs. It had ridden up slightly as you adjusted yourself.

“I’m trying to reach your eye level,” you tease, “How tall are you exactly?”

He shrugs, smirking at you causing you to roll your eyes. Aemond side steps toward you, letting his fingers ghost across the lip of the counter before they reach your knee. He positions himself in between your legs, fingers curling around your knees. Your breath hitches as he widens your legs.

Aemond looks up at you, the corner of his lip tugging upwards in a small smile.

“What?” you ask, returning his grin.

He answers you with a kiss. 

It’s slow and passionate and needy all at once. His hands smooth over the tops of your thighs until settling on your waist. You can feel the hardness between his legs; it’s truly incredible how quickly he recovers. You pull away from him, laughing slightly as he nips at your jaw.

“You’re insane,” you tease, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He hums against your neck, sucking a purple love bite into the sensitive skin. “Aemond…our bagels.”

Your attempt to get him to refocus is futile; once he’s determined about something there’s not stopping him. His fingers trace the smooth skin of your inner thighs and you suppress a shiver.

“I’m not fucking you in the kitchen,” you tell him, but it comes out as practically a moan.

“Why not?” Aemond murmurs; you can feel his smirk.

“It’s unsanitary,” you tell him, “Oh fuck, Aemond-”

“Ew!”

Aemond pushes away from you, glancing at the source of the complaint before turning his body, hiding the ever-obvious tent in his sweatpants. Helaena had entered the kitchen, and judging by the horrified look on her face, had seen and heard a lot.

You tug your shirt down, slipping off the counter so it falls to almost your knees. You didn’t have any shorts here--you hadn’t been planning on a sleepover. Baela had stayed the night as well, crashing in Helaena’s room.

“Hey Hel,” you squeak, face burning with embarrassment. Aemond clears his throat as the toaster dings, before busying himself with fixing breakfast. “Where’s Baela? Sleep well?”

Helaena’s nose wrinkles in disgust as she moves toward the fridge. 

“I was perfect until that,” she says, shivering in disgust, “Luckily, Baela’s still sleeping. Jesus Christ you two.”

“You could’ve announced yourself,” Aemond snaps, smearing cream cheese onto a bagel half.

“Oh yeah,” Helaena says, rolling her eyes. She closes the fridge, turning and plastering a fake smile on her face, “Hey bestie! Hey little brother! Umm hello? HELLO?? Oh..can’t hear me with all the moaning and fucking….okay! I’ll just get my muffin elsewhere!”

You move toward her, wrapping your arms around her in a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, “Sorry you had to witness that.”

“I’m just gonna start screaming next time,” Helaena mumbles, “That’s my brother you know.”

You pull away from her, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m aware,” you say, smiling.

“Like, my little brother,” she clarifies, “Annoying, geeky, science fair winning-”

“You won a science fair?” you interrupt, turning to Aemond.

“The Doom of Valyria,” he says, nodding at the memory.

“Dork,” Helaena finishes, crossing her arms, “You’re fucking my dorky brother.”

“You approved!” you accuse.

“I still do, duh,” Helaena says, sighing, “I just don’t want to witness it.”

Aemond hands you a plate, smiling down at you. You quickly take a bite, moaning in satisfaction. You really were starving. Helaena gives you a warning glare.

“Don’t,” she says, “I’ve heard enough of your moans.”

“I haven’t,” Aemond says, taking a bite of his bagel and smiling at his sister. Helaena shakes her head, before looking at her phone.

“Disgusting,” Helaena says, pouting, “I am disgusted.”

You laugh, trying not to choke on your breakfast.  

“We’ve got a busy week,” Helaena tells you, “Luke’s doing final test runs on Seasmoke these next few days. Then we’re on cleaning duty again so it sparkles for the regatta.”

“Friday, right?” you clarify, and Helaena nods.

“Ugh, I love and hate it,” she says with a groan, “Love competition, hate summer ending.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. It’s inescapable, no matter how you choose to ignore it. You glance sideways at Aemond but his body language gives nothing away. He continues eating, leaning against the counter. 

“It’s not over yet,” you tell her, hopefully, “I mean, there’s still time…”

“I move in early,” Helaena says, a pained grimace on her face, “The Sunday after the regatta. RA duties and all.”

“You’re an RA?” you ask, surprised.

“My residents love me, thank you very much,” Helaena says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Cause you let them get away with anything and everything,” Aemond comments, placing his plate in the sink.

“You can just say you’ll miss me,” Helaena teases, “But yeah. I’ll be gone early.”

“I’ll miss you,” you tell her, meaning every word. Helaena has become a close friend of yours this summer. The thought of not seeing her again makes your heart hurt.

“You’ll have to come visit me,” Helaena says, smiling, “Eyrie College is pretty cool if I do say so myself.”

“And far,” you tell her.

“Holidays then,” Helaena insists, “You’ll be back here, right?”

You glance at Aemond, he’s leaning over the sink, his back facing you. You don’t know what to say. Will you ever be back here? Baela is one of your best friends, so the obvious answer is yes.

But will you ever be back here?

At this moment, right now. That question is a little more complicated. Aemond clears his throat, the silence laying heavy between you. 

“I’m going to shower,” he says, walking over to you. He drops a kiss on your head, before leaving the kitchen.

Just as he exits, Baela enters, yawning and stretching her hands above her head. She rubs the sleep from her eyes before grabbing the other half of your bagel. A tradition you share, splitting meals. It’s second nature for the two of you.

“You haven’t talked yet?” Helaena asks, phrasing her question in a way that reveals she already knows the answer.

“About what?” Baela says, through a mouthful of bagel. 

“No,” you answer, “I mean…we always said when summer ends…”

“Things have changed,” Helaena says, violet eyes wide and all-knowing, “Talk to him.”

You should. You will. But not today. Not yet. Having that conversation breathes life into the inevitable end. Your chest tightens at the thought alone. 

“I will,” you promise, nodding. 

Baela leans her head against your shoulder and Helaena presses her lips together, returning your nod with one of her own. 

“Can he fuck off?” Baela grumbles, a few days later. 

You’re sitting at the Kingsroad Country Club beside the pool, soaking in the afternoon sun. The forecast called for thunderstorms this evening, and you had decided to sunbathe for as long as you could. 

Her phone has been vibrating all afternoon. No matter how many times you’ve told her to put it on do not disturb she refuses. Out of spite, you think. You peer over your sunglasses, seeing Daemon’s name on her screen. Not dad, not father. Daemon Targaryen.

Baela presses ignore. 

She slumps back, throwing her arm over her head, mumbling obscenities. 

“You don’t think you should answer?” you ask.

“He’s just going to cuss me out about the gala again,” she grumbles, “Or talk about school. Or dinner, or some other frivolous event I couldn’t care less about.”

Daemon tries her again. She lets it go to voicemail this time. 

“I’m done with summer,” she says with a sigh, “I’m ready for the fall semester. Senior year. Honeyholt. Gods I miss it.” 

That tugs at your heartstrings. Honeyholt truly has become your home these past few years at school. Fall is nothing short of magical. When the leaves turn red, orange, and yellow, bathing the campus in a sunset glow. It’s your favorite time of year. And yet this time it looms like a threat. 

Baela glances at you, tilting her head to the side. I can read your thoughts, her look says as she raises an eyebrow at you. You pull your book closer. It’s a spicy read, one of your favorites. You’d sent Aemond a text message earlier, detailing the section you’d been reading. 

Anything you read, I do to you later, had been his response. 

Your whole body erupted in goosebumps, and you’d been unable to stop the stupid lovestruck grin from your face. Wait. 

Like-struck.

Like-struck grin. 

“We need to start planning for Halloween,” Baela says suddenly, “We’re behind already.”

“It’s August.”

“Like I said,” she says, as her phone rings once more, “For fuck’s sake!” 

Baela picks up the phone, angrily bringing it to her ear, “You call me again, I’m blocking you. For real this time I don’t care what Mumuña says---” she stops suddenly, eyebrows furrowing together. 

She reaches up toward her face, taking her sunglasses off. “Jace?”

You lay your book against your chest. You hadn’t even realized Jace was back yet. Baela turns, a confused expression on her face. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, but she shakes her head.

“Yeah, we’ll be right there----” she holds her phone between her head and shoulder hurriedly packing her poolside items into her tote bag.

Lip gloss, suntan lotion, water bottle. Baela’s hands are shaking. You can’t make out what Jace is saying, but you grab your things as well, prepared to leave the second Baela finishes the call. 

“Got it, yeah,” Baela says, lower lip wobbling, “Bye.”

She hangs up, blinking rapidly, eyes downcast. She doesn’t move for a moment, just sits hunched over the chaise lounge. 

“Bae?” you ask, worry curling in your gut, “Bae talk to me.”

She lifts her eyes, meeting yours. 

“It’s Rhaenyra,” she tells you, “There’s….there’s something wrong. It’s the baby.”

You’re not a fan of hospitals but then again, who is? You’d been in the private waiting room for the past hour, seated next to Baela, Jace, Luke, and Rhaena. The younger children were safely tucked away on Dragonstone, blissfully unaware of their mother’s whereabouts and wellbeing.

Not much was said. The baby was turned the wrong way, the cord wrapped around its fragile neck, something like that. Emergency surgery. 

Daemon was nowhere to be found. 

A bit of an exaggeration; he’d been here earlier but went for a walk. Jace said he was climbing the walls with anxiety. 

“He should be in there with her,” Luke spat, his face contorted with anger at his stepfather’s actions, “He should be--”

“He’ll come back,” Rhaena insists, hugging her stepbrother, “He always does.”

Baela was pacing as well. Restless like her father. Unable to sit still. You’d offered to get her food, coffee, anything to ease some of her anxiety. She declined. 

The hospital is a graveyard to Baela, Rhaena, and Daemon.

Laena Velaryon spent her last moments on this very floor. 

Rhaena hides her despair well, but you watch her wipe the corner of her eyes every minute like clockwork. The sleeves of her sweatshirt are now damp.

A nurse came to update them, and you texted the Targaryen-Hightower siblings. You’d been giving them updates. Helaena said she was on her way to the hospital, in desperate need of being by her elder sister’s bedside. Alicent was coming with her as well. 

Baela turns away from the nurse, placing her hand on her forehead. She walks quickly down the hall, bursting through the doors. You get up, sprinting after her. 

“Baela!” you call, jogging to catch her, “Bae-”

She comes to a stop, turning to you, a panicked look on her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. You’d only seen Baela cry a handful of times.

“Oh, Baela..”

“I don’t like her, okay?” she says, breathing becoming ragged, “But I don’t…I don’t want her to die.” She chokes on the last word, a sob bubbling up out of her throat. 

You feel tears leaving your own eyes, falling freely down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want her to die,” she repeats through her sobs, “I don’t-”

“I know,” you tell her, pulling her against you as she cries, “I know.”

She collapses against you, the sobs wracking through her, echoing down the hallway. You hold on tight, as she releases all the pain of the past summer, the past years. 

The ghost of Laena Velaryon lingers in these walls. 

You hold her until the door down the hall opens, and Daemon Targaryen steps through. He looks so much like Rhaena in the way he holds himself. Trying to remain stoic, but unable to hide his pain all the same. He walks down the hallway slowly approaching Baela as though she were a scared animal. 

“Tala (Daughter),” Daemon says softly, stroking her hair, “Come here.”

“Kepa,” she sobs, reaching for him, “I’m sorry.” She clings to her father, and he smoothes her hair, holding her close. 

“I know,” he says softly, “I am too.”

“I miss her so much,” Baela sobs, “So much.”

“I do too.”

“But I don’t want Rhaenyra…I can’t…not again--”

“Shhh,” Daemon soothes her, “It’ll be alright.”

You leave father and daughter to reconcile, heading back into the room. Daemon and Baela join several moments later; Baela returns to her pacing and Daemon is called into another room by a doctor. Helaena and Alicent arrive, demanding to see Rhaenyra. 

Eventually, the nurse caves and ushers them through the same door Daemon went through. 

The minutes feel like hours, but finally, finally, Helaena emerges from the doors. She takes a deep breath before a small smile appears on her face. Jace stands immediately, waiting with bated breath.

“She’s okay,” Helaena says, “Rhaenyra and the baby. They’re okay.”

Helaena’s words breathe life back into the room. The tension begins to dissipate and Rhaena collapses into her chair with relief. Luke begins to cry, and Jace wraps his arms around his brother. Baela blinks rapidly, nodding.

“Can we…can we see?” Jace asks, and Helaena nods. 

Jace and Luke hurry through the doors, and Rhaena grabs her twin's hand, dragging her behind them. You’re so happy you feel you might start crying as well. You stay in your seat, happy to let the family share this special moment together. Helaena walks over to you, tilting her head to the side. 

“Come see,” Helaena insists, taking your hand.

“It’s okay, really-”

“Nonsense,” she says, cutting you off, “You’re family too.”

Your heart sings at her words, and you take her hand as she leads you to Rhaenyra’s room. She’s sitting up at an angle in the hospital bed, recovering nicely. Sweat gleams on her brow, but she smiles when Helaena enters the room. 

Daemon holds his youngest daughter in his arms, standing next to Rhaenyra. She looks so small in his arms, a tiny little creature with pale flesh. You can count the bluish-purple veins that lay beneath her paper-thin skin. 

“This is Visenya,” Daemon says, his voice soft, “Jace and Luke have just held her.” He looks up, his eyes meeting Baela’s. 

She’s watching the baby as it stretches its small fingers toward the sky. Baela doesn’t say anything, just moves forward and holds her hand out to her sibling, letting Visenya’s small fingers wrap around hers. 

Rhaenyra smiles softly. 

It’s not completely healed, you know it. Wounds like that take time to heal. But you feel a warmth bloom in your chest as Baela smiles at Visenya and knows that they’re headed in the right direction.

You decide to give the family some privacy when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Aemond. You hadn’t updated him in a while. 

You excuse yourself, answering as you leave the room. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Aemond says, “Just wanted to check in, is everything okay?”

“Yeah everything’s okay,” you tell him, walking down the hall, “Rhaenyra is good. The baby is good.”

The line is quiet, you can hear his steady breathing.

“Visenya,” you tell him, “You officially have a niece.”

Aemond hums at the end of the line. You reach the end of the hallway, facing a large window. Dark storm clouds have gathered in the sky, and you can see lightning in the distance, and hear the low rumble of thunder.

“How’s Baela?” he asks.

“She’s doing well. I think she’s glad Rhaenyra is okay,” you say.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I really do.”

The rain begins, fat droplets splashing against the glass. 

“I’m glad too,” Aemond says suddenly, “Just…she is my sister.”

You smile, watching the streetlights turn on as the sky grows increasingly darker.

“I know you are,” you tell him, unable to stop the ache from growing in your chest. You can feel it. The presence weighs down the air between you, even through the phone. “Aemond-”

“I have to go,” he says suddenly, “Can I call you later?”

We have to talk. 

“Y/N?”

We need to talk.

“Are you still there?”

I think I’m falling in love with you.

“Yes,” you answer, “Sorry. Yeah of course. I’ll talk to you later.”

It takes him a moment before ending the call. Your heart hammers against your chest as you cradle your phone against your cheek, long after he’s gone.

note: ONE PART LEFT!! I REPEAT ONE PART LEFT!!! ilysm

OLS Taglist 1: @talesofoldandnew, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

@grungegrrrl, @melsunshine, @helaenaluvr

bold means tumblr would not let me tag!

[alexwritingspot]

Leo Valdez x reader

request from @beeeezmelmel for a Leo Valdez x reader

prompt 10: “I can’t sleep”

words count: 1.4k

pairing: Leo Valdez x g!n reader

A night time walk to bunker 9 leads you and your best friend, Leo Valdez, to a confession of your true feelings. Could this friendship become something more?

——————————————————————————————————

A/n: hi darling and thank you for requesting! I honestly had so much fun writing this one cause Leo is one of my comfort character! And I find it a really realistic thing that (I wrote the thing with the reader saying the prompt’s sentence) you would definitely find Leo awake at every hour of the night. I wrote this as an eventual friends to lovers, enjoy! 🧡 Also, I’m slowly catching up on all my requests, school is going to start soon and I have lot of test and such for the end of the period, so hope no one is disappointed if I don’t answer their requests really fast, sorry again!

——————————————————————————————————

Loud thunders echoing through the night had woken you up before your nightmare could. Not like your rest had been the easiest, but surely things were getting better after the war with Gaea.

You jolted up straight in the bed, catching your breath while your eyes adjusted to the dime light coming from outside. It was dark and nothing other than the moon was there to lighten up your vision. Luckily enough you hadn’t woken up any of your siblings, you already knew they would have asked too many questions about how you were feeling.

So you decided that maybe taking a breather outside would have been a good solution to calm down your mind from the recurring nightmare that plagued your sleeps. You tiptoed out of bed, almost tripping in the blankets. Careful to not make any noise you slipped on a pair of sneakers, without tying up the laces, of course, and you made your way outside of the g/p cabin.

Chilly air hit your skin as you exited from the door. Gods, now you were even shivering from the cold. You let out a soft sigh before starting to walk, making sure to go unnoticed by the harpies that flew in the sky at night, you surely didn’t want to face Mr. D’s punishments.

You didn’t really know where to go. Well, you did knew who would have been able to cheer you up, but you weren’t sure if he was still awake, or if he would have cared about your stupid nightmares. You decided nonetheless to give it a try, and as you hugged yourself tighter to shield yourself from the cold, one step after the other you started to make your way to bunker 9.

Why bunker 9? Because you were confident that if he was still up, which you suspected, then he would have been surely working on some project of his in the old bunker.

Between the wind blowing the leaves on trees, and the far sound of the thunderstorm outside of camp’s borders, you quietly made your way to the hidden building in the middle of the night.

As you arrived you silently entered through the main entrance, finding yourself in a lot more hot environment, that immediately warmed you up.

Just a little bit further there was him. Sitting at one of the many tables there was Leo, who was working on some gadget of his. Beside him there was Festus, who was laying comfortably on the ground. He was the first to spot you.

You honestly would have just stayed there at the entrance, just enjoying the scene playing in front of your eyes, but the mechanical dragon had other plans.

“Come on, why won’t you work??” Leo asked to the thing he was working on, and Festus tried to get his attention by gently blowing some air onto the boy. “Not now buddy, I’m busy, can’t you see?” Answered Leo, clearly trying to find out a solution.

So this time Festus actually nudged him to get his attention. When the child of Hephaestus still ignored him, the mechanical dragon insisted slightly more, getting Leo to finally pay him attention. “What is it, huh?” He asked as he patted the dragon’s head.

Festus brushed him off, and pointed in your direction.

You could have sworn you froze in place in that moment, completely caught off guard on what to do. “Hey…” You meekly said, the room didn’t seem as hot as before.

Leo’s eyes widened when he saw you “Y/n? Are you okay? Something happened?” He gently asked as he got up and approached you. “Y-yeah, I’m good, I just… I happened to pass by… yep…” Why did you have to say the first thing that crossed your mind?? You were pretty sure that you were a blushing mess by now.

If Leo noticed he didn’t point it out. “Passing by? In the middle of the night? Let me tell you, that would be strange even for me.” He joked, trying to lighten up the mood at least a bit. “Holy Hephaestus, y/n you’re shivering!” He then noticed, and before you could find another good enough excuse he pulled you by the wrist and made you sit on the only couch of the bunker.

“You want to see what I was working on?” He then asked you with his signature smirk as he lighted up some candles that he had laying around. You doubted those would have kept you warm, but you appreciated the gesture.

“Sure thing.” You nodded. This was the thing with Leo. He understood when you didn’t want to talk about something, and he didn’t pressure it. He’d just let you be, and if you wanted you could talk about it.

He moved to the table and picked up the thing he was working on “This buddy over here won’t let me adjust him” he said frowning as he tried once again to adjust it. You chuckled, Leo was able to ease your worries in an instant.

He plopped himself besides you and showed you the small gadget. You passed a hand over it. “What is this supposed to do?” You asked him with curiosity and he started explaining. “Well you see, I projected him because I thought it was a good idea for…” as he talked you totally zoned out, simply staring at him as he talked.

You blamed it on your ADHD, but in reality you had the biggest crush on the guy since he had arrived at camp.

“And so, even if I figured out what doesn’t work I can’t seem to adjust it” he concluded and snapped back to reality. Shit, you had missed the whole explanation.

“That sounds interesting” You simply commented as he put down the small thing and scooped closer to you. “Yeah, until you don’t have to work on it” he said with a smile.

You stayed like that for a bit, embraced by the comfortable silence until you spoke up. “How come you are still awake?” You asked him, tilting your head to be able to look him in the eyes. “I can’t sleep” he answered you truthfully. “What about you?” He the quickly added “If you want to tell me of course”

You let out a sigh “I just… I have this nightmare that has been plaguing my sleep since the war with Gaea and I needed some comfort. I didn’t want to wake my siblings up and… I assumed you would have been awake, and I came here” you concluded, looking down at your hands, unsure of what he would say next.

Instead of the negative reaction you had expected on his face appeared the biggest smirk “So you thought of me to feel safe?~” he was so smudgy about it. You just chuckled “Yeah… you could put it like that.” He smiled “Well then, I’m glad” He wrapped an arm around you “I’m here for you if you need me, that is what… friends… are for, right?” If you hadn’t been so busy feeling defeated after he had defined the two of you ‘just friends’ you would have noticed the doubt in his voice.

“Yeah… friends, you’re right” you looked away, the until now comfortable silence had quickly evolved in an uncomfortable one.

“Actually…” he moved your face gently with his hand, making sure you were looking at him “You know what y/n? I just cannot keep going on like this… I’m not really good with words, but I… I uh… I appreciate your presence and just… I found you really pretty and funny but I don’t wanna be your friend anymore” You just sat there, completely shocked. So, he didn’t care after all.

He saw your hurt look and started talking again “Wait! That didn’t come out right! I didn’t mean to say that we aren’t friends! For Hephaestus’s sake, I’m such a mess with words” He shook his head chuckling, and at that point you were terribly confused. What did he mean then?

“I just… I like you y/n. And not like- I don’t just like you. I like like you, as in more than friends and I know that you probably don’t reciprocate and this will ruin our friendship but I couldn’t just hide this anymore and-“ he was talking a bit too much for your likings.

You crushed your lips on his and expressed with that gesture all the emotions that neither of you knew how to express…

——————————————————————————————————

a/n: GODS, I panicked so bad, I had accidentally pressed “publish” while writing! Anyway, happy New year to all my followers, and thanks for reading! 🧡

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Hi can u please write about domestic life with Bills Eric Draven? Can there be fluffy and smutty moments? Tyyyy

Boy can I??? I’d be DELIGHTED. His domesticity is all I think about. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving bf and you can’t change my mind. I got a little carried away! Hopefully this is what you were wanting! Enjoy doll!

Bf!Eric x gf!reader. Explicit sexual content under the cut, minors dni, oral (f receiving), p in v. brief mentions of drug use, mostly fluffy relationship stuff

It wasn’t entirely easy. You and Eric. The circumstances under which you met and the nature of the both of you was quite dysfunctional. You were chaos, and he was a mess. But it worked. The two of you. You worked perfectly. You weren’t sure what it was, you had never been able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. But it was almost like you were meant to be together. If you didn’t believe in the whole soulmates thing, you started to believe it when you met Eric.

He was so unreal, so out of this world. He was always by your side, fingers laced with yours, arm thrown over your shoulder. He always had to be touching you, whether it was something as little as holding your hand, or going as far as putting you in a matting press when he fucked you, because he hated the idea of not being as close to you as possible. He never meant to, he didn’t even know what it was. He just did it one day. Your knees damn near next to your head, your body nearly folded in half as he draped his body over yours. You didn’t even know your body could bend this way. But god this you like it. How deep he could be this way. And you had him so close you could hear his little sounds, his hard breathing and his soft grunts.

He always felt a little bad, manhandling you around like you were nothing. If he wasn’t bending your body in ways you didn’t think were human, he was putting you in a headlock as he took you from behind, one arm draped around your neck from shoulder to shoulder. He just wanted you close, afraid you’d run away. But he sometimes forgot to take it easy on you. You always assured him you were more than happy with him, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Deep down it made you all kinds of earn to know you could arise such passions from him. For someone so morbidly quiet and nonchalant, Eric was very intense and passionate lover.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.” He would tell you, his voice soft and quiet in your ear, grounding you as his cock fucked you into nothing. “I just want to make you feel good, hm? Just want to make you feel good. That’s what you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve this. You’re too good for me.” He would say, his lips on your cheek as quiet moans spilled from your lips. “You’re just so… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” His name falling from your lips would be the end of him. So soft and desperate for him. He didn’t have much experience before you, but now he just can’t get enough of you. He wanted to be all over you at all times it actually upset him when you had to leave or when he did.9

But he was also oh so kind, so gentle and patient with you. He always followed you around like an oversized puppy, quietly listening to whatever tangent you would go on about. You could be cursing up a storm (albeit not directed at him) and he would take it with a straight face and big eyes. And it was often that nothing more but his presence would calm you down, center you.

“How do you do it?” You asked him one day, hot tears staining your face after a day of one stressor after another. Eric had managed to get you on the couch where he silently sat you down on his lap. You almost immediately curled up into his lap, legs tucked under you and your head on his chest. You felt an almost instant sense of relief and peace fill you, and you were sighing deeply, feeling your heart slow its fast beating.

“Do what?” He asked you softly, his fingers massaging your head calmly. You rested your hand on his chest, eyes closed.

“This. You calm me down. I was crying two minutes ago and now I feel… okay.” You felt him shrug under you and when you looked up he had a smile on his face. That smile could make you forget any grief or sadness you might have, because none of it really mattered.

But it wasn’t just him who could bring you peace, you were his, too. His lows weren’t as intense or visible as yours, but when he was at his low, he was at an all time low. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, he would just go about his day like a corpse, eyes dead and empty and his mind elsewhere. You understood he had his issues too, so you tried to be there for him without pushing him. You were more subtle. You’d make him dinner, you’d invite him to watch a movie with you. And you’d tangle up with him on the couch as you all but forced him to eat, and you’d talk to him about your day. But something so small always meant so much to him. He couldn’t help the way he felt, he couldn’t help his negative thoughts that drove him to do drugs in the first place, but having you around to remind him someone in this world loved and cared for him, it made it all a little bit easier.

Eric started to bring you flowers one day. Every week once a week, he could come home with your favorite flowers. He alternated colors. With a sheepish smile he’d stand in the doorway with his hands behind his back. And the way he would look at you when gushed about how pretty they were was like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world, the only one that mattered. And to him you were. Seeing that smile on your face was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“You like them?” He would ask as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’d do it just to hear you giggle and watch you all but skip to put them in water. “Yeah? I saw them and thought about you.”

He always thought about you. There wasn’t a single waking second where he didn’t. You were good for him. And he knew that. He didn’t need anything else to fill the emptiness in his chest because he had you. You had filled that hole and he made sure you knew that everyday.

Eric had many ways to show his love and devotion for you. He wrote you poems, he drew for you, you had so many sketches you have started to run out of places to hang them, but this one was by far his favorite. He could spend literal hours between your legs. He absolutely loved it. He was absolutely obsessed with it.

“E-Eric.. Please.” You were shaking, sweating, incoherent as his tongue circled on your clit, his long fingers fucking you through your, fourth, fifth? You stopped keeping count. He had been down there for an eternity. He just kept asking for one more, just one more and he’d leave you alone. But it wasn’t enough. He was quite obsessive with the things he wanted.

But he figured he’d have to give you a break eventually. He was also painfully hard.

“I’m sorry baby.” He muttered softly as he crawled up your body, using the back of his hand to wipe the mess you had made, but his plush lips were still bright red and glistening. “You know I get carried away sometimes… You’re just so..”

He would kiss your face, brush your hair, soothe you back into a functioning human being. It wasn’t often that Eric vocalized his thoughts, but in moments like this when he felt safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, he would tell you all about how pretty you were, how talented you were, how much he loved you.

Eric was always full of surprises. He was quiet and nonchalant, but he was impulsive. You learned that very quickly.

“Baby?” You heard Eric call out to you as he came into the loft. You sat on the computer as you listened to one of his recordings. He had asked you to help him out since he really wanted to start pursuing his music and art now that he actually had someone that supported him.

With a smile, you took your headphones off and went to greet him, but you immediately frowned when you saw him hold something wrapped up in his hoodie.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” You stood up, approaching him with narrowed eyes as he broke out a smile.

“I’m sorry. I just found it, I just.. I felt bad.” He pulled down his hoodie to reveal a precious little kitten. A black ball of fur coating its little face. Your heart immediately sank and you wanted to cry.

“Oh my god, Eric.” You took the kitten into your hands and your eyes started watering as you hugged it. Eric wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction. Did you hate it? Were you upset?

“No, baby, I’m sorry. I found it outside, it’s kinda cold and it was drinking from a puddle. I didn’t want a car to hit it. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, we can take it to a shelter or something.” He started to mumble, a hand coming to rub the back of his head and his lips fell open when he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He approached you, reaching to grab your face. “Please don’t cry.”

“No… No Eric I’m not..” You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears as you leaned into Eric’s chest while still hugging the now purring black ball of fur. “I’m not upset at all. It’s just… I’ve never had my own pet before. And it’s so cute, can we keep it, please? It’d be our little child.”

The way you looked at him with big pleading eyes made him feel so warm, he never thought he’d feel something like this. He smiled, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course we can keep it. He’s kinda cute, right?” Eric chuckled as he scratched the little one’s head.

“Or she.”

Your little ball of fur wasn’t the only thing you and Eric shared. You got so many matching tattoos it was concerning. Your friends and family had even told you it was odd to get tattoos with a guy you had been dating for only a few months. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t know why, but deep down you knew your connection with Eric was out of this world. So what were a couple tattoos? You loved that you had a physical reminder of your connection with him. The feelings deep within your souls were forever marked on your skin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Truth was, Eric loved tracing each and every one of your tattoos. He traced his fingers over the fine lines, traced the words, he traced his lips over them too. He particularly loved the ones on your back and on your stomach, the ones no one but him could see. They were his little secret.

You matched each other perfectly, in every way.

[sturnwritess]

Hot feeling

warnings: smut. smutty smut/ (p in v), creampies,dom!chris, sub!reader, (pet names), choking, praising, just a tiny bit of angst, drinking and weed.

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

\Your friend Zoey was a huge influencer she knew almost about everyone, tonight there was going to be a party. She invited me to the party, we both knew each other since middle school. I watched her grow in fame and nonetheless I was very proud of her.

The party is at 9:00 and I decided to borrow something from Zoey, she had this short mini skirt that she let me borrow. I also borrowed her black top that hanged off my shoulder, and i put my favorite pair of heels on. We took her car because she hadn't planned on drinking tonight.

We got to the party it was about a thirty-minute drive, when we got there my skirt was already up riding my ass. I was easy to fix it, I already regret wearing this skirt.

We walked in behind other people; this house was huge, and music was already blasting. I told Zoey that I was going to the drink stand, The stand had almost everything, I went straight to the Tito's, and I poured three shots for myself.

At the corner of my eye I see someone, I knew his name was Chris Sturniolo a guy who immediately cut me off due to his fame. We were friends with benefits for a while until we got close and started dating for a while, that was before his fame.

As he made his way towards me, I he tried to go another direction to avoid him. He caught my wrist and tried telling me something, but I simply ignored and escaped his grab on me.

As I made my way some guys were whispering about me and giving me looks, I wondered what was happening and immediately tried going to her friend Zoey.

As I made my way to Zoey, I asked her why everyone was whispering, I turned around and Zoey gasped and fixed my skirt. Turns out my skirt was up riding just like earlier, as y/n sighed of embarrassment.

I realized that Chris was going to tell me that, I told Zoey that I would be right back to go and find Chris. As I searched the house, I found a set of familiar eyes. It seems as if Chris was searching for mine too. As I made my way to Chris, I immediately started apologizing for not giving him a chance to speak.

"Hey Chris" you say, "hey y/n" he says sighing. "Look I wanted to apologize for not letting you speak earlier, I was acting like a child in that moment." you say. "it's fine y/n I get that you wouldn't want to talk to me after everything." he says.

As you sit in an awkward silence you decide to break saying "I just wanted to apologize I get you were trying to tell me my skirt was riding up." you say awkwardly, "oh its fine" he says laughing. "You're still wearing that pair from that night huh?" he says with a smirk, you hit his arm playfully. "Chrissss enough" you say.

The color violet plays reminding you of the night you and Chris smoked a blunt with him, as your thinking of that memory Chris pulls out a joint from his pocket saying, "want to recreate that memory ma?" making you press your thighs together. That night also was the same night you lost your virginity to Chris.

As he held the lighter to his joint that was currently pressed to his lips he gave you a look, the same look from that night. As the joint got passed around between you two, you felt the high kick in making your eyes red and tired.

You knew Chris felt the same way not to mention you both were horny. As you sat up, he had a confused expression on his face. That once ended as you held out your hand leading him to the stairs.

As you took his hand leading him up the stairs, your skirt was up riding once again letting Chris have a view of your laced white panties. As you got upstairs you went into the bathroom letting Chris follow behind you, as he shut the bathroom door and locked it your lips smashed his. He slipped in his tongue fighting for dominance, he instantly won.

As you sat on the sink Chris came in between your legs kissing down from your neck to your tits, leaving marks all over the place. He asked you "are you sure you want this baby?" you nod. "Words baby" he says "please Chris" you say with pleading eyes.

You take off your shirt revealing your white laced bra, "perfect tits as usual ma" trailing his hands over you. You try taking off his pants "tsk so needy baby, did I say you could take my pants off?" he says with a smirk, "no Chris you didn't" you say looking down. He brings your face back looking up to him "baby look at me when I'm talking to you or I'm just going to get off and make you watch, okay?" he says and you nod.

He slides his hands up your skirt, making circles on your thigh making you gasp. He chuckles while sliding his hands closer to your heat, making you moan as if he's already touching your throbbing clit. As he makes his way to your slick folds, he slides underneath your panties pushing his two fingers in with no warning. Making you gasp into his ear making a dirty smirk cross his face, he plunges his fingers in and out of you making you grab his bicep.

He goes at a fast pace, as you try to close your legs, he pushes them back open. He goes at an incredibly faster pace, you're moaning and squirming under him. You moan and close your eyes, as you do that he immediately stops.

You open your eyes whining "baby you are going to open your eyes as I fuck you." he says with his eyes filled with lust. you nod and keep your eyes opened as he keeps going "good girl" he says.

You're clenching around his fingers and squeezing his bicep harder, he knows your close "c-chris I'm s-so close" you say panting "I know baby, be a good girl and make a mess on my fingers." That sends you over the edge, you moan his name and stuffed your head in the crook of his neck. As you cum all over his finger he brings them up to your mouth and you suck on his fingers, he smashes his lips with yours tasting you.

He pulls down his boxers and his pants letting his cock spring free, slapping his happy trail. You drool over the sighting of his red tip leaking precum. As he gets closer to you, he arches your back and spreads your legs open again. He puts his tip into your hole making you wince, he looks up to you.

He cups your face as he slams into you, making you scream. You slap your hand over your mouth as he goes at a slow pace making your eyes furrow. As you give him the nod to go faster, he goes at an impeccable speed.

"Shit you're so tight baby, I can't last long with you clenching around me like this" he says while groaning. You look up to him letting you know your close "baby I know your close, good thing I'm close too." "Fuck c-chris I'm gonna cum!" you say while moaning. "shit shit shit." he says, his thrusts are getting sloppier, and you know he's close.

As he cums inside of you, he pulls out and. He sees his cum trying to fall out, but he stuffs his fingers inside of you making you gasp, He smirks knowing your sensitive. As he takes his fingers out, he pulls a wash rag from the towel rack and wets it with warm water. He cleans you up and pulls your panties and skirt back on.

As he's pulling his boxers and pants back on, he gives you a kiss on the cheek and pulls out his phone "here's my new phone number ma" he says "thanks chris for everything" you say out of breath "of course y/n, anything for you" he says while chuckling.

As you get off the sink your legs start to wobble but chris catches you and holds his hand on your back, as you unlock the door and go downstairs. Zoey sees you two walking down and offers to drive you home, Chris says he will drive you home and told her not to worry.

She sees your messy makeup and your skirt uneven, she looks at you with a grin and doesn't even bother. Chris carries you to his car and drives you home with his hand on your thigh.

The color violet starts playing and he looks at you making you shake your head no. He laughs and drives you to his place, once he gets you to his place he picks you up and walks up the driveway and unlocks the front door.

He walks up the stairs going to his room and placing you on his bed, he kisses your forehead goodnight and puts the cover over you. He gets makeup wipes from Madi's makeup bag and wipes your makeup off.

He takes off his shirt and puts on grey sweats, he takes your skirt off, putting on his fresh love sweatpants on you and putting one of his shirts over your shirt. He turns off his lamp light and goes crawls into bed with you and falls asleep to lil skies on his tv.

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

so sorry if this is shitty nd all that but i love y'all and goodnightt

@mattsgirlie @sturnioloshacker@sturnproductions@sturniolosluvv

@mattsturn@chris-girl@chrissolosa@nicksnosering@sturniolosstar

@natedoesnotwanttobattle-blog@natedoeslangs@sturnioloskies

@madifilipabitch@chrissturnlover@mattsturnioloarchive@chrisloyalgf

@sturniol0s@tarayummysworld@jhonnieguilbertfanpage-blog

@sturniolopowers@mattsturniolosmainbitch@matts-k1tten

@christinarowie332@mattsmunch

[whatusername00]

Which Baldur's Gate Characters Know How To Lace Up Their Clothing - Others

Other people I've run into that lace some part of their outfit. This might be the last part, it might not, it just depends on if I find more as I replay the game. On we go.

Starting with the man who put this in my brain, Lord Enver Gortash. Couldn't even be bothered to lace his shirt properly at his ceremony to become Archduke. Did he lace it while wearing his gloves? That's fun to imagine. This man is just straight up skipping eyelets while doing up his shirt. There's also a bit of lacing missing that should come from the third eyelet from the bottom right, and some lacing that should come from the bottom of the eyelet above that. I can't believe I didn't notice this monstrosity until my 7th playthrough. 0/10 get your shit together.

Nine-Fingers has the same lacing on her arm that Lakrissa and Zorru have, so my gripes are the same. One side laces over while the under laces under, when they should match. Why did she use two separate lacing strings? At least there are visible knots. 7/10.

I really hate this man, so it irks me that Lorroakan's lacing is really good. I feel like it would fit his character if it was just a little off. But really, the only thing off I can say is that there's no knot. I will begrudgingly give him a 9/10.

Barcus wears the same outfit that Cal wears. He's perfect, everything is beautiful, 10/10. Oh, 10/10 on the lacing too.

The shoulder lacing still bugs me because the ends aren't even, so 8/10. And honestly, the more I think about it, the more I feel like I would constantly feel the weird gap even over whatever he's wearing underneath. Maybe that's just me.

Omeluum and Blurg both wear the same undershirt that Asharak, Danis, and Kanon wear. And this lacing just isn't possible without tacking it into place, which would defeat the purpose of lacing at the neckline. It's not possible because threading into and then out of the same eyelet just pulls the lacing back out. So I love these two, but 0/10.

And finally we have Helsik. I almost didn't include her because her gauntlets don't lace through eyelets, they lace through these little loops, but look. The rare, elusive knot. And the lacing is physically possible. Also, I didn't notice the lack of eyelets until I put the picture on this post. But listen. Maybe I'm sick of eyelets after putting 120 into a pair of pants earlier this year. And putting some into two corsets on top of that. Maybe I need a break. 10/10.

Like I said earlier, this is probably it for now unless I notice lacing on someone else. I'll be starting a new playthrough when the next patch drops, so we'll see. Bye for now!

Camp Companions

Tieflings

[call-me-medusa]

fic: bed chem (9-1-1, buddie)

6.6k | E | ao3

A small electrical fire started at a store. A store that sold… novelty items. They sold sex toys. It was a sex shop.

“What, you don’t go to one of these once a week?” Eddie teased, looking over at Buck.

“Nah, I haven’t actually been to once since I was Buck 1.0, I think?” Buck brushed off the teasing and tried to think back. “I usually just get lube on Amazon. And I order my sex toys online too.”

Eddie nods, listening. “Yeah, I prefer the anonymity of the online stuff. I spent way too much time picking one out to go to the store and stand there looking at them.”

“You have a sex toy?”

Eddie, straight laced Eddie, Buck’s best friend Eddie, who couldn’t have sex because his girlfriend was a nun, has a sex toy?

Eddie barked a laugh before turning to Hen and Chimney who are still busy talking to the store employees, and Bobby, who’s talking to the owner who arrived after the fire started. Eddie talks low and quiet. “I have more than one sex toy.”

Or, the three times Buck and Eddie talked about sex before they (+1) had sex for the first time.

Tags: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Established Relationship, Smut, Bottom Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Top Evan "Buck" Buckley, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, First Time, Porn with Feelings, Developing Relationship, 5+1 Things, (it's actually a 3+1 things but that's not a tag), POV Evan "Buck" Buckley, Topping from the Bottom, (kind of?)(there's a dichotomy but not a strict one)

tags under the cut:

@feistygina @theyjusthowl