#the footwork??? HOT DAMN

[officialmiintee]

follow the maestro’s lead

[hisonlykiwi]

"Eyes on me, darling"

You and Azriel have been training together for months and things got a little tense...

wc: 1.3K

warnings: angst

a/n: this is my first attempt at making a short story, please let me know what you think!! <3

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“Again.”

Azriel’s voice harshly rang in my ears. Trying to catch my breath, I wipe off the sweat rolling down my cheek with the back of my hand and get back into a fighting stance. I tightly grip my dagger and peer up at him, silently nodding to him that I am ready. I knew training would be hard but I really underestimated how difficult this would actually be.

Azriel took a step forward and before I could react, he managed to point his dagger towards my neck, again. “Pay attention.” he says, I let out a frustrated groan, tossing my dagger on the ground, “I hate this, Azriel, we’ve been going at this for hours and I can’t get the hang of how to use that damn thing.” I point at the useless dagger lying on the floor. He smiled, letting out a small chuckle, “I keep telling you to focus on your footwork but you keep getting distracted.” He rolled his dagger, truth teller, into his hands, studying it as his shadows wrapped around his wrists.

I rolled my eyes at this comment,“I just don’t see use in this training. We all know I don’t exactly need it, my ability to control minds protects me just fine.”

Azriel let out a breathy chuckle, “While you are right, your ability to have control over the minds of others is powerful, indeed. You still need training to learn how to fight in case your power ever fails,” He said, circling me with truth teller spinning in his hands, “Would you be able to defend yourself if it came down to it?”

Out of mere muscle memory, I go back into a fighting position. I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my neck, keeping my eyes trained on him. I mistakenly glance over at the lonesome dagger on the floor, a couple feet away from me. He continued to circle around me, footsteps light and agile, his eyes focused on my every move. A smirk appeared on his face knowing exactly what I was thinking when he saw my gaze fall to the dagger.. “Eyes on me, darling.”

I huff out a shaky breath and swallow the lump stuck in my throat. In the blink of an eye, his feet kicked off the ground, his Siphon glowing a bright blue. I tried swerving out of the way but he was upon me, spinning me into his chest. My back was to him, he held me firmly in place with his left arm and his right holding the dagger against my throat. The tip of the blade bit into my delicate flesh ever so delicately. I held onto his arm trying to prevent him from pushing the dagger further into my sensitive skin.

I could feel his breath hot against my neck, a contrast compared to the cool blade against my neck. His breath was slow and even, he seemed to be completely calm, the only sign of tension were his shadows dancing around us.

“What is your next move, love?” I could feel him whisper against my ear. I scoffed at his comment, “You’re so lucky to have centuries of training ahead of me, shadowsinger.” I say while hooking my leg behind his and quickly pulling at it, and jabbing the back of my elbow into his side. He stumbled back, letting go of his grip on me, grunting and gripping his side. I turned around to face him and gave him a forceful shove, causing him to get off his balance. Azriel’s wings flexed out, balancing him out, he locked eyes with me and raised his eyebrows in surprise. A teasing expression on his face and eyes gleaming with mischief, “Try again.” He teased, his wings flexing again as he lunged towards me, closing the distance between us. I let out a gasp at the sudden movement and tried to move out his grasp.

He grinned at my pathetic attempt of trying to move away from him, this only caused him to dig his fingers into my hips, pulling me closer into his chest. I could feel the tip of his blade against the soft flesh of my stomach. “Not fast enough, darling.” I could practically hear the stupid smirk growing on his face right now.

“What makes you so sure about that?” I chuckled and pressed the dagger I silently snatched from his Illyrian leathers earlier, further into his thigh. He let out a sharp hiss as the tip of the dagger pressed into his skin. He didn’t make any attempts to move away, he tilted his head down at me, a devilish smile spreading on his face.

“Clever…” He let out a breathy whisper, his shadows were swirling around us, hissing and whispering. “What can I say? I’m getting trained by the infamous spy master himself.” I said, causing him to let out a deep chuckle, “And yet, I still have you pinned against me.” A grin spread on his face as he was getting closer to me, mere inches away from my face. Azriel’s breath felt warm against my skin, the faint smell of cedar mixed in with his sweat. I gazed into his eyes, I caught a small hint of lust swirling in them. Maybe I was imagining things but it almost felt like I could hear his heart racing against my chest. My breath was coming in short, heavy pants, my skin flushed a deep pink at the close proximity, a stark contrast to Azriel’s beautiful golden skin.

“Is this what you call training?” We both snapped our gaze towards Rhysand who was standing in the doorway watching us for who knows how long. Azriel didn’t seem surprised at his brother’s watchful eye on us. He gave the High Lord a small smile and took a step back away from me, pulling the dagger that was against my throat with him. “Just a little..” Azriel said with such nonchalance as if he didn’t have you pinned flush against him, inches away from kissing you just seconds before.

He sheathed his dagger back into his hip. I held out my hand to him, offering him back his blade that I had taken minutes before. He raised his eyebrows at my gesture and took the dagger from my outstretched palm, his fingers gently lingering for longer than necessary. With a small nod, he took the dagger and tucked it back into his leathers and gave me a barely-there smile, a silent thank you.

Azriel turned back to Rhysand, his jaw clenching ever so slightly “Is there anything you need, brother?” Although his voice was polite, I swear I could see a hint of annoyance on his face.

I looked over to Rhysand, an amusing smirk on his face, as he was looking between me and Azriel. Rhysand cleared his throat, “Yes, actually. Cassian got word that Hybern is setting up camp near Spring Court and I need you and Cassian to check it out, see what’s going on.” Azriel gave a small nod in response, his expression unreadable as he glanced in my direction. His eyes flickered over my face as if he was contemplating saying something, instead he spoke out to Rhysand and ripped his gaze from me over at him “Understood. When do you need us to go?” Before Rhysand got the chance to answer, I interrupted, “I’m actually going to head home if you two don’t mind.” I glanced over in Azriel’s direction and said “Same time, tomorrow?” He gave me a simple nod at my request, relaxing a bit and losing the tension in his shoulders from Rhysand’s unexpected arrival. A smile spread across his lips “Of course,” He seemed to hesitate in his answer and he looked over to Rhysand “Same time, tomorrow” He said quietly. I gave him a small smile and looked over to Rhysand “See you.”

I made my way out of the training room and looked over my shoulder at Azriel to see he was already looking at me.

[bits-and-babs]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆, 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 — 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

synopsis : könig’s job affords him an air of authority and power that few other professions can. an admission that you find this particularly attractive piques his interest.

pairing : könig x f!civilian!reader (‘perle’)

warnings : 18+ mdni. gun kink!!! this is zero plot, 100% filth, i got a little carried away- gun in mouth. könig is flirty and cheeky because he is, damn it. domxsub dynamics, praise kink, fingering, oral sex (m receiving). size kink, degradation kink, uniform kink all present if you really squint.

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Forest green eyes gaze at you through a black, threadbare veil, an eyebrow arching in silent query. Despite the draped cloth obscuring his expression, you can imagine he's smirking, the edge of his lips pulling up as he grapples with your admission. Pride and self-satisfaction roll off König's massive shoulders in waves, though the sheer immensity of his frame makes it feel far more like an avalanche. 

"You like my uniform?" He repeats your admittance, his thick accent lilting in amusement. It's mortifying, you think, to let König into your mind and show the elite soldier just how much he affects you.

You'd hate to seem disrespectful, to reduce his valorous job to some kind of uniform kink- 

"Schatzi?" König pushes gently, watching you squirm under his interrogation from across the room. Chewing on your lip, you note how it smarts slightly, tender from worrying it with your teeth. 

"Mhm- It's more... That I like it on you." The confession makes you cringe internally, expecting König to laugh or reduce your fantasy to that of a 'civvy stereotype'. 

König appears momentarily caught off guard. You see both dark eyebrows arch in mild surprise before a sort of realisation and subsequent amusement settle into those viridescent irises. 

"You mean I am special?" He muses, setting towards you ever so slowly. For such a hulking mass of man, König moves stealthily, delicate footwork almost inaudible. "Not just any soldier?"

"No!" You insist instantly, cheeks heating up under his inquisitive gaze, "No... It's just you- Just you in the uniform."

König hums softly, a sound of acknowledgement as he advances towards you slowly. The intimidation you feel drips down your spine and settles in the pit of your stomach. He's not as threatening as a lion, with brute force and indiscriminate power. No, he reminds you of a hyena, cunning and wily. The knowing look in his eye only adds to the feeling that he's up to something, and your heart thumps in your chest when he continues to search your expression. 

"Tell me. What about the uniform do you like so?" He urges you to detail your desires. You're beginning to wish you'd never mentioned anything because König looks like he's dangling bait between your eyes to coax you into a trap.

"Uhm," you fumble for an answer, those lush eyes calmly studying your trembling frame. When you drag your eyes over König’s body for an answer, you observe the strain of his shirt buttons and the revolver holster strapped to his thigh. He's sown extra length to the leather ties with scraps from a belt, standard military equipment far too small for his tremendous frame.

"I like- The way it fits you? The power, the guns, an-"

"The guns?" He wonders aloud, but there's a sly inflection to his question, guileful. Swallowing thickly, you wonder if you've overstepped a mark, opening and closing your mouth like a witless fish as you attempt to piece together some kind of backtrack-

"You understand their danger, of course?" König quizzes rhetorically, seemingly sated by your vehement nod, "You think they look good? Then... I am willing to share a glimpse of one. That is, if you continue to be so open and honest with me." 

It's an odd sensation, the feeling of your blood running cold but the pit of your stomach burning hot with arousal. König doesn't even give you a moment to dispute, halting his advancing footsteps and deciding instead to revert, putting distance between you and taking a seat. 

"K- König-" You want to ask him to tell you what he has planned, but the words wither on your tongue when you see him draw the stainless steel revolver from its holster. It glints in the fluorescent lighting above your head, coaxing you forward. It's as though he's pushed cotton between your lips, drying your mouth. 

"Perle," he copies you, shifting his hips forward in the seat and slowly letting his colossal thighs part. From here, his eyes look darker, his pupils swallowing his irises as he drops his hand and places the revolver in his lap. "Come take a look."

It cracks up the length of your spine, sparking white hot and burning in your cheeks. W-What? You let out a nervous giggle, stepping forward to begin your approach. 

König doesn't seem to like it, though. He tilts his head in silent warning, and you stop dead in your tracks. He told you-

"Crawl for me, Liebchen," König murmurs, resting his bicep against the seat's headrest. Every inch of his body is relaxed, muscles lazy as his eyes drag across the length of his body. You're almost certain you can feel their path across your skin, leaving burning embers in their wake. God, it's genuinely pathetic; how quickly you fall to your knees. 

The intensity of his gaze bores into you as you settle on your hand and knees. Embarrassment no longer controls you, your arousal overriding any possible humiliation as you crawl across the floor towards him. König's eyes are an open book, pleased and proud of your willingness to take orders–– it encourages you, prompting you to put a slight sway to your hips. 

You'd have to be blind to notice it; the generous length bobbing and straining against the khaki trousers. Despite his obvious discomfort, König does nothing to satiate his arousal, focusing all his attention on you alone when you finally kneel between his feet. 

"Mein kleiner Schatz," the purr rumbles in his chest as König reaches forward, stroking the barrel of the gun across your cheekbone. The chromed steel is cold, chilling your skin and breaking goosebumps across your arms. "You look so pretty like this."

Anticipation prickles down your spine, whimpering softly. You lean into König's touch, turning towards the pistol and pressing a kiss to the steel barrel. You see the flicker of arousal in König's green eyes and how his eyelids grow heavy. 

"Scheiße, you like that?" he groans, dragging the nose of the gun across your lips like the bullet of a lipstick. "My weapon big enough for my girl?" He smirks when you nod, looking up at your lover through your lashes. 

It's downright vulgar, utterly disgusting, but you can't help yourself anymore. The way König looks down at you with this look in his eyes, like he could swallow you whole, makes arousal curl so hot and thick in your stomach that you can't deny your throbbing clit any longer. Sliding your fingers underneath your waistband, you rub small circles on your clit. 

"Oh," König sighs, watching as you let out a gasp of relief. The breath expels from your lungs hot and heavy, misting up the reflective steel surface of the revolver. "Look at you, Perle. Share with me; I want to watch." 

Fumbling with the buttons on your pants, you desperately work out of them and yank them over your hips, panties and all. The searing gaze above you settles on your pussy as you play with your clit, adding to the bliss that sparks across your skin. 

"Mhmm," König hums again, like you've placed an exquisite meal before him. "All wet for me, Schatzi; it's all across your thighs." 

You nod weakly, breath shuddering as you grind into your palm with a whimper. "P-Please-"

"Kiss the gun again, Perle. I'll make you feel good," he promised you, his voice thick and deep with his arousal. You nod thoughtlessly, far too overwhelmed by the need to feel his hands on you to deny his request. You press your lips to the barrel of the gun over and over, slowly and sensually, as though you were kissing his cock. 

"Good girl," he praises, though his words catch in his throat when you take a leap. Opening your mouth, you bring the barrel tip between your teeth, looking up at König through your lashes and letting out a wanton moan. 

Big mistake. 

König uses the balls of his heels to skirt forward in the seat, his knees on either side of your head. He stares down at you, chest heaving as he leans down and pats your hip sharply. 

"Stand up on your knees," he orders, the severity in his voice similar to how he speaks to his KorTac team. You can’t help but wonder if he gets a kick out of it too– some kind of power surge thanks to his promotion.

"Yes, colonel," you address him by his title as you rise, and König growls so deep and low that you're sure the floor rumbles beneath you. He works his massive hand over your own, taking control and slowing your fingers' ministrations to a maddeningly slow cycle. 

"Such a good girl, Shatz," he coos, and once again, you can hear the smirk on his lips as he watches your body crumple with the wave of arousal his control shoots through you. "So receptive. Would you like it in your mouth?"

Whimpering softly, you look up at him in question. Was it safe? Well- Of course it wasn't safe; none of this was. 

"Trust me," he urges you softly, finally replacing the swirling touch of your finger with his own. There's no escaping the drag of his fingerprint, the digit so much larger than your own. 

You nod again, the blissful arousal so mind-numbing that it overrides your fear. Then, letting your jaw hang loose, your eyes practically roll back into your skull when König rests the barrel of the deadly weapon across your tongue.

"Hahh," König groans, sinking his fingers into your soaked cunt. You wail, body bracing and shuddering at the intrusion as his fingers alone stretch you out. "Is that good, Mein kleiner Schatz? Hmm? Does it feel cold in your mouth?"

You nod slightly, managing a quiet 'mhm-hm' to answer your Colonel vocally. Excitement blooms in your chest when you see it pleases him, his fingers sliding deeper into you while working your clit ever so slowly. 

"Does it feel good, though?" He checks in with you, still adamant about your comfort despite his dominant role. You nod again. 

"Good," he chuckles, staring down at you with such an intensity that you almost forget his eyes are green, his pupil dilated so much that they've practically devoured his verdant irises. It rocks you, another blissful wave of arousal sweeping from head to toe. 

Wrapping your lips around the barrel, you allow yourself to get carried away even further. You hollow your cheeks, eyelashes fluttering as you put on the erotic display to work König up even more. 

"Schei- Filthy girl!" You're unsure if he meant to scold you, but König sounds far too wrecked for it to land the way he intends. He rocks his fingers up inside of you suddenly, instantly finding your G-spot and working it ruthlessly. "Alway distracting me, making me lose my min..."

His words are drowning out as your heartbeat thuds against your sternum and in your ears, something sickly sweet and thick like molasses trickling through your veins as your orgasm begins to surge in your abdomen. 

The squelching, wet sounds of König's fingers working in and out of your tight cunt are deafeningly loud, though, audible enough that they reach your ears even over the thumping of your heart and heavy gasps of breath. "K- König-"

"Can you take it deep in your throat for me, Mein Perle?" He asks, sounding utterly wrecked and haggard. Your vision blurs, but you definitely see the lurch of his cock in his khaki cargo trousers. "Please- Please, just for me-"

He doesn't need to ask you twice; his begging is interrupted by a filthy groan of your name when you easily take the barrel further down your throat to the point your upper lip could almost brush his thumb on the hammer of the gun.

"Hahhh, fuck!" König spits, watching tears well in your eyes at the stretch in your throat and cunt. He gently pulls the gun from your mouth, careful not to hurt you but knocking your teeth thanks to his trembling hand. "I'm making you cum, and then you'll do that to me, Shatz. Filthy girl-"

The moment the gun leaves your lips, König's fingers arch against your g-spot and his thumb circles your clit simultaneously. It's devastating, and you're barely able to hold yourself up as the ecstasy bursts through you brightly. It's as though a grenade has gone off, but it keeps building and building- 

" König-... KönigKönigKo-ooh-" You squeak his name, his brutal, sniper precision knocking the oxygen from your lungs as your tears drip down your face. "I'm cummmmugh-!"

It’s like static in your ears and across your skin when it burns through you. It crackles across your nerve endings, arcs up your spine until you’re leaning back against it, arching your back as if attempting to escape the intensity of the ecstasy he draws from you. You want to scream his name, begging him to stop, to carry on, but the words drown among the wails and whines of bliss. 

It feels like it goes on forever, your body suspended in euphoria and caged, grounded, only by König’s thighs. 

When your vision straightens, your chest heaving violently, König's hands delicately push your hair from your face. He's careful with you in these moments, the vulnerable aftermath where your mind is drunk on hormones and your body is in shock from the extremity of your orgasm. There's no rush for your recovery; your lover lets you take all the time you need. 

It's only when you manage to straighten yourself somewhat, shaky hands resting on his knees in a wordless show of readiness, that König nods his head. 

"That's it, Schatzi," he whispers to you, holding his breath as he waits his turn anxiously. 

Your mouth waters at the ruddy colour of his thick, veiny dick, and you lean forward to take the head into your mouth in a repeat of your actions earlier. König's hips jolt forward, grasping the arms of the chair with a white-knuckle grip at the vibrations that rock down his shaft when you hum around him. 

"Oh- Oh fuck-!" He chokes out when you gently graze your teeth over the sensitive, velvety head, just as you did the gun barrel. You see König's eyes roll back, and one of his eyebrows arches as the sensation takes over. He's twitching in your mouth already, salty precum dribbling down the arch of his cock and spilling onto your tongue. 

You take your tantalising time, kissing at the head of his dick once more before slowwwly easing him into your wet, hot mouth. König's gasps of bliss are pathetic, the imposing man reduced to a clammy mess of whimpers and keens of your name. It's so simple to work him up, the simple act of your palms smoothing across his thighs enough to get his cock jumping against your tongue. 

The warmth of your mouth around König's dick is too much for him, his head lolling back in the chair. You see him squeeze his eyes shut, bracing against the heaving of his chest and the slight rocks of his hips into your mouth. 

Your hand finds his balls, gently trailing your nails over them, and König's hips suddenly jolt upwards. He slips deep, tip knocking the back of your throat and catching you off guard in a gag. 

Pulling back, you squeeze his knees tight and take a deep breath. 

"Oh fuck- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" he apologises fervently, lifting his head like he's got weights tied to it, and it's far too heavy. He can't seem to hold it up straight, and it instantly falls back again with a spluttered wail when you shush him, wrapping your mouth around his cock and tracing his slit to taste his precum. 

He's close already; you can tell by the way his dominant energy dissipates and his balls draw up tight. He’s completely forgotten the act he’d been putting on, his revolver discarded on the beside you and desperate pines of your name falling from his lips.

"Scheiße," he gasps, the wooden arms of the chair creaking beneath the pressure of his grip. "Ah, Sch- shhhh-"

Anticipating his orgasm, you sink heavily onto him, taking as much of his impossible length into your throat as possible. König's hands fly from the chair, grasping the hair on the crown of your head and holding you on his cock like he's terrified you'll withdraw. 

“Ahah- Ah- Mein Perl- fuck!”

He cums with a lurch of his dick, a pathetic, trembling whine spilling from his lips as you swallow it down, the walls of your throat tightening around him. Ragged gasps of breath reach your ears, and your clit burns with the need for attention yet again as you continue to milk König. There's so much of him-

Suddenly, he's using his grip on your hair to pull you off, and he slips from your lips with a wet, audible pop. You look up at his languid body sprawled in the chair, wiping his wetness from your chin. 

"Hah, Schatz…” he watches you, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, "You are too good to me."

You shake your head gently, still sitting on your knees as you rest your head in his lap. They're aching after holding your weight for so long on such a hard floor, but you'll gladly take the bruises as a medal for your hard, valiant work. 

His hands immediately find your hair with a much softer, kinder touch, brushing through the threads and skirting his fingertips over your scalp. "No. I just want to show my appreciation for my heroic soldier, remember?" 

A soft, tired chuckle shakes his body, and you can't help the smile that splits your lips as a response. "Ah, of course. I remember. 'Not like others in uniform'."

"You're not," you insist gently, closing your eyes as he brushes his battle-calloused knuckles across your cheekbone, "None of them make the uniform look so sexy."

"Ah-hah! I knew it was the uniform!"

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[k1sse-s]

TASHI DUNCAN

I’m going to strangle you.

› summary: she makes you hate her a little less after accidentally meeting you on the court.

! warnings: fem!reader, smut, no use of y/n, sex on the court/public place, fingering, obsessive!tashi, cursing, dirty talk.

Please let me know if I forgot something! ˎˊ˗

› wc: 1.5k

Your Wilson racket almost slipped away from your hand when you heard that weirdly familiar whistle behind your back. You didn’t turn your head around out of pure curiosity, no, there was also sense of irritation that made you do it. Because you knew that whistle damn well, and you knew from who it was from.

Tashi Duncan. And her cocky, irritating, arrogant twist of her lips.

“You should wear that skirt more often.” She said shamelessly. Eyes narrowing to get better view of your shiny, tanned legs and the way the muscles of your calves were flexing, making flawless collaboration with the sun that hit your skin. Tashi wasn’t even trying to pretend she’s not attracted to you.

But you had your pride, didn’t you? You had to ignore her just because how insufferable she was in your eyes.

Literal imagine of narcissism.

And you couldn’t stand her nor the way she was mercilessly scanning you from behind. Letting out a soft groan of disappointment when the wind didn’t blow your tennis skirt high enough to give her a good look at your ass.

“Solo practice?” She said sarcastically, pushing her tennis bag off her shoulder, letting it hit hard surface of the court.

She just had to put her gear next to yours, otherwise it wouldn’t be Tashi.

“Yeah.” You gave her unbothered scoff, your fingers intently following the strings of your racket as you walked forward onto the court.

“Should’ve known you’re here to play with yourself.” Her bottom lip going between her teeth while she teased further, riling you up.

Oh how she loved doing that.

“Fuck off.” You mumbled to yourself as Tashi’s lips slowly twitched into a smirk that grew only wider as you positioned yourself to serve. She watched you focused on the game, clueless of her gaze lazily moving along your slim legs, clearly enjoying how your little skirt lifted with your movement.

“Your footwork is a joke.” Playful sarcasm in her voice as her eyes dropped to her own racket. Both of you knew there’s nothing wrong with your footwork. It was amazing. Fabulous even.

“Try this.” She positioned herself next to you, her thumb moving with the fur on the green ball that was in her fingers. You took a look at her racket. There’s no doubt about it, Tashi only accepts the very best when it comes to her equipment.

And it fills you with pure envy. The only thing that goes in your mind while watching her serve is how you want to whip the racket from her hands and smash it against the court.

“I know how to serve.” You almost snapped at her. Why she was still trying to prove she’s better than you? She played more matches, had way more awards than you. Everyone knew no one can compare to her.

Everyone except you. Because you knew you can be better.

“I never said you don’t.” She has to stop herself from letting out a scoff at your exasperated tone. Instead, she let’s her dark eyes glance at your flexing thighs, toned arms, then back to your face. Still annoyed that your damn skirt was in the way.

It was always in the way.

It was almost unfair how hot you are, how effortlessly you make her bite the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from licking the sweat from your abs away. But oh God, she wants to have a taste. “You just suck at it compared to me.”

“Fuck you, Duncan.”

“You wish.” Irritation appearing in her voice as she grabbed your arm and forced you to face her. The pressure of her fingers digging into your muscles felt amazing. “Watch your mouth, princess, because it will get you in trouble.”

Tashi was clearly pissed by your attitude now, which caused a lot of confusion, some of frustration and shock in you. She never acted like this. Usually you could curse at her and she’ll give you even more vulgar response. And this? This made you speechless. Not even a word could leave your dry throat.

“Are you gonna do this every time I try something, huh? Pushing me away like you can’t stand me looking at you?”

“You think you’re better than me?” You argued further, despite the obvious dominance she had over you because of the tight grip on your arm. “You think I’m not?” Tashi chuckled, leaning forwards a little to close the remaining space between you two. Her front brushing against yours.

“I’m going to strangle you—“ That’s all you managed to whisper through your gritted teeth before she pushed you onto her body. Her full lips immediately found yours and the lack of your protest revealed about what you were thinking at night while trying to sleep.

She’s completely and utterly melting against you, her hand shakes as it comes to cup the back of your head and pull it towards her, tugging you closer as she deepens the kiss, lips hungrily seeking for more. Her tongue moves against yours in heated and such intimate way, she feels unable to stop the low whine slowly leaving her throat.

She’s showing how desperate she is for you, how she craves you. And no matter how many things she wants to do to you right now she still can’t resist the thought of being ruined by you.

She takes the advantage to press you to the fence of the court, trapping your body between the cold surface and her heated body.

“You greedy bitch.” You pushed her face away from yours, only to get a better access to her neck. Your swollen from the kiss lips carefully following her sharp jaw as her hand skillfully slipped under the hem of your skirt that she wanted to take off so bad since she first saw you in it.

Her fingers moving inwards, to your sensitive lips without a warning, forcing a soft moan out of you. “Greedy?” She repeated after you, panting. “Huh, princess?” Tashi whispers into your ear, her finger circles your hard nub, making your body shudder.

Your lips parted, ready to give her another answer, full of attitude, but the only thing that left your mouth was a sharp groan that was muted by her skin, the sound vibrating in Tashi’s shoulder.

She was more than grateful it’s her fingers, that it’s her making you feel like this, and not anyone else. She loves it. She lives for it.

She fights with herself to not let out a sound of pleasure herself as she feels how wet she has got you. Her free arm wrapping around your waist to steady your shivering body as her middle finger circles your hole, not entering. “See? You can be good.” Hot breath met your ear once more, the feeling sending shivers down your spine. “That’s it, just like that.”

The fact you let her have you like this, take care of you, touch you like this and make you feel good — it’s more than she have ever wanted. She can’t resist the urge to push her fingers inside you, she feels almost obligated to remind you that it’s her, it’s Tashi Duncan that is touching you like this right now. And you moan when you think of that.

“Take it, take it all.” She whispers as her fingers dip inside you, the feeling of your slick walls clenching around her fingers, trying to get used to the stretch she just gave you is making her groan out loud. It’s like you’re perfect for her. Only her.

Your noises caused by the pleasure she was giving you are like honey to her ears. It almost makes her regret that she doesn’t see your expression now — eyes squeezed shut, lips slightly parted, because there’s no point in closing them — she’ll make them open again in a second. Subtle, pink blush spread perfectly across your cheeks. She could only imagine how lovely you looked.

Her fingers were busy with going in and out of your hole, meanwhile her thumb moves to brush against your clit, just to give you a little sensation. Her smirk widened in satisfaction when she heard your moans growing louder, fingers pushing all the way in only to leave in another second. “Look at you, taking me so well.” She praised, wanting to draw out more of those beautiful noises from your lips. She haven’t noticed with what pressure she’s pressing you onto that cold fence, the sides of the wires digging into your back, but the euphoria is not letting you feel any kind of pain right now.

Oh you’re going to be sore tomorrow.

Her lips met your neck, her tongue licking the sweat on your body while her fingers were still busy with your needy hole. Before you could beg her to let you cum you already reached the edge, and she guided you perfectly through the sudden feeling of relief that hit your shivering body. “Good girl.” She murmured against the nape of your neck, her own breath heavy and uneven.

“I’m going to strangle you.” Your lungs seeking for oxygen with desperate need, tongue wetting your lips while your own hand moved towards the hem of her shorts.

“Go ahead, pretty girl.”

[jessieren]

Ooh all new fidgets… this is what Fridays were made for…

He genuinely finds it impossible to be still doesn’t he 😁

Foot Fidget TriFecta Friday

Oopsie. Maybe don’t drink during the day, Morse?

[alphabetboyluvr]

sundae (kinda love) | kth

pairing: non-idol!taehyung x female reader - childhood friends, unrequited pining, missed connection

premise: you always thought kim taehyung's lips would taste like chocolate sundaes, but when you learn -through a friend- that he tastes like watermelon chewing gum, the illusion shatters. so does your heart. in time, so will his.

warnings: a lil angsty, big question mark on a happy ending? (it's an ending! i'll give it that much!), short n sweet, mentions of alcohol, clubbing, tae is stupid!, but also not to be blamed (or at least not until the end), insinuation of emotional affair, big regrets, ballroom dancing, no smut and no fluff

wordcount: 1.1k

note from holly: originally written as a submission for my old writing groups monthly prompt - "I wanted it to be you. God damn, I really did." This is ooooooold, but it just felt apt with love me again and rainy days. i also believe it's the oneshot that someone on wattpad commented 'why are the tae ones always so shit' so MAKE OF THAT WHAT YOU WILL! lmaooo.

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

"Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow," repeats the familiar shrill of your dance instructor. "Nina, back straight! Namjoon, footwork!"

The village hall you're in is musty, dust particles imitating you as they dance in the sunlight that beams through the wide windows. It's a Saturday morning, and there's no place you'd rather be less. You're dancing with your best friend, Nina, because there are only three boys in your class of twelve.

There's Jimin, the star student; Namjoon, whose mother forced him to attend because she thought it would be good for him; And then there's Taehyung, their best friend.

He's only there because he has nothing better to do when his only buddies are too busy learning the paso-bloody-doble to hang out with him.

It's spring, and school is in full swing. They're growing, and as time lurches forward, they find themselves with less and less chances to enjoy one another's company.

And so Taehyung's shoes tap along the varnished parquet all rather naturally, much to the dismay of Namjoon, who really is trying his very hardest.

"Now! Turn!" Your instructor commands. "And switch!"

You throw Nina a look -one that she gives you right back- which you both understand to mean 'ugh'. Stupid switch you always think, and refrain from rhyming it with how you feel about your instructor.

There's no part of you that wants to hold hands with other random kids from your village as you Cha Cha Cha across the dance floor. You just want to spend time with your best friend.

The same can be said for Taehyung, but when the switch happens, he finds himself dancing with yet another random girl - Nina.

He glances over -checking who he stole her from- and when your eyes meet, he stumbles on his footwork. Nina giggles, and he looks down all bashfully; pink in the cheeks.

When he looks up, he's looking at Nina. She giggles again, and he gets a little shy, but he starts dancing with her like a duck to water. Something about them just seems to... work.

You suppose you should have seen it coming when the next week he asks to dance with Nina again.

At least, that's what you assume he's doing when he approaches the pair of you. She kind of just hops up and drags him away before he even gets a chance to ask.

When they reach an empty spot on the dance floor, Taehyung glances back over to you and purses his lips. His eyes are soft, and so wonderfully brown that you think he must taste like chocolate sundaes on a hot summer's afternoon.

You're fifteen when you watch from the sidelines as rosettes are pinned to their clothes.

Taehyung's in a suit - dark, a little too big for him. His bowtie is green; a congratulations gift from you, given on the night they smashed through regionals.

Nina is in a matching green dress. Pretty, hair pinned back, perfect. Just like always.

The village hall has been swapped for a convention centre in the heart of the big city. They've just won third place. Jimin and his partner snagged first. Namjoon didn't make the top twelve. He tried, though.

You're beaming, outrageously proud of their achievement - but when Taehyung's eyes find yours in the crowd, his smile falters. It softens after a moment, and he nods. You nod back. Smile. Whisper 'well done'. He grins, now, and Nina notices his line of sight on you, so she waves. You wave, too, but you'll tell her well done later.

When you're eighteen, in a bar in the heart of town, Nina tells you that Taehyung tastes like vodka lemonade and watermelon chewing gum. You don't see him that evening. He sends you a text as the sun begins to rise:

'Didn't see you tonight. Missed you tearing up the dancefloor.'

There's a smile on your lips, though you really wish there wasn't. You both know you've got two left feet. It was always Nina's thing.

You send him back a picture of the chocolate sundae you're nursing, and tell him that you hate watermelon.

He doesn't understand, and assumes you're drunk. You kind of are, legs slung over the side of a sitting room chair in your family home.

You mean what you say. Detest watermelon. Loathe it. Had been eating it the day before without a care in the world, but feel sick just thinking about it now.

You've loved the idea of Taehyung tasting like chocolate sundaes since you were a kid - but now you know otherwise.

It's ruined your perception of him.

Although it hasn't really.

Not in the slightest.

For when he shows up at your twenty-first birthday party without a gift, but a bottle of chocolate liqueur instead, you have to fight yet another smile.

"For all those sundaes," he says.

See, it's become a bit of a ritual.

Every time those pretty lips of his end up on Nina's -and he pretends to care about the fact you aren't around- a picture of a chocolate sundae lands in your message thread to him.

He still doesn't understand it.

Though he does smile when he sees them on menus, and he thinks about how much he'd love one whenever summer comes around. He never indulges, mind you.

Never.

Not until a few years later, when it's the only option for dessert in a gilded reception room, back in your hometown.

He doesn't think it's apt. It's autumn, not summer. Far too chilly.

It's been close to two decades since he first saw you dance - and you're still just as shit - but there's something beautiful about it, now. Maybe it's the flowers in your hair. Maybe it's the way you're looking at your groom, pink sunset pouring through the windows, fairy lights glittering above you. Maybe it's your dress.

Or maybe it's the way your eyes catch the light as you glance over towards him. He's holding your bouquet -Nina had palmed it off on him- and he nods. Smiles. The taste of chocolate is bitter in his mouth.

And only now does he really understand.

Because truthfully, he had wanted it to be you in that dreary village hall all those years ago, too.

God damn it, he really had.

Taehyung knows he shouldn't, but when he's had a few too many drinks, and your groom is off entertaining his friends, he sits beside you. You're watching your wedding party from the back of the room with a smile on your face.

When you look at him, you know -finally- he tastes like a chocolate sundae, now. Your smile falters. It's bitter. The sundaes are sweet, you assume. Haven't had one. Won't have one.

"Should've been you," he says so quietly it's almost a whisper.

You hate that you understand what he means. Hate that you nod. Hate that you're thinking about the way he tastes. Hate that your heart beats faster now than it did when you said 'I do.'

Hate that you say:

"Should've been us."

[elliesmainhoe]

hi there !!! i was wondering if i could request ellie x hip-hop dancer! reader ??? i’ve been seeing all these ballerina reader fics and they’re great! but as a hip-hop dancer my soul needs to know how ellie would react to a hip-hop dancer reader 🤌🏻🤌🏻

Ellie Williams Headcanons: Hip-Hop Dancer!Reader

She is in AWE of you

Comes to your practices every once in a while and just sits there, watching you dance (she looks flabbergasted)

Like how is your body doing that?????

Is very impressed.

Dancing is your life. And Ellie wants to be apart of it.

So you try and teach her how to dance...

Bad idea. She has two left feet.

Maybe this wasn't the smartest thing to do. I mean teaching Ellie to dance, ESPECIALLY to a fast tempo beat was always gonna be a gamble. But this? This was just on another level.

"No babe. Place your feet like this. No- no like this" you say demonstrating the footwork.

Ellie tried to copy you, her feet stumbling- she was okay at best.

"Like this?"

"uhmmmm yeah, sure. Well done"

LOVES your dance outfits. Your hot as fuck.

Is unashamedly checking out your ass when your dancing.

Whenever you post dance practices on social media- this bitch is the first to comment.

Her comments are very cringy.

Hits you with the '🔥🔥🔥' or the classic 'damn that ass tho'

You swiftly reply with 'shut up' (affectionately)

The flips, the tricks, the spins. She's panting like a bitch in heat for you lmao

You:

*attached 1 video*

Look I finally did it!!!!!😭

Ellie:

How tf is that actually humanely possible.

I'm sending this to Dina. My girlfriend just casually defied the rules of physics.

Your so hyper!

Literally the energizer bunny on crack.

Thinks it's adorable how you bounce around everywhere.

It's a beautiful combination of three cups of coffee and an almost lethal dose of sugar.

----------

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[blindrapture]

FRIDAY JULY 29TH, 2011 (Crotch Museum)

12:00 AM Goddammit, we have hostiles! Jellybean on starboard, Hot Tamales on port! WE ARE UNDER FIRE, SPRINKLES ARE BOMBARDING THE MUFFIN SHIP! "I'm doing my best to evade! Use some.. muffin rockets or something!" What does this look like, the Maltesers Falcon? This is a ferry vessel! We don't have rockets! "What the fuck does a detective movie have to do with our situation!" What? I meant, like, the Millennium Falcon! That Star Wars ship with the guns! "But you said Maltes"I WAS MAKING A CANDY PUN JUST DRIVE, WOMAN

12:02 AM she's swerving us. can't dodge all the gumdrop bullets, but with some fancy footwork we can.. do 9/11 on those wafer buiLDINGS WATCH OUT

12:05 AM "I don't think the candypiece fighters survived that" no donnie, I am sorry for asking you to fly this thing "yes, I will never fly again after this" good job on weaving between those buildings, but we need to.. touch down... we need somewhere safe "let me find that big strawberry citadel, there was a hangar high up on it"

12:09 AM okay jesus, that was.. that was a tragedy. "they'll really hate us now." god I hope no one was working there at the time. but. thank you, donnie. thank you for landing us. ..she's got a hand on the wall, leaning over, calming down. okay.

12:10 AM We're in a big hangar in the side of the strawberry tower, tallest structure by a margin. We're not far from the top, we are very high up. The walls and floor and everything are made of red with little white polka-dots, and it extends far enough downward that the cloud cover blocks my sight of the bottom. There's no obvious doors to leave the hangar, but there's a little open vent shaft. Which probably is the door, for the little gingerbread people.

12:11 AM We have to squeeze ourselves in here tight and sidle our way through a winding narrow corridor that slopes down regularly.

12:14 AM ugh man my knees are killing me. I'm not made to scoot this low for so long. "at least it smells nice in here." how does this thing not rot?

12:17 AM "you just had to jinx us, didn't you." oh my god that smell is awful. we're approaching a section that is.. definitely darker than before and we have to move so damn slowly through all this because we're too tall

12:20 AM OH FUCK FLOOR, PLEASE BE MARSHMALLOW ow Okay, the good news is, it was. The bad news is, since Donnie was so close to me when the rotten strawberry gave way, she landed square on top of me. o.e Normally, I wouldn’t complain about having her on top. But it was at least a ten-foot drop. ..that rhymed.

12:21 AM "jesus, my fucking ass…" it's a great ass, what's the problem "listen, cutie, that doesn't absolve you of making me fly that damn muffin" I'm sorry "so I'm just not gonna get up right now." oh no!!!!! :) "you can still use your hands. write in your little journal. write some descriptions or something." yes, ma'am! So we were walking through the strawberry citadel, minding our own, just focusing on getting through the little section of rot,when the rotten floor gave way and I fell down, Donnie close behind. We seem to have landed (with a thud!) in a little warehouse of sorts, with walls that clearly stretch further than the citadel looked outside. Whether this was another Door or not, I can’t tell. The marshmallow floor leads me to believe it wasn’t. Above our heads are the narrow strawberry shafts, looking like vent ducts from down here. I hear the vague hum of machinery within the fortress’ walls, and that’s all.

12:22 AM can. um. "yes?" can I get up and have a look around? "you want me to get off of you?" ...give it another few minutes, please. .w.

12:28 AM "so. we're on another rabbit hole adventure." yeah... :) "do we actually, like, know how to find anything here? like the cipher. if we have to find the cipher, do we know how?" well. the last few times, we've kinda just been going with the flow? it might have something to do with staying in Xanadu. if we have the chance to return to Earth, instead stay. "that's your best guess?" yeah. we didn't really think about it the other times? but we always hit the cipher after being in here for like a whole day. "that's true."

12:38 AM Alright, we're up. We're up and about. There are lots of tall metal shelves around, not even organized in any set orders. Some of them are really tall, others are just the right size, some of them are filled with cheese, others with ham, and even some with milk floating in invisible glasses. Nothing is spoiled here, it looks picturesque, looks ideal.

12:42 AM There’s some sort of gigantic strawberry structure up ahead.

12:43 AM The vents above our heads hit this wall and then sprawl down. It looks like a vertical maze, with an entrance being in front of us. There’s a licorice ladder in this vent. I guess that explains how the vertical aspect of the maze is possible. Unless you wanna meander along more marshmallow warehouse, I say we climb up.

12:47 AM I found a little airborne alcove. Taking the time to write, as I can’t really write much on the ladder.

12:57 AM gravity shifted more than a few times. We’d be climbing up, and suddenly, we’d fall. ..up. The strawberry would change colors a lot, too. We’re currently resting in an indigo alcove. I’m not sure how much longer we have to go, but I’m fairly certain we’re close to where the ceiling was.

1:04 AM OH GOD NO NO NO I GOT YOU C’MON OH GOD PULL PULL PULL

1:05 AM Donnie found the exit to the shafts and a big bear was ready to grab her. Fucking Eldritch Bear! What's this asshole even doing here? I got her, though. We're hiding back in the shafts as it roars.

1:06 AM We found a different exit. …it saw us. Hiding

1:08 AM Okay, I have an idea. If you go up that end, and I go up this end, we can gang up on him and frying pan-slash-guitar controller him to death! "I miss my rifle..." Ready? Break!

1:09 AM GO GO GO GO HEY wdfinsreijfd WHOA don’t hesitate WHACK WHACK WHACK KARRACK

1:11 AM The bear sprouted wings of fire and flew away. So the strawberry climbing-wall put us out in a damp damp cave, with sticky spiderwebs coating the walls. Bundles of creatures wriggle in the web. There's someone else in the room with us. It's the creepy man with the red jacket. I've seen him before. I saw him the last time I encountered the Eldritch Bear. o_o

1:12 AM Who are you? "We have all been digested here." ..what He’s gone. He just disappeared. We were looking right at him; he disappeared! Fuck it. We’re not sticking around to figure out what he was referring to.

1:14 AM "Oh! I have this!" what BAM bright light in my face thank you for remembering your helmet! "There's so many little things crawling on the walls." They have too many legs. o_e "But they're scared of light!" Yeah, and I'm scared of them. "Stick behind me, then."

1:17 AM no path splits. just one long walk. it's not too narrow, but I'm not going near those walls.

1:20 AM THERE! A LIGHT! A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE CAVE THAT'S FIRE but there's no warmth coming from it. Donnie, walk through it! "What, why me?" You're wearing armor and shit!!! "..the fire's not real. It's just a light source. Feels like wind." Huh! "Making me test it out for you is going on the List, you know. The List of things I'm gonna punish you for later." Whatever! We both know that I love that! "We do. Did the fire lead us to a different world?"

1:21 AM A museum on fake fire. Devoid of visitors, besides us. ..the objects on display are all genitalia.

1:23 AM Every room presents meat and two veg, or lady particles. Well, I mean, only a few of them are human. Most of them are other creatures’. They look much less familiar. Some of them look like mouths with teeth. Or a tongue extending from between legs. "That one looks like a corkscrew! That one's got barbs on it!" Donnie’s finding it fascinating. I find it… weird, but interesting, sure. So. Xanadu has a crotch museum. ..sure?

1:38 AM Wait, we hit a new wing of the museum. ..this is all arms. Of all sorts.

1:50 AM ..torsos.

2:03 AM This wing’s all heads. o_e

2:05 AM creepycreepycreepycreepycreepy

2:14 AM HOW LONG DID A DAMN MUSEUM WING NEED TO BE "WHY DO SOME OF THE EYES FOLLOW US" I DON'T WANT TO KNOW "IS IT JUST A FUN LITTLE TRICK" I DON'T WANT TO KNOW

2:39 AM creepycreepyEXITENTERhallway of doors oh the doors lead to classrooms, of course they do, THIS DAMN PLACE AGAIN the PA speakers are playing soft new-wave grooves

2:42 AM We're walking down the long hallway, looking in every room we pass. Every classroom is completely empty. No desks, no chairs, just big empty spaces stared down by black chalkboard.

2:43 AM The music is on a loop. I mean, probably. There's no vocals, just a moody instrumental. It adds to the vibes and is the only good thing I'm feeling.

2:47 AM The classrooms down here are starting to change. These ones all have exactly one desk in them, in the center of each room. The room numbers are in the 100 range.

2:50 AM The echo of our footsteps grows louder and more delayed.

2:54 AM Rooms with two desks, starting from room 200.

3:02 AM Three deskfour that one had four. The numbers jumped from 302 to 403. And the echoing has grown so loud and delayed that it actually sounds like people walking all around us.

3:05 AM Five desks.

3:14 AM ..still five. 599 went to 5001. Donnie keeps turning around to look at something. There’s nothing there.

3:20 AM A thousand five-desk rooms. So many doors. The footstep echoes are converging into one single echo, one single pair of footsteps. It's focusing behind us.

3:23 AM The hallway ends on a single door on the far wall. It's made of cold steel. Goodbye, rooms of five. It's time to enter the fifth level.

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555 Factory (1) The walls are cast in a shadow so thick we can touch it. Donnie's headtorch doesn't even penetrate it. The floor is metal, coated in a layer of rust. The sound of heavy machinery is grinding from the next room. We’re back in the factory.

Factory (2) "Wait." ? "Don't you get that feeling? Holding back your bones. Constricting your chest. That feeling like we don't actually want to dwell here." I do. "But do you feel the other feeling too?" I do. The rumbling I feel in my feet, of something growling many miles below us. Something that's trapped here, something that resents every day it spends in Xanadu's bowels. Biding its time. Plotting its wrath. "Something we might actually want to find." It's not as strong as the trepidation, but I feel it all the same. "Okay. Just making sure we're on the same page." I think we are. "We can continue now. Into the mouth of madness."

Factory (3) We step into the large empty chamber. Among the shadows that are the walls slide shadows formerly known as men. The Victims kneel, their faces to the ground, both cowering and praying. The moment my rumbling foot stepped through the door, I could clearly hear a voice speaking. "Sixty-nine days. Sixty-nine days. Sixty-nine days. Keep time. Keep time. Keep time. Hold my insides in place. Hold my insides in place. Hold my insides in place. You will not break me. You will not break me. You will not break me. I will break you.” I can remember it in any voice I like, but I cannot explicitly remember what the original voice was that said it. All I really know is that the voice was.. foreboding. No distinct pitch or accent. Sounded like a tree, actually. If a tree had a voice. I look around and see a man in the room with us, transparent, his outline bleeding into the shadows. He looks like me. There is no one else in this room. There is another doorway.

Factory (4) This is a steel platform suspended above a void, a railing between us and the drop. We overlook trains speeding off into the distance, tall and featureless razors. They ride into electricity, setting fire to their trailing cars and spaghettifying into the horizon. Suddenly, neon shoots back to us from that gold distance. Donnie gasps. This neon is harmless, but the factory brings pain. The pain surges through our heads and the factory laughs at our stable forms. There’s no comfort in the eldritch. there’s no comfort like the eldritch.

Factory (5) The railing shakes as something steps out of the shadows towards us. It's the man in the theatrical sadface mask. His outline, too, bleeds out whisps of color that feed the walls. He makes staggered steps. "I know what you are doing." Uh. Hey! Omega's your name, right? "I know that someone else is heading for the seventh Cipher, and you are heading there to stop them." They're on the way, then. They found a rabbit hole. "I know how you fight. I know that you are not ready." For the bikers? "For what's to come." Here comes Omega, wielding a sword of fire and a smashed bottle of whiskey. Donnie's relying on her frying pan. I've got my Tiger Stripes. There's not much room to maneuver here. We've got to just.. try.

Factory (6) HE'S GRABBED TIGER STRIPES OUT OF MY HANDS "This? This is your weapon? It has a soul in it. I can feel it wanting to give you enough adrenaline to bash my skull in. Not bad." CRACK he snapped it in half and threw the pieces into the void below "Not good enough." YOU SON OF A BITCH

Factory (7) He’s chasing us down upside-down chambers with sawblades breaking bone noise in rhythms playing from factory speakers there are no legsteps when there is no chance

Factory (8) He has me cornered. Donnie slipped away, and he came after me. "You fight like all you know is self-defense and adrenaline. You have no skill. You have gotten this far because the situation has not called for more. But the gods have long been talking about you, and I don't just mean the Fears." step. step. step. "If I kill you now, it just might free the Beast inside. That's a risk I need to take." raising his swords. BONK "FUCK" SLAM! "I'M SORRY" SLAM! WHACK! "I'M S" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Donnie stands over his dead body, skull a mangle. "You already freed the beast inside, bitch." Her frying pan is bent, dripping with blood and grey matter. "You gave me a reason." >__< "C'mon, Jordan. You heard him; the bikers are on the way to the Cipher. We've got work to do."

4:23 PM The factory sent us through a corridor of fast-spinning clocks before we reached a glowing white doorway. …WAIT OH GOD OH MY GOD OH GOD cxjgsdffjdc THIS IS NOT FAIR NOT RIGHT AFTER LOSING TIGER STRIPES WE’RE IN FUCKING DOGSCAPE

4:44 PM I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS

4:50 PM FUCKING DOG EVERYWHERE I HATE THAT TAIL OVER THERE I HATE THAT MOUTH IN THE GROUND I HATE THAT FLEA THERE THAT MOUNTAIN OF BUTTS REALLY SUCKS ASS

5:01 PM WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FIND A DOOR HERE

5:19 PM IT’S A GODDAMN FRIDAY NIGHT I’M SIXTEEN AND CUTE; I SHOULD BE SPENDING THIS NIGHT AT SOME MOVIE THEATER “WATCHING” A HORROR FILM WITH, LIKE, MY GIRLFRIEND OR SOMETHING THAT'D BE DONNIE. DONNIE, YOU'RE MY GIRLFRIEND IN THIS SCENARIO. OKAY? WE’RE BOTH ATTRACTIVE AND DASHING TEENAGERS, AND IT’S A FRIDAY NIGHT. WE SHOULD BE SPENDING IT “WATCHING” A HORROR FILM. AND BY “WATCHING,” OF COURSE I MEAN IGNORING IT AND MAKING OUT. LIKE THEY DO IN THOSE OLD FILMS. BACK WHEN LIFE WAS BALLS. AT FIRST I WOULD BE THE DUDE WHO’D ACTUALLY GO TO A HORROR MOVIE TO WATCH IT, AND DONNIE WOULD BE THE SWEET LITTLE MARY JANE WHO’D COME TO ASK ME OUT BUT SHE’D SEE ME THERE WITH SALMACIS, OUR SCIENCE TEACHER, AND IT’D BE AWKWARD. THEN AT THE CLIMAX OF OUR TEENAGE LIVES, DONNIE WOULD WORK UP THE COURAGE AND ASK ME TO THE, LIKE… ENCHANTMENT UNDER THE SEA DANCE SOCIAL. AND I’D AGREE TO IT. AND DONNIE AND I WOULD GO TO THE ENCHANTMENT UNDER THE SEA DANCE SOCIAL THING, AND MARTY MCFLY WOULD SHOW UP AND PLAY “JOHNNY B. GOODE” AND THEN THE MOVIE WOULD END. AND ALL THE 1950S PEOPLE IN THE CROWD WITH THEIR 1950S HAIRCUTS AND 1950S DIALOGUES LIKE “KEEN” AND “SWELL” AND “THE BOMB HAS BEEN PLANTED” WOULD LOVE THE MOVIE AND TALK ABOUT IT TO THEIR CARS OR WHATEVER. what the fuck am I even talking about anymore Oh hey a Door.

5:24 PM We’re oh fuck it’s dark stumbling light switch oh hey light switch

5:25 PM We’re in a forest. …with a random light switch on a tree that actually works. It turned the sun on. o_o That’s kinda funny. Light switch on a tree that turns the sun on. Kinda surreal.

5:28 PM Still following a path, always following a path. Whose path are we even following? The bikers will have been on, like. Bikes. And we'd have seen them. Whatever. It beats hiking through the undergrowth.

5:33 PM ..can't believe he broke tiger stripes. I also can't believe tiger stripes lasted so long, but I took that as a sign, y'know? It was a gift from God or whatever! "Come, my child, and raise this holy piece of plastic high, and thy will shred thine fingers to holy Bulls on Parade in my name! And when thy get to mine Heaven in the afterlife, all mine angels and cherubs and seraphim will chant, as one: YOU ROCK! FULL COMBO!" it's fucking bullshit.

5:40 PM The lights are flickering. Well, the sun. The sun is flickering. Shit, I hope the lights don’t go out before we find our way out.

5:42 PM LIGHT SWITCH HITTING …I JUST TURNED THE SUN OFF. Sorry, gamer’s instinct. See the lights fading, hit the nearest light source, maybe the lights will go back to normal. There’s a Door there anyway. What was even the point of this place? To make me look like an idiot?

5:45 PM This is a shed with walls made of lamps. "Is your. Is your heart just not in the descriptions now?" Well, what would you call it? "The walls are! Made of! ........lampshades. It's the material that, y'know, lampshades are made of." There's a wooden door. Not a Door door, but a shed door. What's outside?

5:46 PM ..oh my god hello beautiful highway. "Well, this actually looks more like a motorway. English. There’s a difference." What? How can you tell? "The road sign says Eastbourne. Hey, there are bikes on the side of the road!" What! There's two. These look like the same sort that the bikers had. "Is anyone around? Are they having a piss or something? ..the bikes are soaked in blood." Who cares! Let's take them!

8:25 PM Okay. So. We rode for a little bit before we caught up with two bikers. It was the leader, and the big muscle-y one. They had parked in the middle of the motorway to see who was coming up. They were surprised to see it was us, and we stopped to talk to them! They had been in the rabbit holes all day, in different worlds than we had, and along the way they'd lost their other two friends, they were still touchy about that. We did apologize for using their friends' bikes, but the leader said it was alright as long as we were here to help with the Cipher. I looked at Donnie, she looked at me, and we... said yeah. Yeah, we're here to help. So we all rode, down the magical motorway, for 200 miles. It was pretty gorgeous. Trees on either side of us gave way to reveal rolling hills with multi-sun sunsets, distant streams, farms of insect animals, giant ducks flying overhead, big mounds, cobblestone walls and little padlock gates... it was nice, it was nice. Then we approached a giant Door, gaping wide over the motorway, and barreled right into thick snow, stopping our bikes and sending all of us flying off. The sky in this world is white, with a black grid like on a map. Snow doesn't fall, it just already coats the ground. And even the bikers didn't want to try to get their bikes across this, so they just took to walking it. Donnie and I huddled together behind them. At first we weren't sure about where we were, it could have just been another regular rabbit hole world, but then we noticed the giant spidercloud in the distance, and sporadic flashes of lightning around us. We were in the Cipher Realm. And it was during a burger meal that we were all ambushed by warriors in thick bundles of clothes (all I could make out for their physical description is their beanies had holes for two horns on their heads). They pointed flaming sticks at us and demanded to know what we were here for. And the bikers were blunt: "We are here to kill the Cipher." So we were all restrained, zipties around our arms, and led some distance to a cold stone structure. Now we are in prison cells, each our own. There’s a giant blob monster keeping watch over us. And we were each given a piece of.. parchment, with the same message on it: "Good cavaliers, Your metal horses have been captured for the use of the imperial army. You have no hope of returning home, and we will put you to death for your trespass, so you truly only have one option: You must accomplish what you came here to do. Kill me, or die trying. The truth is, I have been waiting here for challengers such as yourselves who know their role in this war. I have known my role for all of my long life. This barren No Man's Land has been maintained for this role, and my platoons have been trained for my defense with proper knowledge of this battle's greater context. They are cultured, cultivated, and noble. Can you say the same? In the name of good sport, I have provided each of you with accommodations for the night, as your arrival here cannot have been comfortable. I want your battle with me to involve you giving your all, not opponents plagued with fatigue. You are thereby encouraged to sleep for the night, as you have much to do on the morrow. In my Realm, I have stationed eight challenges and five preparatory battles. You are to perform the challenges to gather the keys that unlock my throne room. The preparatory battles are for good show. As no doubt mighty warriors yourselves, you must understand.At 8 AM, your cells will unlock. Rest well, good cavaliers. I expect a worthy final fight." This is, obviously, a lot more involved than the others had been. I fear we might actually be locked into this one. Maybe we can do the challenges and get into the throne room before the bikers do? Talk to the Cipher. It sounds like he's perfectly capable of dialogue. Explain our situation. He'll understand. Right?

(Attached: "The trials of the Hords Creek Lake Bikers on their quest into the Xanadian Heartlands involved several worlds that were traversed by road, offering them little resistance, and then one hideous world that they had assumed was a long dark tunnel to drive through. Halfway through the tunnel, a liquid wall of blood clots and viscera rushed in behind them at a faster speed than their bikes could go, and it dawned on them that this was the inside of a giant body. Knowing they would not make it to the other side of the tunnel in time, the two less able-bodied bikers were asked to give themselves that it may stay the flood. And, likewise, knowing the importance of their group's goal, this was agreed to. It was swiftly regretted once the two sacrifices were inside the blood, being eaten alive by white blood cells like hungry piranhas, but this did in fact keep those cells busy while the other two rode their way out, steel-faced to the muffled sound of screaming. As the bikes were inorganic material, they were rejected and pushed out the Door with them. I.. felt it necessary to memorialize those two.")

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[writefightandflightclub]

AHHHHHH THE SANTI SOCCER PLAYER FIC!!! It was so good!! One of my favorite fics ive read in a while, thank you very much 💙💙

Imagine playing soccer with santi and the boys and absolutely kicking their asses. I feel like santi might feel a certain way 👀 just food for thought

Ah thank you so much! I’m super happy you enjoyed it 😊

Since I’m now so into this pairing I HAD to write a little blurb with your idea! Here you go! It’s set prior to the last one, earlier in their relationship.

Kick around: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Masc!Soccer Player!Reader

Summary: Santi watches you run circles around his squad, and it makes him feel some kinda way.

Genre: fluff but Santi is a horny bastard (no smut, not explicit.) He soff! He dopey in love!

Reader: masc!reader, he/him pronouns. No anatomical / physical descriptions. Reader takes shirt off on pitch.

Author’s note: I ship these two so hard 🥹

Gif by @thewaythisis

You’re the hottest person to have ever existed.

Santi is sure of it.

He’d invited the whole squad along to your traditional Sunday morning kick-around. They’d been pestering him to meet you and this -you’d agreed- seemed like a fun and low pressure way to get to know them a little. While you’re in your element.

But, watching you run circles around every single one of them, is making him feel some kind of way.

It’s basically 5-a-side (well, four of them) versus you, and you are a fucking machine.

The breath saws in and out of his lungs as he watches Frankie attempt to pass the ball to Will as though he’s never met a soccer ball in his life, the shot clearly jarring his leg - a fact Frankie quickly attempts to gloss over.

He watches you dance around Will, basically teasing him far more than you need to with you fancy footwork. Will’s chest is heaving, his body lurching all over the place. You make every one of his highly trained operatives look cumbersome and tired, and meanwhile you’re not even out of breath. Haven’t broken a sweat. Have a gorgeous shit-eating grin on your face.

Santi is fit enough to keep up for a while longer at least, even if his soccer skills are lacklustre. He’s fine with that, honestly. He knows he has plenty of other skills - but the boys are actually competing with you as though it’s a matter of personal pride. As through they stand a chance.

Santi dips off to the side of the pitch to refuel with water and to calm his shaky legs, but in truth he’s just enjoying watching you. He enjoys showing you off. He enjoys the fact that you’re completely kicking their asses. He very much enjoys how hot you look as you do it too. How in control you look. How poised. You’re so fucking competent. The way your body looks as you run circles around them. Your 100-watt smile which he can see shining from all the way over here.

And finally, he watches you approach Benny, the last line of defence between you and the goal.

Benny is the only one that maybe has any kind of shot at besting you. He’s in shape. He’s spry. He’s an athlete.

No wait. He’s… calling a time-out? He’s grabbing some water. He’s taking his shirt off and… damn, you follow suit, and as Santi continues to sip on his water he has to be careful it doesn’t drool from the corner of his mouth at the sight of you.

Still, when Benny is ready, you resume, and he puts in a good effort but he has no hope in hell. You run rings around him. Leave him in the dust. His only hope is a completely dirty tackle, and Santi had already warned him what the consequences of that would be.

Still, the bastard does it anyway. Tries to grab you and swipe the ball from out under you. You stop dead still, putting your arms in the air and scolding the man. “This isn’t MMA, Benjamin.” Santi chuckles to himself. God, he loves that you fit right in. Like you’ve always been here. Like he’s always known you.

Then, you let Benny retake his position and you fleet straight past him, socking a sweet shot right into the top corner of the net with precision.

The boys all congregate now, Frankie folded in half and looking like he’s begging for an end to this torment. You pat him on the back and run to get him a towel and an isotonic drink, and Santi’s eyes crease with fondness as he watches you take care of and banter with his squad as though they are your own.

It’s one of the many things that can make him imagine you being in his life for a very long time, and the thought causes a sort of tranquility to wash over him.

Eventually, you peel of, nodding your head in the direction of Santi and beelining over towards where he casually leans up against a tree, doing that little footballer run to get over to him.

“Hiiiii,” he says dreamily, his pupils replaced by hearts, he’s sure, as he melts into a puddle.

You look amused. “Having fun, baby?”

Santi simply blinks, batting his long-lashes at you.

“Hiiiii,” he repeats, giving you the once-over with his eyes and evidently liking what he sees.

“Hi,” you laugh bashfully, the rich sound bobbing in your throat, and meanwhile Santi pushes up off the tree and shimmies closer. He places his hands at your hips, where shorts meet bare skin, and you have the good sense to clamp your hands over his, as though he’d be ballsy enough to strip you right here. “Do you think the guys are having fun?”

“I don’t know,” Santi purrs. “I’ve forgotten all their names. Faces. There’s only you.” A blatant heat is brewing in his eyes, and his gaze trails like fire over you.

You drop your voice lower in your throat. “Oh, you liked that did you? Watching me run circles around your friends? Showing me off?”

Santi smiles dopily at you. He’s got nothing.“Hiiiii,” he repeats, and you slide your hands from where they rest and loop them around his neck.

“Well. You can show me how much I impressed you later. For now, we have brunch.”

“Skip brunch,” Santi grunts, like a Neanderthal.

“Baby!” you eyes search his for sense. “I promised to get to know your friends. It’s important for us, right?”

The fact you’d do that for him? The fact you said us? It’s just one of the many things that makes Santiago want you in his life for a very, very long time.

One of the things; but there are so many more.

[princetorn]

✮ @coastercrushed liked for a short starter.

In life, Royce’s world had been a palette of earthy, metallic and pastel tones.  Even those shades that tipped closer to bold and bright – like the siren-red interior of his beloved Little Sweetheart, or the brilliant teal of his father’s Chevy – could not have prepared him for the burning acid-pop of the arcade.  Floors were covered in a garishly patterned and cola-stained carpet, while a hundred machines trilled their electronic songs, sounds as synthetic as their own hulking bodies of plastic artificiality.

Here, in the middle of musty, migraine-inducing mayhem, Royce was getting destroyed at Dance Dance Revolution.  For every ‘Good’ or ‘Great’ he was awarded, Mapplethorpe smashed him with a ‘Perfect’ or a ‘Marvellous’, delivering footwork with flair and boundless energy.  It was almost a relief when the song came to an end – a jazzed up remix of an Elvis number that post-dated the hot-rodder’s death by some thirteen years – and their final scores were totalled on screen.

“Damn, Mapplethorpe, I ain’t never seen anyone dance to the king like that…!”  The words escaped Royce in a jagged and amused exhale, a plume of breathless laughter. “Just know if there was an option for the jitterbug, I’d have you on your back.”

[ramrage]

141 football HCs

inspired by the scrumptious works (x, x) by @horsebra, here are some headcanons that no one asked for but i couldnt help but make

Soap:

Malingers a lot. and dramatically. everyone, himself included, recognizes this but just kinda rolls with it because sometimes it pays off, and to be fair, man does get fouled a ton

if someone is on the ground, 9/10 times it is him

tenacious as hell. will run to balls he won't reach, faces off in aerial duels against könig-height dudes.

somehow always scoring because he'll go for shots others would shy away from and is magically in the right place at the right time (jk he reads the field well)

social captain of the team. is quick with a compliment or consolation no matter what

constantly talking shit and is a nightmare to play against

Alejandro:

shows off a ton which would be a problem if he ever lost possession, but he infrequently does

has fouled out the most and leads the team in cards

just as aggressive a player as Soap, if not more

speaks spanish with rodolfo to covertly talk shit or point out weaknesses in the opposition's defense

his locker room pump up playlist is nasty and excellent and everyone loves it, even ghost (doesn't admit it)

coolest boots on the pitch

obnoxious yet impressive celebration dance, will taunt the fans

Rodolfo:

official idiot wrangler for soap and ale

his passes are clean as hell without fail. no one would score without him.

not a particularly flashy or dramatic player, he's more on the side of efficient, but he'll sometimes pull out the most ridiculous, odee goals you have ever seen in the beautiful game

is great at intercepting the defense's attempts to clear the ball and then proceeds to cross it perfectly and it pisses the other team off severely

big on post-game stretching and gives people shit when they don't. he has saved the team so many injuries.

goes apeshit when ale gets fouled and is actually hurt. if he isn't foaming at the mouth, alejandro is fine. no one can figure out how he tells the difference

Ghost:

effectively a center mid but says he's a defensive mid for reasons unknown

great at assessing the pitch and moving his team around to make saucy plays

scores an awful lot for a "defensive mid"

king of set pieces

surprisingly supportive and kind when his team fucks up

not afraid to play dirty but will immediately own up when the official chews him out for decking a guy

once lifted soap up in a hug after he scored a goal and everyone teased him about it so he never did it ever again

acts pissed but is amused when Soap malingers to win foul against the other team

Price:

is probably way too old to be playing but does anyway

switches between center and l/r-back depending on what the ol knee is telling him

not as fast as he used to be but his judgment and technical skills are impeccable

sometimes pulls out fancy footwork to wow the kids

comfort character on the pitch. when he recovers the ball after shit goes tits up, you know the team is safe

best pump up speeches you have ever heard

Gaz:

quick as hell and loves playing teams that rely on fast breaks because it's a fun challenge and he cuts them off damn well

had one (1) own goal when he was really young and will never forget it

booted the ball to the other side of the pitch and it bounced over the other team's keeper and rolled on in for a goal one (1) time and will never forget it. or stop talking about it. knows better than to try it again.

talks and sings to himself when the other team's offense sucks and the ball generally stays on the far side of the pitch

feels bad when he decks players from the other team and will help them up but also finds it kinda funny

gets beyond hyped for the rare hydration break on hot days

kate:

team coach/manager, Head Idiot Wrangler

has evil conditioning days but no one gets too mad because they trust her judgment

is somehow cool with the owners even tho they're dicks and uses that relationship to advocate for the players

generally keeps her cool during matches but got a red card once for laying into a official for a terrible call

earned many wrinkles and grey hairs from managing the boys

constantly getting shit from people in the league because she's a woman but she shuts that shit down with calm, scary efficiency

not afraid to play politics with the owners and the league but is always honest with the players

[black--sun]

He snorts. If he wasn’t over it before, Shiro’s quick verbal footwork helps. “I’m not worried about it.” He smirks. “We’ve got mutually assured destruction.” It’s not a threat, but not not. If Shiro stabs him in the back, they’re going down together. But Shiro won’t. Ichigo really does trust him. And anyway, their destruction is mutually assured by this point even if they don’t turn on each other. 

Shiro is cute as shit when he’s whining. Ichigo leans back, finding the ghost of a smirk and a spark of something too tender to be amusement. “Don’t worry, I wont be anything but dirty from now on. You ruined me, so you’ll just have to get over it.” 

He really likes when Shiro touches him. Especially when he starts it. Ichigo’s stomach muscles tighten under those hands, and he damn near mewls as Shiro’s hot tongue travels that path, grinding down against Shiro’s cock just for the friction of it. 

But he’s ready. He started this ready. He exhales a heated breath, pushing Shiro flat and lifting a foot, planting it in the crotch of those partially removed jeans and shoving them further off his legs the hard way. “Any preferences on how we do this?” Ichigo can think of at least half a dozen ways he wants Shiro at any given moment. But then, there’s the distracting sight of Shiro under him. Ichigo looks him over, admiring all that pale skin, the sinewiness of tough, lean muscle under him. 

Ichigo wants to bite every inch of him and he might.

But he presses one knee between Shiro’s legs and then the other, nudging his thighs apart before Shiro can get the idea he has any submissiveness in him right now. 

Ichigo flicks Shiro’s long hair out of the way and drops down to kiss him, long and rough and with lots of teeth, and he doesn’t stop until he tastes blood. Maybe if he stays busy enough or drunk enough, he’ll stop talking for the rest of the night and they can fuck their issues out. Fuck until they’re exhausted and too blissed to think.

Shit. “It’s not. I just meant… Y'know, so it’s not something you feel you gotta worry about. Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

He blinks. Apparently it’s time to say stupid shit and get himself in trouble. Maybe he has more of a buzz than he realizes. “No, that’s not how I was trying to say.” Not at all, but ok, he can see where it sounded that way. He makes a face. “Fuck. Please don’t.” If Ichigo stopped sleeping with him, he’s pretty confident he would die.

He watches what Ichigo drops to the bed and can’t help the excited warmth that squirms through his guts. Though, that could also be the alcohol. He arches a brow, but he’s amused when Ichigo essentially removes the bottle from the equation. He smirks, lifting his arms to make stripping his shirt easier. As soon as it’s out of the way, his hands seek out all that naked skin Ichigo’s showing. He stumbles a tiny, not quite coordinated step with that nudge, before figuring out where his feet are stepping back more purposely to sit back on the bed. He lifts his hips, helping wiggle out of his jeans. When Ichigo stops tugging, he tries to lean forward to finish it himself, except Ichigo straddles him instead. He completely forgets about taking his pants off. He grips lithe hips, breathing a groan of want, and leans in to lick up the center of Ichigo’s chest.

[hazyki]

☆ lights out. ☆

pairing -> dancer!riki x dancer!gn reader

genre → enemies to lovers, fluff, mild angst (they have a little fight), an attempt at humour

word count → 4.5k

synopsis → after a power outage during a storm, you and riki are stuck in the dance studio together

warnings → very very slight profanity

extra→ jay and heeseung cameo at the end :)

Nishimura Riki.

2005 liner, Japanese-born and raised, 183 centimeters tall, and one of the best dancers you’d ever seen.

You hated him.

It wasn’t a surface level hatred, either. It was that deep, gnawing kind that crept up your spine every time he walked into the studio with that stupid infuriatingly perfect posture, head held high like he owned the place. It didn’t help that he actually kind of did.

Riki was always the best in the room, no matter where you were. Dance practice, competitions, even the casual workshops you’d attended; he was there, always a step ahead, always landing the moves with a flawless ease that made your blood boil. Every pirouette, every sharp turn, every damn leap seemed to come to him naturally, like the universe itself conspired to make him perfect. And the worst part? He knew it.

There was something about the way he moved that felt like he was challenging you, as if he was daring you to try and keep up. You always did. Or at least, you’d try; but every time it felt like you were falling just a hair short. Every mistake you made, every moment where your timing was slightly off or your footwork simply wasn’t sharp enough, he’d catch it. He would pester you about even the smallest details, plaguing you with advice you didn’t need. You’d always respond passively, attempting (though failing) to keep in your scowl when you’d realize how helpful his advice truly was. You hated it. Because upon seeing you improve, he’d give you that smug, cocky smirk, eyes barely flicking in your direction like he didn’t even need to try. Like he was just naturally better.

You despised it. Despised him.

So when the two of you got paired up for this competition, it was like some cruel joke the universe was playing on you. Of all the people they could’ve chosen, it had to be him. Soon enough you’d have to be on stage with hundreds of people with him by your side, demonstrating the stark difference in moves. You’re a good dancer; you know it. But next to him, you might as well quit.

Now after weeks of grueling rehearsals, late nights, sore muscles, and frustration simmering beneath the surface, you were stuck here with him, in an empty studio, after the final run through.

"Okay, from the top." Riki exclaimed through labored breaths, his hand doing impatient circles in the air, not even giving you a second to catch your own.

You stood there, hands braced on your knees, your chest heaving as sweat dripped down your forehead and splattered onto the floor. You stared at him, bewildered. Was he serious?

“Again?” Your voice came out steady, but it was laced with resentment, the weight of your frustration compressed into that one simple word. You tried not to let it show or make the thick tension in the air even worse than it already was.

Riki didn’t bother responding. He simply grabbed his towel from the front of the room, wiping the sweat off his face before tossing it aside and walking back to the center of the studio. He didn’t even look at you, just moved into position, waiting for you to follow like this was all some sort of routine for him.

But you couldn’t. You didn’t. You just stood there, staring at him, still trying to process how he could possibly have the energy to keep going. When it became clear you weren’t moving, he finally let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes like you were the one being unreasonable.

God, you hated him.

The studio felt unbearably hot, humid, and suffocating. It had to be nearing midnight, hours after the others had left. You couldn’t even tell what time it was anymore because Riki, in his obsessive need to stay focused, had insisted on leaving your phones outside so there’d be no distractions. The fatigue in your limbs weighed you down, but it wasn’t just the exhaustion from hours of dancing. It was him.

"Yes, again." He said, his eyes narrowing as he glared at you, stepping forward and tapping your shoulder lightly to break your daze. "We have to win. No matter what. So get it together."

You felt the anger flare up inside you, hot and immediate. “May not be as determined as you?” you scoffed. Oh, how typical of him. Like he was the only one who wanted this. Like his sleepless nights and relentless drive made him superior to everyone else. You crossed your arms, standing your ground. “You really think that, don’t you? Just because I’m not willing to drive myself into the ground doesn’t mean I’m not determined. Unlike you, I still care about being able to walk.”

He scoffed right back, the tension between you two rising with every word. "Yeah, well, if you were me, maybe you’d understand what it takes. But you’re not, and that’s the difference between us. I’m willing to do whatever it takes. You just— aren’t."

You both stared each other down through the reflection in the studio mirrors. His usual straight posture was slouched, shoulders sagging, and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. You knew he was just as exhausted as you, but still he was pushing both himself and you harder than ever. It was insane, but it was Riki. He didn’t know when to stop.

Finally, he broke the silence as he grabbed his water bottle. He tossed yours across the room without a word, and you caught it without thinking. "I need to win this," he said, unscrewing the lid and downing a few gulps. "And if that means practicing until my body gives out, then so be it. If you want to leave so badly, then go."

"We’re supposed to be a team, Riki," you snapped, your voice rising despite yourself. "This isn’t just about you. You can't practice by yourself and expect us to come together perfectly when it matters. They’ll see our differences, our lack of cooperation, and we’ll lose. Is that what you want?”

He scoffed at your attempt to reason with him, clearly unimpressed. “Oh please. Are you seriously trying to scare me into agreeing with you? Just admit it ; you’re too lazy to keep up.”

That was it. “Lazy? Are you fucking kidding me?” You clenched your fists, feeling your temper snap. "We’ve been here for hours. Hours, Riki. Everyone else left ages ago, and you’re still pushing us like we have no limits. What the hell is wrong with you? Is it not enough?"

His eyes were sharp as they locked onto yours, full of defiance. "So what, you’re saying we should just be like the others? You’re fine with being average when the competition comes? With being the same as everyone else?"

You could feel the fury bubbling up, barely contained. "That’s not what I meant, and you know it. If I were okay with being average, I wouldn’t still be here with you. But this? This is insane. We’ve been here for six hours. Six hours. And we can’t even check the time because of your stupid ‘no distractions’ rule. You’re running yourself into the ground. Are you not tired? Do you even like dancing? Because I'm starting to feel like you're treating this as a chore rather than a passion.”

The storm outside had gone unnoticed by either of you as it intensified, rain slamming against the windows in a relentless downpour. Thunder cracked loudly, rumbling through the building, but it was the least of your concerns. You were both too far gone into the argument to care about anything else.

“Six hours is nothing,” he spat, voice rising again. "Just admit it. you’re too lazy to—"

Flick.

Suddenlythe lights went out, bringing the studio into darkness. You both froze, the only source of light now the faint glow of the emergency exit sign. For a moment the only sound was the pounding rain outside and the ragged breaths you both were taking.

The tension was uncomfortable, and now as you were trapped in the darkness with him, it somehow felt worse. You could barely make out Riki’s silhouette, standing across from you, still glaring despite the sudden change in atmosphere.

What the fuck.

The room was dead silent except for the pounding of rain against the windows and the low rumble of distant thunder.

“The hell just happened?” you muttered as you took a cautious step forward.

Riki shifted beside you, and you could sense his frustration even in the dark. “Power’s out, obviously” he said dryly, voice tight.

You rolled your eyes, even though he probably couldn’t see it. “I can see that, genius. I meant why? Did the storm knock it out?”

As if to answer your question, another crack of thunder echoed through the room, making the windows shudder slightly. Riki cursed under his breath, and you heard the soft shuffle of his feet as he moved toward the studio door, trying to peer out into the hallway. The emergency lights barely illuminated anything beyond a few feet.

“Wow, this is great,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Stuck here in the dark with you.”

“Believe me, I’m thrilled.” you shot back, folding your arms. The room was already starting to feel colder, the usual heat from the studio fading away now that the power and the heating had gone out.

You both stood there in silence for a moment, the tension from your earlier argument still thick in the air, mixing with the cold that was now creeping up on you. You shivered involuntarily, rubbing your arms to create some warmth. Riki noticed, of course, and it was only a matter of time before he made some snide remark.

“Cold already?” he asked, his voice half teasing, half exasperated. “We’ve only been in the dark for like, two minutes.”

You glared at him, though it was probably wasted in the darkness. “You do realize the heating is out too, right? I’m not some robot who can function in sub zero temperatures like you.”

He scoffed. “Its hardly sub zero.”

But despite his words, you noticed him fidgeting, his hands rubbing up and down his arms, clearly feeling the drop in temperature too.

“Do you think we can get out?” you asked, trying to shift focus to something more practical. “Or are we stuck here until the storm dies down?”

Riki shrugged, though you couldn’t see it, and walked toward the door again, jiggling the handle. “It’s not locked or anything. But it’s pitch black out there. You want to risk tripping over something or getting soaked just to find out?”

You sighed, already tired of his attitude, but knowing you were both stuck in this situation whether you liked it or not. “So what do we do? Just stand here and wait?”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea,” he said, still that sharp edge to his tone.

You could feel your irritation rising again, but you forced yourself to keep it in check. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. There wasn’t much you could do, and the last thing you wanted was to trip over something in the hallway or, worse, get stuck somewhere else in the building where there wasn’t even an emergency light to guide you.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, trying to stop shivering, but the cold was quickly seeping into your bones. Riki, ever the stoic, tried to act like it wasn’t affecting him, but you could tell he was getting just as uncomfortable. His usually straight posture was tense, his arms crossed in front of him in an attempt to conserve heat.

“Guess your brilliant plan of staying here all night is coming back to bite you now, huh?” you muttered, unable to resist the jab.

He glared at you, but his usual fire was dulled by the cold and the exhaustion. “You’d rather be out in the storm?”

“No, but I’d rather not freeze to death in here, either.”

Another moment of silence fell between you, only broken by the faint sound of the rain and your collective breaths. The warmth from the earlier workout was long gone, replaced by an uncomfortable chill that made you both painfully aware of just how long you might be stuck here.

Riki sighed, sounding more tired than angry this time. “Look, this sucks. I get it. But what do you want me to do? I didn’t plan for the power to go out.”

You hesitated, surprised by the shift in his tone. He sounded less like the demanding, insufferable person you’d been arguing with for hours, and more like someone who was just as worn out as you were.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, feeling the fight drain out of you. “I just want to go home.”

He didn’t say anything at first, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to snap at you again. But then he sighed, softer this time, and leaned back against the mirrored wall.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, almost like he was talking to himself. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The studio was dead silent except for the pounding rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. You stood there in the dim light, deciding to walk over to the mirror and sit down. Your pulse thudded in your ears, every ragged breath matching the rhythm of the storm outside. You were still fuming, still riding the high of your argument, but now, in the sudden darkness, the energy felt different.

You could barely make out Riki’s shape, the dim glow of the emergency light casting a faint silhouette. He was standing still, breathing just as hard as you, and for once, there wasn’t another snide comment. No sarcasm, no scoff. Just the quiet.

“Well then,” you finally said, voice edged with frustration, “I guess that’s it for now.”

Riki didn’t respond. Instead, you heard the soft shuffle of his body as he walked up to where you were sitting, and dropped down next to you, on your left. His face was still impossible to see, but you could imagine the way his brows were furrowed, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“You were kind of right.” He muttered, and you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to lean into his body warmth.

“Huh?”You respond, a little confused.

“You know,” his voice cut through the silence, lower now, almost thoughtful, “you think I’m doing this just to push you, but… you don’t get it.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden change in tone. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not pushing you because I want to win.” He turned, facing you now, but still just a shadow against the emergency light. “Well I mean, yeah, I want to win. But I’m pushing you because if I don’t push myself harder, I feel like. Like I’ll lose something.” He paused, the hesitation in his voice something you weren’t used to hearing. “Like if I stop for even a second, I’ll forget why I started.”

The anger in your chest started to cool, replaced by confusion, and maybe something else. “What do you mean?”

There was another pause, longer this time. The tension that had filled the room was still there, but it had shifted. It softened somehow. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Sometimes I’m scared I’m killing it. The passion, I mean. Like, I love this, dancing, performing, but sometimes it feels like the more I do it, the less I feel. Like it’s just becoming something I have to do because it’s expected of me. And I don’t know how to stop that from happening. So I just… keep going.”

You stared at him, the words sinking in. Riki, the guy who never show a moment of weakness, was standing there, admitting he was scared. That he was afraid the very thing he loved the most was slipping away from him.

"I dont wanna end up hating it,” he continued, and his voice cracked just slightly, like he was holding something back. "But I also can’t stop. Because if I stop, then what? Who am I if I’m not good at this? If I’m not the best?"

His words hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sound of rain slamming against the windows and the soft hum of the emergency light. For the first time since you started working together, you felt like you were seeing a different side of him. One that wasn’t full of arrogance or irritation or stubbornness.

You scooted slightly towards him, awkwardly bumping his shoulder against yours, your own frustration slipping away as the storm inside you started to settle and the cold started to dissipate because of his body warmth. “You’re not going to lose it,” you said softly, surprising even yourself with the gentleness in your voice. “You won’t lose the passion. I don’t think its something that just disappears, no matter how hard you push yourself.”

Riki didn’t say anything, but you could see the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly.

“And if it ever does start to feel like that,” you continued, voice steady, “then maybe that’s when you need to take a step back. To breathe. To remind yourself why you love it in the first place. Because, sorry man, but pushing yourself to exhaustion isn’t going to bring that love back. It’s going to make it worse.”

He let out a long breath, leaning against the mirror as if the weight of his thoughts had finally caught up to him. “Maybe.”

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know….. Um. We’re supposed to be a team, Riki. That means you don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”

He glanced at you through the dim light, his expression hard to read, but something about the way his posture relaxed told you that maybe, he was starting to let his guard down.

"Can I be honest?" you began again, feeling his eyes settle on you in the dim, cold room.

Riki shifted beside you but said nothing, the weight of his earlier confession still hanging between you. You could hear his slow, measured breathing, almost like he was trying to brace himself for whatever you were about to say. The cold air nipped at your skin, the only heat coming from him, but in that moment it was the least of your concerns.

"I never really thought you’d say something like this," you continued, rubbing your arms absentmindedly to keep warm. "I mean, honestly, Riki? For the longest time, I just thought you were like... a complete asshole."

He let out a small, incredulous laugh at your bluntness, but stayed quiet, waiting for you to go on.

"I did!” You insisted, turning to face him more directly. "You always acted so smug. So perfect. Like nothing ever got to you, and you just... ugh, you drove me insane. Every time we had practice it was like you were showing off and I hated it. I hated you. I mean sure, you were talented and yeah, I could obviously see that, but it was like you were purposely rubbing it in everyone’s face."

You could feel his gaze on you, and although it was dark, you imagined his eyes were wide with surprise at your honesty. He probably didnnt expect you to lay it out like this, but after his confession, you felt like the air between you had cleared enough to speak your mind. Plus the cold had numbed your usual hesitancy.

"And okay, maybe I was jealous," you admitted, letting out a breath. "Actually, no, I was jealous. All of the time. Like, it felt like no matter how hard I tried, you’d always be one step ahead. Always better. Always the golden boy or whatever... And it made me hate you more because I felt like I was never good enough compared to you. And then you’d keep pushing and pushing, acting like you didn’t have any limits, and it made me feel even worse. Deadass, how were you not exhausted? How did you keep going without burning out?”

Riki shifted slightly beside you, and you could sense his surprise. But to your shock, he didn’t snap back, didn’t argue. He just listened.

"But I never once considered that you were struggling too," you continued, sighing and your tone softening as your thoughts unraveled. "I just thought you were this unfeeling robot who thrived on outdoing everyone else. I didn’t think about what you were sacrificing, or how it was weighing on you. I guess I never really stopped to think that maybe you were hurting too."

The words hung in the cold air, the silence around you paused only by the sound of rain hitting the windows. The heat was long gone from the room, leaving a biting chill in its place, but your mind was so focused on getting the words out that the cold barely registered.

"I mean, don’t get me wrong," you added, a bit of your usual snark creeping back into your voice. "You are an asshole, like, still. Probably. But now I kinda get it, you know? You’re human. You’re not some perfect machine. And I’m—“ A pause. “I’m glad I got to see that side of you. Because now I think I understand you better."

For a moment the silence stretches out, and you half expect him to snap back with something sarcastic or dismissive, as he usually did. But instead, you feel him move beside you, closer this time, and before you could react Riki’s head softly came to rest on your shoulder.

You stilled for a second, blinking in the dark, unsure of what to do. The warmth of his head against your bare shoulder was a sharp contrast to the cold that seemed to seep into every other part of the room, and the unexpected intimacy of the gesture sent your thoughts spiraling. You had just spent the last few minutes telling him how much you loathed him, and now here he was leaning into you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Errr... what are you doing?" you asked with a voice laced with confusion, though you didn’t make any effort to push him away.

He didn’t lift his head or even glance at you. “It’s cold.” he muttered, almost like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

You let out a huff of air of half amusement and half shock. "Okay but— You know tthat this doesn’t mean I suddenly don’t think you’re still lowkey a jerk, right?”

Riki let out a soft laugh, though it was more relaxed this time and less sharp than before. “Yeah, I know.”

You sighed, unsure if you should find this whole situation absurd or oddly... nice? For someone who just confessed how much you couldnt stand him, here you were sitting in the cold with his head on your shoulder, both of you too exhausted to care about maintaining whatever wall had existed between you. Warmth crept up your ears slightly.

“But seriously,” you continued, voice a little quieter now, “I’m glad I saw this side of you. It’s weird... but in a good way. I think I actually— I think I really understand you now. And to be honest, I didn’t even think that was possible."

Riki shifted slightly but didn’t lift his head. “Yeah... me neither,” he admitted, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

Maybe you didn’t really hate the guy as much as you thought. Maybe what you had once called hate was just layers of frustration and misunderstanding, all tangled up in your own jealousy and his annoying perfection. Now, with his head resting on your shoulder and his breaths soft against your neck, the feeling wasn’t something you loathed. In fact, it was kind of comforting.

It made you realize that maybe there was something more to all of this. Beneath the sour conversation, and the constant competition and tension, maybe there was something you hadn’t let yourself see before.

Without thinking much about it, you shifted closer, letting your head rest gently against his. Your arm slowly found its way around his, and instead of pulling back, he stayed there, both of you wrapped up in the quiet, the cold, and each other.

And for the first time, in a long time, you allowed yourself to relax. Your eyes fluttered shut as your breathing synced with his. It was strange how natural it felt, like this had always been there between you two, waiting to be discovered.

You didn’t really hate him. Not anymore.

Flick.

The overhead lights buzzed to life, illuminating the room suddenly, blinding you both. You squinted against the harsh light, feeling Riki stir beside you as you both blinked yourselves awake.

The door to the studio creaked open and Heeseung and Jay walked through it, their faces a mix of confusion & amusement. They both froze at the sight of you two, curled up together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Heeseung raised an eyebrow with a smirk already forming on his lips.

“Well, well, well,” Heeseung said, crossing his arms as he took in the scene. “What do we have here?”

Jay, standing beside him, looked equally entertained, though he tried to hide it with a straight face. “Didnt expect to walk in on this.”

You quickly pulled away from Riki, sitting up straighter and blinking in annoyance at the sudden interruption. “Uh…,” you muttered under your breath, trying to shake off the embarrassment creeping up on you.

Riki, on the other hand, rubbed his eyes, looking dazed but clearly embarrassed. “What are you two even doing here?” he asked, his voice still groggy from sleep as he avoided eye contact with his hyungs.

Heeseung chuckled, clearly enjoying this way too much. “We heard the power went out and figured we’d come check on some things. Didn’t want the equipment getting damaged or anything. But...” he gestured to the two of you, “looks like we found something a little more interesting.”

Jay nodded, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, Riki, what are you doing here?”

Riki groaned, clearly regretting ever opening his mouth. “Just... we were practicing late, okay? And the power went out, and, uh.” he glanced at you, unsure how to explain the rest. “It’s not what you might think it is.”

“Oh sure,” Heeseung said and winked. “Totally.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling yourself to your feet and stretching out the stiffness from being curled up on the floor for so long. “Can we not do this right now? It’s late, and I just want to go home.”

Jay grinned, tossing you his jacket. “Alright lovebirds. Let’s go. We’ll drive you both home before this gets any more awkward.”

Riki shot them a look, his cheeks tinted pink as he grabbed his things. “God, I hate you guys.”

“Nah, you love us.” Heeseung corrected, as the four of you walked out into the chilly night, leaving the studio (and whatever had just happened) behind.

note : thank you for reading!! as always comments and feedback are always appreciated :) fyi i got a little lazy towards the end so sorry if it stops making sense halfway through or if i didn’t bother to proof check correctly 😭😭

[inamindfarfaraway]

Forget horoscopes, what’s your favourite copy ability in the Kirby games?

[samstree]

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[kameliendame]

Went to see Raymonda today! It’s a brand new production made for the Dutch National Ballet. Money was spent on this and you could TELL.

I saw Riho Sakamoto as Raymonda, Jakob Feyferlik as Abd al-Rahman, Vito Mazzeo as Jean de Brienne, and then there was Naira Agvanean as Henriëtte, Maria Chugai as Clémence and Rafael Valdez and Dingkai Bai as Bernard and Béranger.

One thing that immediately hits you as soon as the curtain rises is the splashes of colourful costumes set before a minimalistic yet vast décor that pictures the inside of a castle, the courtyard (with a scenic view of the mountain ranges of the Provence) and the inside of a ballroom. Jérôme Kaplan did an absolutely stunning job with creating timeless pieces that convey the period within which Raymonda is set but without making it stuffy by keeping the silhouettes streamlined. My personal favourites were the long ankle length dresses of the noble court ladies (pictured last) and the Hungarian costumes in the pas Hongrois, which were based on actual traditional costumes (planning on scanning more photos soon!).

Another thing that also surprised me was how well rehearsed the corps de ballet was. Judging from the last performance I had seen (The Nutcracker last December, which was a hot mess) my expectations werent too high but now I feel kinda mean thinking like that lol. Literally every single act was done with laser precision and finish with the absolute highlight being the grand pas classique in the third act. Kudos to all the corps dancers and ballet masters who made this happen because it looked better than what some big(ger) companies have been showing these days.

Honorable mention goes to Connie Vowles who danced the second (Clémence) variation in the dream act. In this production, Henriëtte and Clémence don’t dance the dream variations for some reason; instead its danced by two different dancers. I literally have no idea why they would make such a decision esp. because it’s absolutely criminal to deprive the audience of Agvanean’s Henriëtte variation (but more on that later). Vowles danced her solo to damn near PERFECTION. I was literally gasping when she was ending those tours en l’air in perfect fifth not once but all three times. A really promising young dancer, here’s to her going far. I also spotted Chloë Réveillon in the corps, surprised to see her here after her stint at the Mariinsky but she’s a solid addition to the troupe. Loved her in the grand pas classique along with Erica Horwood, and, once again, Connie Vowles.

Now on to the main dish... The Sakamoto/Feyferlik/Mazzeo trio and the Agvanean/Chugai/Valdez/Bai quartet. I’ve seen Sakamoto before (Clara in the Nutcracker) and the best thing that I can say about her is that she’s a technical powerhouse with decent épaulement and very good aplomb. That’s it, really. Unfortunately the girl has no ballon whatsoever which translates into sluggish footwork, which then translates into sloppy finishes. She’s not a bad dancer at all but she lacks finesse. Her body is very limited in what it can do and there was never a point where I felt like she was one with the music or even conveying it well in her dancing, despite not missing a beat. She’s a classic example of dancing on the music but not dancing with the music. Combine that with her mediocre footwork and her lack of grace and lyricism and you have a very underwhelming performance. In the more technical parts of the ballet she was doing alright and managed to keep my attention, but it was in the final variation where she completely lost me. The ‘‘clacque’‘ variation is infamous for it’s supposed emptyness (just lots of bourréeing across the stage really), but because of that it requires enormous charisma and magnetism to keep your attention. If done well it hypnotises you (Sylvie Guillem!!), if done wrong it just bores you. Unfortunely, in this case I’m leaning towards the latter. That all being said... Raymonda is a behemoth of a role to tackle and Sakamoto did an absolutely tremendous job dancing all those variations and pas deux while still looking like she just came fresh on stage when she was taking her bows during curtain call. It’s her first role as a principal dancer since her appointment in December last year and despite my nitpicking eye she did really, really, really well. Her partnership with Feyferlik was great, his overwhelming stage presence managed to make up what she lacked. The one with Mazzeo however... again... it wasn’t bad... but they were just kind of... there. But they did the job well in technical aspects at least, there were some tricky lifts which were done with a well rehearsed and steady hand.

On the other side of the spectrum, the Agvanean/Chugai/Valdez/Bai quartet was such a treat to watch. Nadia Agvanean especially as Henriëtte was the highlight of my evening. Her little head movements, the turn of her shoulders, the stretching of her fingers into the distance to a point beyond her reach, she puts so much thought in all these little details that can make a performance into something bigger than the dancer itself. Not to paraphrase that infamous Tsiskaridze quote but the Russian school really is superior. You can tell she had a Vaganova upbringing in literally every single movement no matter how small. This really shows how much a dancer can get out of themselves if they pay miticulous attention to the style they’re being trained in instead of just thinking of doing the steps right.

All in all it was a great evening and an even greater addition to the Dutch National Ballet’s repertoire. The fact that they can stage a warhorse like Raymonda while still making it look fresh and modern (with an updated libretto, mind you) shows that even a tiny country like the Netherlands with not much of a ballet history can reach the same world renowned standards of the old ballet companies as long as enough respect, hard work and love are put into it. Bravo to all the people who made this happen, on stage and off stage!