#this was also expression practice. woo.

[lyn-ne]

what this card set feels like

[zorosangell]

Heyyy❤️❤️❤️ . Idk if ur busy w anything but could I maybe request a cute little boy challenging zoro for the reader in a dumb competition and zoro takes it seriously (bc thats just him) or whatever else you would like . Ive binged all your work and its safe to say ur probably one of the best writers on the app. Thank youu<33

⛥ﾟ・。 daises and posies

synopsis: a kid with the hots for you begins to challenge zoro, insulting his pride as a swordsman and capabilities as a partner until the mosshead finally snaps... leaving you as the only thing standing between all-out war

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro would totally have beef with a child, reader's a sweetheart, the kid is a little fart but lowkey kind of adorable

"Zoro, stop!" you exclaimed, eyes wide and frantic as you helplessly tried to hold him back, your feet dragging against the ground at his sheer strength. "He didn't mean it! He's just a kid!"

"Kid, my ass!" Zoro scoffed, brows cinched in a sharp scowl as he began to draw his sword, lunging forward. "He's about to get a grown beating!"

"Says the guy that got his butt kicked by Mihawk!"

"WHY YOU—!"

"ZORO!"

"I was there!" the young boy taunted, standing just out of Kitetsu's reach with a shit-eating smirk. "I was on the Baratie when you got your butt handed to you."

Enamored, his gaze shifted to you, hearts practically forming in his irises as he let out a dreamy sigh.

"It was the day I saw this heavenly angel for the first time..."

Confused—and slightly uncomfortable—you let out an awkward chuckle, still maintaining your hold on your furious boyfriend.

"Kid, weren't you, like, seven?"

"And three quarters."

Your brows flattened.

'Gods...'

"But I knew that you were my dream girl! You looked so pretty! Your hair was blowing in the wind, and your dress was a pretty blue!"

The boy's gaze slowly shifted to Zoro, expression turning sour.

"But this bozo was too busy losing to notice..."

"BOZO?!"

"Zoro!"

"I don't give a crap how old the kid is! He's pickin' a fight with me!"

While perusing the marketplace with your swordsman, you came across a fruit stall, where a rather oddly-mannered boy ran the register.

He instantly recognized you—though you could not do the same—and began flying off the handle with pick-up lines and and flirtations, hoping to woo you into a dinner date.

Flattered, you gave him thanks, but also politely declined.

You explained that your boyfriend didn't particularly enjoy sharing, and the mosshead introduced himself in his usual gruff way.

But the moment the boy realized Zoro was your boyfriend, things instantly went left.

He began a long-winded tirade about how Zoro was weak, and nowhere near strong enough to provide the protection an "angel" like you required.

Safe to say... that did not go over well with the swordsman.

"Since you got such a problem with me, kid, then how about we settle this right here! Steel on steel!"

"Sounds good to me!" the boy agreed, brows furrowed as he drew a wooden sword. "Try not to shatter yours this time!"

Zoro's eye twitched, a rather scary looking smile cracking across his face as he drew Enma.

"Ohhh, I am gonna put you in the ground."

"Zoro!" you hissed, snatching away the glowing, purple weapon and shoving it back in its sheath. "His weapon is a toy! You are not using haki to fight a child!"

"He started it!"

"And I'm finishing it! This whole entire thing is ridiculous!"

Stepping forward, you crouched down to the boy's level, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"As flattered as I am that you're willing to take on a billion-berry man for me, I'm afraid this isn't going to work out," you started, pointing between the both of you. "I'm not into younger guys, and as much as I hate to admit it, I kind of enjoy looking at my boyfriend's face."

A cocky grin rose to Zoro's lips, but you were quick to furrow your brow.

You hadn't forgotten what he tried to do a few second ago, and he would be dealt with next.

"So, it is with a heavy heart that I send you on your way..." you smirked, grabbing the boy's shoulders and turning him to face the spice stall. "...and toward the girl that has been staring at you all day."

A flush bloomed across his face as he met the gaze of a young girl behind the register, her large, brown eyes widening as she realized she had been caught.

"R-really?" the boy stumbled, suddenly incredibly nervous.

"Mhmm," you nodded, encouragingly. "And if you're half as romantic with her as you were with me, you'll sweep her off her feet in no time."

Glancing down at the ground, you snatched up a few wildflowers, carefully placing them in his open palm before pressing it closed.

"Just be yourself. And the rest will come naturally."

A glimmer of excitement sparkled in his eyes at the sight of the daises and posies, his mouth breaking out in an adorable, toothless grin.

"You're right! Thanks a bunch, lady!"

Quickly, he threw his arms around your neck, pulling you into a tight hug before letting go and making a beeline for the spice stall.

"Hey, girl! Did it hurt?! When you fell?!"

"Me?! What are you talking about?! Fell from where?!"

"Heaven!"

At the cheesy line, you let out a warm chuckle, unable to fight the smile rising to your lips.

'That kid's goin' places...'

"Tch. Kid's a menance," Zoro glared, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let's head to the Sunny before he comes back."

"Oh, don't think you're out of the dog house," you scoffed, grabbing his ear as you began the trek back to the ship. "I'm not over the fact that you were about to fight a nine year-old with a haki-imbued sword."

"Ow! Shit! (y/n)! That fuckin' hurts!"

"Serves you right! You're lucky I love you or I'd kick you into next week!"

[lily-bisque]

satoru gojo who brings a speaker to lecture just to play a love song dedicated to you in front of everyone. the professor is visibly pissed, grabbing him by the forearm and dragging him out while he trips over his own feet. he doesn’t care, though. his eyes never leave your face, a dazed and love-struck expression coloring him as you shy away. he was going to do anything to make the most beautiful and bright girl he’s ever had the opportunity of knowing his.

satoru gojo who manages to walk you to each class daily. he’ll grab your bag from you, tossing it over his shoulder and pacing down the hallway with you while you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, giggling at his plethora of stupid dad jokes. he loves to hear you laugh.

satoru gojo who insists on bringing you a lunch to every study session he crashes, finding you in the back corner of a library with your friends and talking you up to them as if you’re his salvation. but they obviously know how great you are, don’t they? you aren’t even quite sure where this puppy-love, infatuated, imprinting romance and admiration of his came from but you’re not complaining. you think he’s quite cute.

satoru gojo who will embarrass himself to make you smile. he’ll perform an elaborate dance in the bustling halls of the campus while chanting your name, enough to leave you more than flushed.

satoru gojo who knows he has to woo you and earn it to make you his. weeks of elaborate scheming and understanding your schedule led him to buying you a gift basket of your favorite snacks and drinks, along with vinyls of your favorite artists and the latest edition of your favorite manga signed by the author to which you practically lost your mind over in excitement and gave him a cheek kiss he swore he was going to get tattooed.

satoru gojo who is, of course, allowed the grace of at least a first date with you after that lovely gift that leaves you dizzy with his caring antics. he’s a silly and carefree guy, with quite the pep in his step, but it’d be diminishing his character to ignore just how much of a gentleman he is. you also knew he had the money, but you were starstruck at the visual realization of it.

satoru gojo who took you out to dinner at a penthouse restaurant, but rented out the entire place and took up classes with his chef to offer you a five-star meal where you sat in front of the built in grill and gave him the show of stars glinting in your eyes.

satoru gojo who cleaned up and placed a chaste kiss on your lips, letting you know it was just to check if his cooking was up to par as his chef said it was. flustered you pushed him aside with a giggle before he led you out to the balcony that had the perfect view of the night sky.

satoru gojo who pulled you close up into him, the scent of your shampoo and perfume driving him crazy, as you cuddle in the blankets that had been prepared.

satoru gojo who allowed you to fall asleep after a full belly and exhilarating night, whispering a soft and romantic eight letters into your scalp before letting himself lower his walls and sleep beside you.

[recipherva]

I think an interesting idea- considering some people argue that there isn't much romance in homicipher, is that this game IS full of love, just not traditional kinds. Variety! Woo!

"Unconditional love, simply put, is love without strings attached. It's love you offer freely. You don't base it on what someone does for you in return. You simply love them and want nothing more than their happiness."

"Someone is said to be suffering from delusional love disorder when they feel that that their feelings of love are reciprocated, despite glaring evidence of this being not true. People with delusional love disorder often feel that other people are in love with them."

"A love-hate relationship means that you hold both positive and negative feelings toward something. In the case of relationships, a person with a love-hate relationship with their partner both loves and hates something(s) about said relationship. These feelings can be both simultaneous or alternating — someone might go from loving to hating their partner very quickly, or experience a complicated mix of both at all times."

"One-sided love, also known as unrequited love, occurs when one person has romantic feelings for another who does not reciprocate those feelings. This situation can arise in various contexts, including friendships, crushes, or even long-term relationships where one partner may not feel the same way." (Note: this refers to the player's love, not his)

"Caring, on the other hand, can be seen as a broader concept that encompasses concern, empathy, and a willingness to support and help someone. While love is often seen as a more intense and emotional state, caring can be a more practical and action-oriented expression of concern for someone's welfare." (Note: custodial as in, in charge of someone. Like a caretaker, parent, etc)

"Ludus is playful, noncommittal love. Ludus covers things like flirting, seduction, and casual sex. Ludus means “play” or “game” in Latin, and that pretty much explains what ludus is: love as a game. When it comes to ludus, a person is not looking for a committed relationship."

"Conditional love is often characterized by the idea that affection and support are given based on specific conditions being met (eg, behavior, achievements, or circumstances)." (Note: Gap's love is ironically, transactional)

"Platonic love is a type of love in which sexual desire or romantic features are nonexistent or have been suppressed, sublimated, or purgated, but it means more than simple friendship" (extra: "Self-love is a state of appreciation for oneself that grows from actions that support our physical, psychological and spiritual growth. Self-love means having a high regard for your own well-being and happiness. Self-love means taking care of your own needs and not sacrificing your well-being to please others."

"Childish/child-like love is blind. It buys love and doesn't hesitate to manipulate in order to do so. Childish love tends to control and hang onto and therefore doesn't set us or the people we love free." "Selfish love in a relationship is when one prioritizes their own desires and needs over their partner's. It often involves manipulating or expecting the relationship to cater primarily to one's own comfort and goals."

[flyingwargle]

april fanfic recs!

some of these fics are rated e!

sakuatsu

please and thank you e. 6.4k. no comment, just really hot sakuatsu nsfw. please enjoy.

"Yes, and..." (Miya Atsumu's Practical Guide to Improvisation) m. 11.5k. in which atsumu pretends to be sakusa's blind date and proceeds to woo him. hilarious premise with fun interactions and revelation at the end!

trypanophobia t. 13k. 2/2. sakusa stops hanging out with atsumu after learning he never got his flu shot, so atsumu tries to get it...except he has a fear of needles. cue sakusa accompanying him to keep his calm and it evolves into something more. very cute!

oh me, oh my, i thought it was a dream t. 13k. sakusa moves to a small town and hears atsumu talk about him on the radio. THIS WAS INCREDIBLY CUTE. amazing dynamics with osamu and suna, the slow (mid?) burn between atsumu and sakusa, all of atsumu's shameless flirting...delicious.

sunaosa

Glow m. 12.3k. thank you @silktao for the rec! this was lovely to read, i love the subtle hints of suna's depression and the depiction of snos' day to day <3 definitely deserves all the praise!

iwaoi

five minutes west of irvine g. 20.3k. 2/2. maaaan this was absolutely beautiful. this focuses on oikawa in argentina and his relationship with iwaizumi. i haven't read the other fics in the series but i'm sure they're just as lovely <3

bloom t. 26.9k. 2/2. modern magic au where everyone has a superpower of some kind but oikawa doesn't, yet he persevered and got onto seijoh's volleyball team despite that. it really hones on the "oikawa tooru is not a genius" narrative in such a potent way. i enjoyed this very much.

Once Is An Accident, Twice Is A Coincidence, Three Times Is A Pattern. e. 27.1k. 6/6. ehe. saw this recommended on twitter and of course, i had to check it out. very hot. give it a read.

bokuaka

flicker and burn e. 9k. top class akaashi pining in this one that leads to a very hot conclusion.

Didn't I Tell You e. 22k. 2/2. akaashi discovers bokuto wants to try bottoming. very sensual and hot. wear gloves and sunglasses, or you will be burned by how much love they radiate for each other.

like patience on a monument t. 25.4k. 2/2. akaashi pining for bokuto over the years and finally taking that first step forward. the PINING!! the amount of screaming you'll do at akaashi!! also the METAPHORS!! (you know i love a good metaphor) <3

kagehina

chase the light, my love g. 3.2k. kageyama accidentally tells the adlers he wants to propose...except they didn't know he has a partner. very cute wedding proposal fic!

One More Thing t. 6.3k. in which hinata and kageyama attend tsukishima and yamaguchi's wedding as friends and come out of it as something more. tooth-achingly fluffy!

oh we play, in autumn days not rated. 7.6k. my gourd, the somftness of this fic and the absolutely divine way kagehina is portrayed...one of my favorites of the month <3

Kabedon't t. 7.8k. hinata expresses an interest in being kabedon'd and kageyama does what he can. very, very cute and very, very fluffy <3

louder than sirens, louder than bells t. 8.9k. kageyama is invited to a party after the adlers-msby match and he has a lot to say to hinata, including things he's wanted to say ever since they part ways after high school.

other

the lucky lady g. 2.7k. daisuga. 4 times tanaka is convinced daichi has a girlfriend and 1 time he knows for sure he's wrong. this is short but funny to read!

We Like Our Fun (We Never Fight) g. 3.5k. suga, tsukishima. suga brings his 3rd grade class to the museum and gives them a challenge - whoever can stump tsukishima on a question, they get a star. very cute and wholesome, you need this in your life.

no more anti-shark propaganda t. 4.1k. seijoh4 watching shark movies. a fun and lighthearted read!

KAGEYAMA TOBIO IS NOT A GENIUS g. 6.1k. 5 times kageyama thought miya osamu was miya atsumu and 1 time he learns the truth. what was absolutely hilarious was everyone else just went with it for their own entertainment and kageyama is standing there like. what is going on. read this if you need a laugh <3

like a new pair of shoes g. 7k. tsukkiyama. tsukishima and yamaguchi move in together. that's all there is, but this fic will give you cavities. it is disgustingly domestic. your jaw will hurt from smiling too much. you have been warned.

the rivers crossed, the mountains scaled g. 10k. kita-centric. 9 times he receives a visitor at his farm and 1 time he visits someone else. the interactions are so lovely, and kita's wisdom is so endearing. i'd totally travel to his farm to ask for his advice.

The Tendou Incidents m. 32.8k. 7/7. ushiten. another rec for you, ushiten anon (i hope you're doing fabulous!) slight au where tendou is ushijima's new neighbor and completely flips ushijima's methodical routine on its head. both of these characters were developed so, so well and the dialogue is impeccable. and the end...*chef's kiss* one of my favorite ushiten fics so far!

[irisintheafterglow]

satoru got his big break with the library desk employee. so what? university!suguru lost the bet, sure, but for some reason his interest in you didn't leave his mind. he'd known his best friend was crushing hard since the first time they'd entered the library and the pretty student smiled at satoru from behind the front desk.

i think i'm in love. suguru, hunched over a chemistry textbook, glances at satoru from the corner of his eye.

it's literally their job to make you feel welcome, genius.

but what if they, like, truly love me? he's dumbfounded by his friend's rose-colored delusion.

you're a doofus.

he continues thinking about it long after the study session concludes (a one sided session, since satoru insisted how he could woo the front desk assistant for the next two hours) and follows his normal routine of heading to the rec center to blow off some steam. he barely thinks twice about scanning the barcode on his phone at the entrance gates when the hairs on the back of his neck stand stick-straight. someone is watching him.

he scans the lobby and finds a pair of eyes across the floor, halfway hidden by a large counter for the member services desk. the eyes disappear before he can register who exactly was staring and you hope he didn't spot you as you duck behind the safety of the counter. suguru narrows his eyes but doesn't think twice about it.

the following week is when he makes the bet and hatches his plan to get satoru to shut up and take some of his money in the process. it felt like an easy victory: suguru knew he wasn't terrible looking, and you must've been interested considering how much you stared at him. he wasn't big on the school's dating scene and reserved his limited energy for whatever makeouts he found at his frat house's parties; to him, winning your naive affection would be a piece of cake. all he had to do was get your number and satoru's money would be his. simple enough, is what he thought.

but for the life of him, he could not catch you.

since the day he caught you staring, he noticed every time he entered the gym that you were looking and would duck away before he could so much as blink. at first, he lingered and waited for you to pop back up from behind the counter, but ended that strategy when he was asked if he was loitering on the property. the one time he approached the counter, you had conveniently disappeared to throw the intramural jerseys into the dryer...for the ten minutes he was waiting around for you to return. again, he was accused of loitering and forced to move on.

any progress with the rec worker? satoru whispered as he browsed for an interesting-enough looking book that he can make up small-talk over. he picks up a random one, something about technological advancements in ancient china, and tucks it under his arm.

i wish, suguru lamented. it's like they know i see them and are purposefully avoiding me so they don't have to talk to me.

i told you, i'd give you 'worst resting bitch face' if we could choose senior superlatives in high school, satoru reminds him with a thoughtful expression. also, you're in a frat! frat guys' reputation on campus isn't exactly the cleanest.

you're saying i need to look nicer? he examines his hoodie decorated with large iron-on patches of his frat's greek letters. it didn't look too dirty, he'd run it in the wash just last sunday...

i'm saying you need to look friendlier and less like a fuckboy.

oh. makes sense.

that's rich coming from you, suguru counters without acknowledging that maybe his friend was right. if he was going to woo you and hopefully knock down satoru's ego a few notches, he needed to be a little less...frat-like?

wordlessly taking the advice, he skips the loud philanthropy week shirt and opts for a plain muscle tee for his next gym session. black shirt and grey sweatpants shouldn't be too arrogant, right? he even practices his smile in the toothpaste-stained bathroom mirror until it's warm enough to save the titanic from the iceberg. tying his hair back so you can see all of his friendly face, he doesn't give you a moment to duck away when he steps through the doors at exactly 5:30pm.

he turns his head as soon as he steps into the air conditioning.

you're already staring.

he stares right back for a moment before pulling the corners of his mouth up ever so slightly, just like he practiced.

you gasp slightly and he thinks today is the day that you finally let him approach you.

unfortunately, his clothes, hair, face, and smile are enough to induce a nosebleed.

fuck!

by the time he rushes to the counter, eyes wide with panic, you've already shuffled away into the back and another worker informs him of your bloody-faced status. a little coyly than to go unnoticed, he notes to himself, but accepts his loss anyway and plans how to try again the next day.

after two weeks of putting on his plainest clothes, tying his cleanest hairdos, practicing his warmest smiles, and hurrying his fastest steps to get to the counter, suguru is absolutely ashamed to report that he's made zero progress.

interestingly enough, other girls at the gym had started to notice his changes in behavior and wardrobe, but he couldn't muster any energy to return their flirtations as they brush their fingers against his exposed biceps. all he could think about is you, and the way your eyes seem to sparkle when he meets them from across the lobby. he's snuck glances at the pens you abandon when you escape, the stickers on your water bottle, and the way you wear a special button on your uniform shirt every friday. you seem to always have a granola bar wrapper lingering on the desk, the same flavor each day but changing every week. he was learning so much about you without ever uttering a word, and it was killing him.

when satoru announces triumphantly that he finally got a date with the library attendant, suguru doesn't even blink. with his lack of progress, it was only a matter of time before his plan ultimately backfired and satoru was the true, smug winner of the bet. still, despite the earnings paid and the yapping continued, suguru wanted to talk to you. he wanted to learn about your interests, your goals, your life. he wanted to solve your mystery that he'd unknowingly forced himself into, and he'd be damned if he didn't at least get your name before the semester ended.

after months of waiting for you to talk to him, he swallows his pride and goes to the gym half an hour early.

"hi," he says carefully while you finish up whatever was on your computer screen.

"hi there, how can i help y--" when you finally meet his eyes, your practiced smile drops into pure shock and you take several moments to snap your face back into place. "i...um...how can i--oh!" you whirl around to your nearest coworker at a whiplash-causing speed, rambling quickly about how you forgot to inflate the volleyballs for the playoffs or some bullshit. thankfully, your coworker just blinks at you and then says that they can take care of it, patting your shoulder reassuringly and giving suguru a knowing look. before he knows it, it's you and him, just the moment he's been waiting for, and he has no idea what to say.

"i'm sorry that i--"

"i was wondering if you--"

you both tumble over your words at the same time and he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. his bicep flexes with the motion and he catches your eyes rake it over. fearful of another nosebleed, he drops his arm abruptly and blurts out whatever words he can before you can scurry away.

"get dinner with me."

"i-i'm sorry?"

"i was wondering if you wanted to, you know," he shrugs sheepishly and is suddenly glad that none of his friends are there to tease his embarrassment, "get dinner sometime."

"you want to go on a date with me," you echo in disbelief. he nods slowly like any sudden movement would frighten you. "but...but why?"

"i think you're really pretty," he replies simply.

"but i've been hiding from you for the past--"

"two months, one week, and four days," he finishes for you before he can think about what he's saying. "i mean, not that i'm counting." your face finally breaks its shell of surprise and you burst out laughing. suguru thinks it's the best sound he's ever had the privilege of experiencing.

"so, just to be clear," you confirm when you've caught your breath. "i've been avoiding talking to you because seeing you look so good gives me nose bleeds. and now you want to get dinner with me?"

"i can bring copious amounts of tissues just in case, but yes." his expression becomes gravely serious, like he was giving you a request on his death bed. "please, say yes."

if it meant seeing how brightly you smiled when you finally murmur a yes, he would go through the entire bet with satoru three times over.

here u go @damb-it <3 hope you like it - sincerely, a library guest services attendant

[maxlarens]

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely. 

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

[noorpersona]

hey i wanted to request a fic, but before i request i wanted to say that i really enjoy your fics. there's something about them that makes me read them even when theyre about characters i dont often care much about. also, when i write i often stick to my couple of faves, but your fics have me thinking that maybe it'd do me good to practice writing a variety of different characters.

im not as prolific as you though hahaha

ok and now for my incredibly self-indulgent request because my #1 favorite is Mr. Perfect Kita, can i request a fic about Kita wooing/asking out a Reader who is intimidated by him?? pretty please, and thank you? hehe

i also am curious if there's any character you prefer writing about compared to the rest

have a lovely day! :)

Anon, you are far too kind — thank you so much for your kind words!! it genuinely means the world to me 🥹

Also: you should totally experiment with writing new characters!! it’s legit eye opening (after writing fav positions for Hinata, I can't stop looking at him differently 😭)

Also also, but favourite three characters to write for are Tsukishima (my first love) Iwaizumi and Atsumu for sure. They've stolen my heart ughhh.

ANYWAYS ENJOY <333

--

Anon Ask: Kita

There was something about Kita Shinsuke that made your stomach twist—and not in the butterflies, schoolgirl-crush way you wished it did.

No, it was worse than that. It was the intimidation.

Because Kita was perfect. He was composed, kind, respectful, disciplined. He woke up early, always got top marks, captained the volleyball team with quiet command, and still managed to hold the door open for every single person who walked through it. He was the kind of person who turned in his assignments a week early, whose uniform never had a wrinkle, whose silences were never awkward but intentional.

And you? You were just... there. Always a few steps away. Always too nervous to make eye contact, let alone conversation.

You shared a class with him—sat three rows behind, diagonally to the left—and you could probably count on one hand how many times you'd actually spoken to him. Mostly because every time his steel-gray eyes swept past you, your breath would catch in your throat.

That expression of his—steady, unreadable, unwavering—it made your nerves twist up in knots. It wasn't that he looked mean. It was that he looked like he saw everything.

So when he approached you after school one day, just before he headed off to volleyball practice, your brain completely short-circuited.

He stopped in front of your desk as you were packing up, casting a soft shadow over your notes. When you looked up, he was standing there with perfect posture, his uniform blazer unbuttoned but still crisp, and a small box held gently in both hands.

"Hey," he said, voice quiet but clear. "Can I speak to you a moment?"

You blinked up at him like he’d spoken another language, then scrambled to nod. "Y-Yeah. Of course."

He gestured subtly toward the hallway. You followed him, still clutching your books, your heart thudding in your ears. The corridor was mostly empty now, sunlight from the high windows painting long lines across the floor.

He turned to face you just outside the classroom, gaze even but calm.

Then, gently, he extended the box toward you.

"I put together a few things you might like. I hope that’s alright."

You stared at the box, then at his face, then back again. "Wait... what?"

The box was neat, wrapped in soft brown paper and tied with twine. Inside, you found your favorite snacks, a new set of pens in the exact shade you always used, a mini notebook with the design you'd admired in the campus store weeks ago, and a little envelope with your name on it in his clean handwriting.

You opened it with trembling fingers.

I thought of you, the note read. Simple. Honest.

"I noticed you're always out of ink because you let other people borrow your pens," he said softly, watching your reaction. "And I know you get headaches during long lectures—you press your temples with your thumbs when you're trying not to draw attention to it. So there's some caffeine-free tea in there too."

Your chest tightened. Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. He’d noticed all of that?

“I... uh...”

Then he asked it. Calmly, without fanfare, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?"

Your brain lagged, your breath stalling in your throat. Your fingers clenched tighter around the box.

"Why?" you blurted. Then quickly, eyes wide, you stammered, "I mean—I didn't even know you were interested in me."

For a beat, he was silent. Then his eyes softened, his posture relaxing just slightly. His thumbs pressed gently along the edge of his sleeves.

"I am," he said. "I have been for a while. You're always thoughtful. You don't speak just to fill space. You listen. You think before you act. I admire that."

The air caught in your chest. You looked down at the box, then back up at him.

He added, voice quieter now, "You don’t have to decide now. I just wanted you to know it wasn’t an accident that I asked. I see you. Even if you don’t always see yourself."

You bit your lip. Your hands were trembling slightly as you clutched the box tighter against your chest. "You're... really good at this," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath.

"I’m nervous," he admitted, eyes flicking away for just a second. He adjusted the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder. "But I meant what I said. I like you."

Your throat was dry, but your heart was full. Full in a way it hadn't been before.

You nodded slowly, smile shy. "Okay. Yes. I’d like that. Saturday, right?"

A tiny smile curved at the corner of his mouth—small but warm, the kind that made your chest flutter.

"Saturday," he confirmed.

He glanced down the hallway toward the gym, then back at you.

"I have practice now," he said gently, taking a small step back. "But I’ll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded, this time more confidently.

He gave one final lingering look—eyes lingering not on your face but the way you held the box close to you like it meant something—and then turned and walked away, each step measured and light.

You stayed rooted in place.

Blushing, stunned, your arms wrapped tightly around the little box as if it might disappear. You stood there for what felt like ages, listening to the echoes of his footsteps until they faded down the stairwell.

And when you finally looked back at the note in your hand, reading I thought of you one more time, your heart bloomed in your chest.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t so scary after all.

[seasidefallenangel]

𓆩♡𓆪 good men die too, i'd rather be with you 𓆩♡𓆪

valentine's day headcanons ft; kanata yatonokami, tenn kujo, sunday, nagi seishiro

notes: fluff, bit suggestive in tenn's

༄ kanata yatonokami:

✣ it’d be a lie to say he’s ever held something so commercial as valentine’s day in high regard. all the overpriced stuff in stores and seeing an onslaught of affection in public made him roll his eyes at best and sick to his stomach at worst.

✣ even after dating you, he’s still not that big of a fan. honestly, he wasn’t even planning on doing much of anything but nayuta nearly crucified him for that idea. 

✣ (nayuta thinks it’s a miracle kanata even has a partner with how unromantic he is.)

✣ gritting his teeth and bearing it, he takes you out to a more laid-back restaurant in hopes that you’ll like it. something on the high end scale would just be uncomfortable and out of place for him, but if you had really insisted he would do it for you.

✣ it’s so cute to see him obviously flustered yet trying to be on his best behavior for you. he’d normally tell you off for acting so smug and lovesick around him but he figures this is the one day he can let you get away with it.

⁀➷ “ugh, can you just… nevermind. don’t expect this all the time. you’re lucky i love you. no shit i said it outloud. you think i’d be doing all this if i didn’t?”

༄ tenn kujo:

✣ obviously trigger’s angel is able to woo his partner. what kind of idol would he be if he didn’t devote every piece of himself into satisfying you?

✣ as much as he’d love to take you out for the holiday, it’d just be too risky. sure he could wear a disguise but he feels as if that takes away from the intimacy of the holiday.

✣ so, the next best thing is to have a catered dinner at his house. how he got aya and kujo to leave is a mystery, but evidently it worked.

✣ everything about him is practiced and perfect, to the point where you tell him it’s okay to be a little more relaxed. it’s not that he’s trying to put up a front, it’s just that he’s so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

✣ at his core, tenn is a giver - to the point where he’d sacrifice his own wellbeing just to see your smile. there’s nothing he values more than making you happy, and it’s evident with every kiss he gives you, setting your heart ablaze as he takes you to his bedroom.

⁀➷ “i’m relieved everything went well. i wish i could’ve taken you on a traditional date, though. maybe sometime in the future? before we get married at least. … obviously i’m marrying you.”

༄ sunday:

✣ the (former) oak family head is no slouch. even if he’s never formally been in a relationship, he was raised right and knows how to treat you. 

✣ granted, the astral express isn’t exactly the ideal location. he’d much prefer to wine and dine, giving you only the best the cosmos have to offer. unfortunately, he’s also kind of broke after the events of penacony and his defecting, so an in-house date it is.

✣ that doesn’t mean it’s any less special than a traditional night out ; in fact, he puts twice the amount of effort into it. from perfecting a meal filled with your favorite dishes, to paying march and stelle to pick up some drinks and gifts on one of their rest stops.

✣ that of course is then curbed by dan heng giving sunday the most distressed look he’s ever seen, because why would anyone trust those two with a task like that? dan heng then takes it upon himself to get the proper gifts instead of the caterpillar farm suggested by stelle.

✣ the upside to the express is that the view is second to none. throughout dinner, sunday’s wings are fluttering a mile a minute as he watches you admire the stars and swirling galaxies that pass by. he can’t be bothered to look out the window when the most ethereal view is sitting across from him.

⁀➷ “can you look at me once more, dearest? no, nothing’s wrong. i just want to imprint this into my memory. if you had told me even a year ago i’d have you in my arms, i’d have assumed it was a terrible joke. i’m simply grateful the aeon’s have led us together.”

༄ nagi seishiro:

✣ reo is easily the most stressed out person in this scenario. for as sweet and clingy nagi is towards you, that boy is romantically dense. he figures he can get you a candy bar and call it a day, and reo is on the urge of strangling him for even suggesting it.

✣ flowers! gifts! chocolate! jewelry! fancy dinner! reo is trying to hammer in some more ideas into nagi’s brain and nagi’s expression grows more and more bored with every word. he even insists that he knows his partner and all of that stuff would probably overwhelm you (and make you think nagi had been kidnapped and brainwashed.)

✣ they compromise in the end. reo uses some connections to have a chef prepare dinner at nagi’s apartment and nagi gets off his lazy ass to buy you some flowers and a box of chocolate. for all his whining about existing being a hassle, he does listen to you pretty intently. he knows you think roses on valentine’s day is a bit too cliche, so he opts to get you something like a mixed bouquet with ranunculuses, daises, and lily of the valley’s.

✣ it’s sweet and very nagi. even in his own way, he’s able to show how much he adores you. you’re the only thing worth putting effort into in his eyes - all he demands is that you smother him in cuddles afterward.

⁀➷ “i told reo everything would be fine… why does he worry so much? i really like you, so i’m not gonna mess it up. everything is less annoying with you around. … did i say something weird?”

[wonryllis]

ENHYPEN MEETING THEIR LONG DISTANCE S/O FOR THE FIRST TIME.

────𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅.

( NOTES. ) enhypen as eager ducklings. fluff. fem!centered. revamp. lowercase intended. 1036wc. from my old acct. 𓈃 ๋ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 峠

𝒢𝓁𝒸 ─ LEE HEE-SEUNG. 이희승 spends the entire time after you tell him you’re coming in writing a perfect song for you. barely gets a blink of sleep the night before, keeps tossing and turning every second quite literally. re-reads your text conversations, and looks at the photos and videos of you that you shared. at the airport he has a board with your name in case you don’t recognize him with his mask on, his doe eyes are all wide to spot you from far away. honestly has probably learned half of the whole of your language to impress you. when you reach and he sees you, boy doesn’t even wait already rushing to hug you. cries as he rocks your body side to side and on the way back home keeps looking at you.

"you mean so much to me, i don't think i can stay away from you anymore,"

𝒢𝓁𝒸 ─ PARK JONG-SEONG. 박종성 gets and gives himself countless peptalks on how to not have an embarrassing episode. chooses his outfit, perfume, shoes, accessories everything he will have on very very carefully. is nervous to the point of pissing his pants, but forcefully keeps on a calm composure. he just wants to look perfect for you. definitely buys a sweet gift, and has it covered in a pretty wrapper with a handwritten letter inside. looks like a model waiting for you, hands in his pocket as he stands all tall with a cold expression. but the image is gone the moment you arrive, as he melts and gives you a big long kiss. holds onto your hand- has your fingers intertwined the whole ride back home.

"having you by my side is like the greatest gift ever, i hope i always have it,"

𝒢𝓁𝒸 ─ SIM JAE-YUN. 심재윤 is nervous since day one after he got to know you’re coming to meet him. calls you every night to talk about what you’re gonna do when you’re here. flirts a lot saying now that you’ll be together in real life for some time, he’s going to take full advantage of it. updates you on his every action on the day of your arrival even though he knows you can’t check your phone. takes out time to learn his favorite endearment terms in your language so that he can make you feel special. also please he’s not waiting, as soon as you’re in his line of sight, he’s sprinting to you, picking you up and twirling you in a hug like in the movies. attached at the hip to you the whole entire time. gives tons & all types of kisses until the day of your return.

"you're so much prettier in person, so beautiful and all mine,"

𝒢𝓁𝒸 ─ PARK SUNG-HOON. 박성훈 wakes up early to stand in the line and buy your favourite food from your favorite place. has all the members gathered to help him decide what he should wear, nitpicks on every detail. practices everyday what all he wants to say to you face to face, probably changes the wordings a lot. yet forgets everything when he lays his eyes on you as you come running to him. stumbles back a little before holding you tight against him. whispers how he missed you, almost cries, eyes brimming with tears and shuttering when trying to speak. stealing glances, and looking away smiling all shy now that you’re going to be next to him for a while. cannot for the love of god make eye contact, he malfunctions.

"you have no idea how much i love this right now and how much i love you,"

𝒢𝓁𝒸 ─ KIM SUN-WOO. 김선우 excited from the very beginning, prepares something handmade to give you. almost everyone he knows closely, knows that you’re coming, he just can’t stop talking about it. everyone at the airport can already guess that he’s waiting for someone special. practically screams your name before you run to each other and he’s squishing you a bone tight hug. showers your entire face with kisses, while squealing and asking if this real and you’re actually here. for sure you both cry saying how much you wanted to meet and now, finally. he absolutely cannot stop giggling and smiling with his eyes the entire time of your stay. does not bother acknowledging anyone that's not you.

"your smile is so cute, i feel so lucky to be the one you smile at,"

𝒢𝓁𝒸 ─ YANG JUNG-WON. 양정원 spends the entire morning at the flowershop picking out the perfect bouquet to show his love for you. also buys these little couple bracelet set he came across on the way to the airport. probably has a serious talk with heeseung or jake the night before. you bet jungwon's secretly learnt your language, has a big speech prepared in it. waits at the airport terminal looking like a soft bunny, breathing calm but exploding inside. noticing your figure, excitedly walks to the other side of the barrier, calling out your name with a smile. gives you the flowers then holds both of your hands as he speaks, small tears dropping. kisses your eyes when you start crying too.

"you're beyond precious to me, it feels like i'm addicted to you,"

𝒢𝓁𝒸 ─ NISHIMURA RI-KI. 西村力 so nervous he thinks he'll pass out any moment. asks for all kind of advice from everyone he knows and notes it down on his notes app. acts out a fake scenario in his head of how he's going to jump you, hug the hell out of you, pepper you with kisses and absolutely make it so cute without crying. but the moment he sees you, poor baby starts sobbing like anything. it's so overwhelming, walks up to you in quick steps and pulls you into a tight hug. nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, apologizing for 'ruining' this but he just so happy that you're here. after he's calm down it's just a shy boy. takes you both a while to get rid of the shyness but it's all really cute honestly.

"no one has ever made me feel the way you do, you're really my special person,"

TAGLIST ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat . .

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter X: To Be A Hidden Treasure…

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

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

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

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

REMINDER: This is a heavier chapter that hits MOST of those warnings and your safety and comfort comes before everything! Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you would like clarification about this chapter’s subject matter.

Author’s Note: Hi Everyone! Thank you so much for reading Straight Laced, I'm so happy I can finally show you the last chapter of this exhilarating story. Including this chapter, you will have read 70,249 words of my writing, and I'm so, so grateful for your time. I have more to say about this fic all the way at the bottom of this post, so I'll keep this brief and leave you with one helpful hint: the part of the grand pas that Y/n is talking about can be found at 2:56 in the video I linked. With that, I hope this chapter is everything you've all been so patiently waiting for. And more.

Happy Reading!!

Dan <3

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER |

MASTERLIST

Postlude

February, 1889

The Imperial Ballet School, Russia

The frosty draft of St. Petersburg’s unforgiving winter slipped underneath The Imperial Ballet School’s multitude of long windows, sending a chill through the air. A thick layer of frost shrouded the dance studio’s large windows, both shielding the expansive room from both the outside, and the outside from seeing inside. 

The soft piano played the beginning notes of Giselle’s Act I scene where she realizes that the young man who had been courting her had been lying about his identity. The Duke Albrecht had been posing as a peasant to woo the beautiful village girl, but now, one of the woman’s competing suitors exposed his lie. With the truth exposed, Giselle fell into heartbroken panic. 

The first ballerina of two in consideration for the role started to arrange her body into the beginning steps into Giselle’s pained rendition of her previous pas de deux with the disguised duke. The dance, once loving and serene, was now supposed to be frantic and wrecked with pain, as displayed by the ballerina’s stricken expression. 

Seconds before she could begin, the ballet master knocked her cane into the floor, halting all—the ballerina, the music, any onlookers. When the cane came crashing down, nobody breathed.

“Anastasia Gusev. How many hours did you rehearse this week?” Irina Abramova demanded, scrutiny weighing heavily on her drawn eyebrows and pursed lips.

Without waiting for Natasha’s response, the ballet master continued in Russian, shaking her head, red-rouged lips pursed. “Whatever it was, it is far from enough. The combination has not even started yet, and I can already see you are doing it wrong. In fact, if I made you step outside naked and beg for change, holding a sign that says ‘I cannot dance,’ you would not feel anywhere close to the amount of shame I feel at this moment for considering you,” the retired prima ballerina noted. “I may even hate myself now. Because of you.” 

No matter the chill of the gelid weather that the winter sighed into the room, nothing was more biting than Irina’s commentary. Still, in the face of her heart shattering, Natasha held her chin high and rolled her shoulders back, biting down on the fact that she’d put in over 50 hours of work in that past week. She’d skipped most meals, most full nights of sleep, with the specific intent to secure Giselle. 

Now? The young ballerina felt her eyes sting with tears that threatened to fall. Fury squeezed at her chest.

Clearing her throat, Irina addressed the rest of the class. Her gnarled hands tapped her cane against the smooth floor, her onyx gaze alight with determination. Per usual, the ballet master kept her wiry gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, reminiscent of the ballerina bun she wore in her prime. 

“Does Anastasia here resemble our Giselle, right now? Does she portray a woman descending into madness after her lover has betrayed her? I want to see a heartbroken tour de force. I want to be rendered speechless from the sheer depth of emotion on your face.” 

Giving Natasha another bored once over, Irina looked disinterested. She addressed the class once more. “Honestly! Is anyone rendered speechless? I certainly am not.”

As Natasha expected, the rest of the company betrayed her, mumbling their doubts, shaking their heads, weakly suppressing their snide smiles. They never failed to disappoint her. Natasha bit her tongue, swallowing down her desire to challenge them to portray Act One’s infamous Mad Scene better than she. No one else wanted this role like she did.

The wrinkles marring Irina’s face creased with her satisfied expression, watching Natasha’s face redden. She was well-aware of the young ballerina’s hatred of her first name, her hatred of her company members. This humiliation was more effective than anything—more than the feeling of Irina’s cane digging itself into Natasha’s lower back to correct her posture, or dodging a swing at her lowering leg. Irina swung at lowering legs to inspire dancers to hold arabesques more firmly. 

The young dancer could withstand any pain, save for this public humiliation.

“Anastasia, show yourself to the barre. I am growing tired of your mediocrity—your intent to waste our time. Faina Nikotinova, you will be my Giselle. Anastasia, do try to improve. Before I send you outside to freeze some talent into you,” her eyes flashed meaningfully, insinuating that her earlier words were not just a threat. They were a promise If Natasha couldn’t improve her dancing. 

But she had. Irina was simply refusing to allow her to perform.

“You did not let me start,” Natasha snapped, raising her blue eyes to meet Irina’s. Her hands curled into fists, her manicured nails digging into her palms. Faina wasn’t half the dancer she was—her jumps were lazy, she was too chubby to last much longer. Irina had said it herself, and that was the most offensive aspect of this.

“There was no need to. Now, go away. Better yet, leave my school. I do not tolerate this attitude in my company and I have no desire to see you again,” Irina replied coolly, motioning for Faina to take the center of the floor. She tapped her cane against the floor to cue the piano back. 

Hot, angry tears brimmed in Natasha’s eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. Fine. Fine. If Irina wished for Duck Butt to lead the company as Giselle, she was more than welcome to choose her and watch the company sink under her mediocrity.

The force Natasha slammed the door with caused the walls to tremble. The muffled laughter from behind her sparked molten rage to flow through her veins. Surely she’d go mad if she was made to face such a stunning defeat again.

May, 1890

The Royal Opera House

No one could compare to Natasha Gusev‘s Aurora in The Royal Opera House’s first and breathtaking run of Sleeping Beauty, the product of sleepless nights spent slaving at the barre. Spent rehearsing her expressions in a mirror, forcing herself to learn to tear up on command, envisioning the very moment that Faina stole her opportunity. 

Anastasia died in Petrograd. Natasha would never allow herself to be humiliated in such a way again. She’d sooner die.

Natasha practiced until she passed out, until her feet bled and swelled, and her legs cramped. She worked herself harder than Irina could ever dream of, drilling the same moves and sequences into her body until she could dance them in her sleep. 

The ballerina had fought for this, brandished her soul for it, pushed herself through classes that were taught in a language she couldn’t understand. The only language Natasha shared with Londoners was the French terminology used in ballet. She could hardly decipher the rest: not the abuse, not the praise. It took much longer for her to master English than it did for her to secure this coveted role.

And Natasha’s reward was thundering applause, night after night. Each adoring yell louder than the last. They had come to watch her, in spite of the lies that cursed school poisoned her mind with. She made this company the best in London—if not, Europe. She had no idea what came of Faina and The Imperial Ballet’s run of Giselle, but it didn’t matter.

Nonetheless, it didn’t take long for Natasha’s star to capture more attention than she had initially bargained for, either. Alongside the unabashed adoration for her dancing came competition for her. That was how she found herself at the center of William Wood’s attention—his gray eyes lingered on her, no matter where she found herself. 

They would narrow each time she met with a new subscriber, they’d scan her with consideration each time he pulled up a chair and watched the company rehearse. William liked to claim that he was merely interested in the artistic integrity of the show, but from the way he’d bite his lip and adjust his trousers, everyone knew better. Everyone understood that he was the heir to the business supporting the Opera House—everything would belong to him in a decade or so. 

Natasha was the center of her own world. She had her patrons to satisfy, the stage to alight with her talent. The ballerina made a careful effort to rebuff William without ever needing to speak with him. 

That was, until he outsmarted her one dawn. He’d waited in the Opera House’s main rehearsal room—Natasha’s favorite because of the tall mirrors that lined the walls. 

“Hello, there,” William said, flashing his most winning smile at her. He couldn’t have been much older than Natasha. “You’re the principal dancer, aren’t you?” The young man had been poised on his usual chair from the side of the studio, but he stood to meet her. 

“Yes,” Natasha’s words were clipped because she could see through his disposition. He knew who she was—he was pretending not to. “If you would excuse me—” she immediately took a step back, preferring to rehearse in private. Or anywhere William was not. The prima ballerina shouldered her bag and turned to leave, only to freeze at the sound of her full name.

“Anastasia is a powerful name. Did you know it means resurrection?” William asked, chancing several steps closer. He caught her wrist, but maintained a lax grip. She could pull away if she wished to. 

“My name is Natasha,” she corrected crisply, her blank expression unchanged. 

“I’m William Wood,” he ignored her, gently guiding her closer. Now, she could see a kaleidoscope of different gray shades, ranging from near-white to intense storm clouds. “Did you know my name means desire?” 

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed, unimpressed with his onomastics lesson. “How lovely,” she answered flatly, extricating her hand. Now, his sterling gaze landed on her thin lips, wanting to kiss her, presumably. “I really should be going. I have to rehearse—if you know that I am the prima ballerina, then…” leave me be, she wanted to conclude.

Instead, Natasha let her words hang in the air, allowing William to put them together on his own.

“Look—wait, all I mean is…” William paused, moistening his lips. Clearly, he was unused to the prospect of no.  “You’re flawless. And I would simply like the chance to…”

“To what?” Natasha asked indignantly, allowing the offense she took to show on her face. Normally, she wasn’t quite so harsh against these advances—she had a tendency to simply allow herself to enjoy the attention she received from such men—but William? Now? The sun hardly had a chance to start the day, and this man had put all of this time and planning into seducing her? 

“I like you. I would like the chance to get to know you. Beyond the dancing because there’s clearly so much more to get to know,” he clarified, softening his expression into something more intimate. “Please, Natasha.” 

The ballerina was unsure if she relented because of William’s honeyed words, the way his steel gaze reminded her of a singular spotlight focused on her, or because he was the heir to the Opera House, but she felt her resolve crumble. After all, there were plenty of other ballerinas who glowed with envy of her in the first place. Natasha loved to imagine how their hatred of her would intensify with William Wood courting her. That thought would feel better than any seduction tactic he could try on her.

It took weeks of flowers, lavish gifts, and fiery touches stolen between rehearsals before Natasha agreed to marry him. They were in William’s Southampton home, entangled with one another in his bed, unclothed. Sweaty after a round of passionate sex because it made William tired and affectionate. The perfect combination for an agreeable mood in a man. 

“Marry me. Be my wife,” the man practically begged, kissing Natasha’s knuckles. It wasn’t the first time he asked, his father John having pressured him into proposing ever since the rumors of their sneaking around began. It was indecent behavior of William—not unexpected, but embarrassing to the Woods, their eldest son messing around with a foreign dancer. “Please. You’re all I want, Nat,” he sighed, burying his face into the crook of her neck, kissing the clammy skin there as well. 

No one in the company could claim that Natasha was the principal dancer because she was sleeping with William, either. Her talent more than spoke for itself, illuminating the stage just as much as the spotlights did. The ballerina was addicted to this pining of his, the fortune she’d come into by taking his name. He was a puppy of a man that would be at her side, hanging onto her every word, touch, and glance so long as she could maintain her perfection. It just so happened that he had direct access to generations of wealth and influence.

“All right, Will. We can get married,” she relented, only for the man to pull her into an intense kiss, his fingers running through her unruly brown curls. 

For months, her life was blissful. 

Natasha maintained her position as prima ballerina, and they were married, which also ended her responsibilities at the dance foyer. Being married to William gave Natasha the right to all of the Opera House’s paperwork, granting her information on each of her company members, the ballet’s revenue—noting the spike in sales with delight, considering it had come in tandem with her publicity. Having a run of the same show continue for so long was unprecedented, but Natasha’s performances sold out each night. The company was only beginning its considerations for the next ballet’s lead.

Accordingly, Natasha would dance almost day and night. She ate once a day, if she remembered to, more intent on maintaining the lean body that kept jealous suitors leering. The more they looked, the more William spent for her, the more he doted on her. All the more fulfilled the young dancer felt, the more she desired.

Another starring role, more lovers, more press coverage. More rehearsal time. 

Natasha etched the hard work into her bones... until it broke her. 

She remembered searing pain in her hip, crashing to the floor. And she found herself undone against the rehearsal room’s floor, the clammy wood cold against her cheek. Yelling out for William, lips pursed with pain she refused to allow to surface past. She would never allow herself to cry. 

The doctors had given her a prescription for morphine powder for the pain. They suggested she stop dancing for the next year or two, but the morphine had done plenty for her discomfort. Enough for Natasha to refuse giving her position to a ballerina who couldn’t have put a quarter of sacrifice into earning her role. 

No—anyone else interested would need to pry it out of her cold, dead grip. 

Each day, Natasha’s extensive routine only grew harder to sustain: rehearsing for the company’s future run of Mlada and perfecting any movement she might have mishandled as Aurora from the evening before. She would mix the morphine powder into her tea between rehearsals, between acts, before she met her husband each night.

Stopping now would be a death sentence with early casting for Mlada so close…there was no doubt the director would care to cast Natasha in the lead if she seemed unreliable. 

Anyone who wanted it enough would see themselves through, Natasha reminded herself. In time, my body will learn to keep up. 

Smile through it. Hold back your tears. Smile through it.

Natasha held her life together through the painkiller and sheer force of will, but it was only a matter of time before the injury became unbearable. Overly stiff, Natasha’s hips began to lock, ruining her range of motion. She could no longer hold her arabesques. 

The pain had spread down to her groin and her backside, those joints as good as rusting door hinges, stiffening with each movement.

Weeks after her initial fall, Natasha collapsed on the rehearsal floor. Again. Only this time, she couldn’t hold her tears at bay, an incredibly dark (and realistic) part of the young woman knowing fully well that it had been her last day in pointe shoes. 

“You need a break. Be reasonable, Nat.” William ordered bluntly, shoving the cane in her hands days after. Weary of her and the same tedious argument. “Would you prefer to need a full-time wheelchair before 25?”

Natasha held the ivory cane in her hands, testing its weight. She frowned at the medical accessory, feeling her life slip away each second she held the cursed thing. Her husband, as typical of him, didn’t understand. Ballet had been her purpose—she’d been put on the Earth to capture the breath of an audience. And now?

She was a disturbing failure. How could she look at herself in the mirror?

“Will…” Natasha fixed her hard gaze on her husband, reading his mounting frustration with her like a book. 

“Shut. Up.” She all but threw the cane back at her husband and the offending doctor who brought it into their home. She slammed the door behind her in an attempt to charge back to their shared bedroom. Though unsurprisingly, she only accomplished a few short paces before her hip locked, failing Natasha’s next step and sending her to the ground again.  

The former ballerina couldn’t hold back her tears, this time. They fell in droves, in pained sobs. The grievous sound of an ingénue knowing her life was over.

“Come on, Nat,” William said in the same tired voice, attempting to help lift her off the floor. 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” Natasha waved him off haphazardly, hiding her face. She heard William's heavy, retreating steps.  

Nearly a year into Natasha’s injury, she’d become proficient with her walking cane. Technically, she could hobble clumsily without the assistance, but watching the rest of the company’s pitying gaze at the sight of her ungainliness became overwhelming. If she was to be the Opera House’s new ballet master and director, no one could pity her.

There was no room in ballet for pity. Only perfection.

So, she preferred to test the dancers around her. Break the weak ones—the ones who turned to dancing out of desperation, failing to understand that it was an elusive skill that required years of nurturing. She liked to push them until they fractured like a mirror, leaving the company on their own accord or giving Natasha a valid reason to excuse them. Particularly the ones her husband was bedding behind her back and mortifying her with. 

“I’m so sorry, Natasha, I didn’t even– I don’t even want him!” Norah Vincent cried out, “please just listen to me, please!” 

The young ballerina chased her director up the cement stairs leading from the Opera House’s lowest floor—where the largest rehearsal room was located—to the first floor. It was late at night, and there wasn’t a soul on the property, save for them. Natasha had reserved the pleasure of informing Norah that she knew fully well of the liberties she’d taken with William until they were alone, more interested in watching the young woman’s composure implode as a private show. To ensure such an outcome, Natasha waited until the end of their private rehearsal to inform Norah of her termination. The ballerina didn’t even have the chance to unlace her pointe shoes. 

“No. You will make yourself scarce from my company. I like Analisse better for Mlada, so you were bound to be let go soon, anyhow,” Natasha answered indifferently, keeping her face impassive. She knew that the aloofness in her statement would make Norah feel just as worthless as she was as a dancer.

“I don’t understand, please. I need this work. Please. Just allow me one more chance,” Norah continued, struggling to keep pace with Natasha. 

“You sleep with my husband, and even worse, you continue to curse my stage with your mediocrity, and you have the audacity to ask me for another chance? After all of the chances I’ve already given you?” The ballet master plunged her cane against the top of the final stair for leverage to reach the top. “I told you that if I gave you Mlada, you would need to work on your stamina and flexibility night and day. I see no change.” 

Natasha finally turned around to face the weeping ballerina, watching her trudge up the remaining stairs. Crying was so ugly.

“I swear I practice every day, I-I-I…” Norah couldn’t even decide which claim to refute first. “I only…I just,” she wiped her face. “I love this company, and dancing, and…” she begged. “I do my very best each and every day, I practice, I stretch, I observe, I listen. Don’t you see?”

Norah still had a functioning body. Her health and mobility. All the time in the world. There was no excuse. Natasha practically gift wrapped and handed Norah her career.

The director’s head pounded, frustrated tears begging to fall from her eyes. What was there to not understand? Norah simply didn’t want the success enough or she would give every spare moment to cultivating her skills.

“Stop. Blubbering.” Natasha ordered sharply, turning on her heel to continue to her office. Norah had just stepped up to the level floor, the expansive staircase behind her. 

“N-No! I need you to hear me! Haven’t you ever made a mistake? You know, I don’t understand why you always have to demand perfection! From everyone! No matter how hard we try or how hard we–” 

“That’s enough!”

Without another thought, Natasha found herself turning around. Her cane fell to the floor as she put all of her strength into shoving Norah down the stairwell. Of course, it hadn’t been her plan to dispose of the ballerina in such a way. Really, it should have been horrifying, but Natasha couldn’t force herself to feel any bit of remorse. Her squealing had given her quite a headache.

In fact, when Natasha failed to find a pulse from the young woman’s lifeless body, she felt the first sense of true gratification she’d felt in months. As her shoulders had been relieved of a burden as heavy as the world.

And each time afterwards, it only grew easier. Each time, Natasha planned a bit more intricately. She could only win: if the Yard took notice, all signs would point to her power-drunk husband, leaving Natasha to his assets. Revenge.

It became a game of strategy: who, when, where, how. 

Louise, Georgina, and Mabel were a blur over the course of the next few weeks. They disappeared, Natasha explained they couldn’t handle the burdens from the company and resigned, no one questioned her. Most ballerinas didn’t have family, the profession often a last resort for income. The public deemed them prostitutes: unworthy of care.

Sophia, Harriet, and Analisse had moved to new companies, but that didn’t stop her. Natasha knew who her husband had seen. Who betrayed her. They wore their guilt on their sleeves. It didn’t matter if they transferred to new companies—how could they be allowed to live after betraying their mentor? They were mediocre ballerinas, anyhow, merely ensemble members that Natasha stuck in the back of formation. 

The Yard was never finding them.

Eliza had a host of lethal allergies. All it took was a well-timed cross-contamination—it was only a matter of time. 

Janet was weak. Natasha probably could have asked the girl to jump off of the Tower Bridge and she would have done it, surely. 

Amelié never noticed that her perfume bottle was tampered with. Dimethylmercury was a life-changing discovery on Natasha’s part. Honestly, Natasha wished she’d used it with all of the nuisances that came before her… and after. 

The new success should have satisfied Natasha. Until Maisie—her first mistake. As if marrying some fraud was a feat to be proud of. Maisie thought it appropriate to inform Natasha that she was leaving the Opera House company for a new opportunity, an unseemly topic at her husband’s gallery reveal. Somehow, Terrance had offered to co-found his ballet company with Maisie as the star. And this came a week after the Yard fell for the trap Natasha had set, having followed her carefully planned trail of breadcrumbs that implicated her dear, cheating husband for murdering his company members. She simply had to make an appearance at the event to save face for the Wood family—setting the narrative straight before the press could.

Natasha would have been able to successfully send William to prison in her stead, had she not lost her temper the night of that bloody gala. She;d only gone to safe face after William’s arrest, after all. To manage the poor publicity his infidelity would poison Natasha’s hard work with.

“My husband is renovating the Pavillion Theatre. You know what that means? It means that I don’t need you pestering me anymore! You’re practically an old maid, a bloody relic now, you know that?” Maisie grinned, euphoric with the ability to finally speak freely. She’d asked Natasha to step out from the museum with her, and the ballet master had suspected it was to discuss something unseemly when there was a lack of witnesses around. 

“You have no idea how much we all hate you, Natasha.”

Those were Maisie’s last words. Because Natasha had pulled out William’s Flintlock Pocket Pistol and shot her. She hardly had any time to ensure Maisie was dead before fleeing the scene, tucking her walking cane under her arm. Best of luck with your new company, Blondie. 

After that blunder, Natasha had a choice. Herself, or Y/n Y/l/n, a French girl who happened upon the wrong man and his misguided investigation at the wrong time. In Natasha’s haste, she’d also lost control again, landing her at a criminal sentencing at London’s City Hall. 

Y/n was willing to destroy her opponents to succeed. Y/n had been the first ballerina Natasha had finally considered to be somewhere near the eminence of her own former glory, and had ended her, handing her a crushing defeat. 

Natasha should have put the dimethylmercury in Y/n’s make-up much sooner, arsenic in that wine she self-soothed with. By the time Natasha had offered Y/n that toast, there was no chance that she would have accepted a drink from her. Waiting had sealed Natasha’s fate to this wretched courtroom. 

Thundering applause and scarce cheering pulled Natasha from her thoughts. She must have missed her sentencing, lost in her ruminating, judging by the immediate lift in the courtroom’s somber atmosphere. 

This entire audience wanted her punished for her choices. Why? She felt the magnitude of her decisions spoke for themselves.

The former prima ballerina stared back into the prima ballerina’s vacant gaze from the defendant’s table, attempting to dissect the poison Y/n regarded her with. 

For the first time since St. Petersburg, Natasha could confidently say what Giselle was supposed to look like.

November 25, 1895

London City Hall

“Anastasia Natalia Gusev-Wood, this court sentences you to lifelong service in the Reading Gaol Correctional Facility with no chance of appeal,” the judge announced. 

The room— the press, sparse onlookers including the few bereaved family members of victims, cheered, but the woman only stared at you. She didn’t react to her sentencing or the relief that erupted from the room. All she fixated on was you, her face illegible. 

You refused to give the killer the satisfaction of analyzing your mood, the opportunity to insert herself in your head. Violent narcissists like her craved attention like flies to fruit. Instead, you released your captive breath and sent a tired look to Ciel to signal your readiness to leave. This woman was nobody to you: the result of a vain monster picking and choosing which lessons to take from ballet.

It was an art form before it was a competition. And certainly, no competition should ever lead to bloodshed. 

That was why you failed to feel any semblance of relief, even as you watched the officers escort Natasha away in handcuffs. You had still failed so many of your kin: eleven dead, their stories stolen and suppressed. The killer had painted them as weak after their deaths, dishonoring them, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. You couldn’t have been more wrong to ignore each and every one. 

You hardly remembered the sound of Norah Vincent’s voice. The color of her hair. In fact, save for Amelié, you didn’t know any of these victims on a personal level—you remembered how tall Mabel was because you were envious; Louise had trouble with her stamina because she was newer to the company; Georgina always had a smile on her face, she let you borrow her scissors to break in a new pair of shoes. That was all you could recall. Other than these minute instances, you hadn’t bothered to concern yourself with anyone besides yourself, and failed to notice these disappearances happening right under your nose. The Yard couldn’t even find the bodies of Norah, Mabel, Louise, Georgina, Sophia, Harriet, and Analisse, severely limiting the investigation you and Ciel could accomplish for them.

Even worse, you failed to piece together the evidence pointing to Natasha and refused to listen to Ciel’s concerns. You had allowed your personal feelings to erode your judgment, delaying the investigation. 

How could you feel a sense of victory, when so much had been lost? 

The only way you could proceed was honoring them in death, especially now that their true killer was brought to justice.

“Ciel, I want to bring the flowers over before it becomes too dark” You requested, referring to the bouquets you asked Sebastian to arrange. Given that most of the victims did not have any next of kin— or were the sole earners for their destitute relatives— Ciel personally took on their burial expenses. Apparently, he had a personal contact working in the burial industry. An Undertaker. 

Additionally, you wished to always honor their memorials with fresh florals. 

“Certainly. Our work is complete here, for now,” Ciel answered, ending the officer he’d been talking to away with a nod. 

Later 

The Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park

The sun started to descend below the treeline, casting a shadow over the graves lined in front of you and Ciel. Norah Vincent, Louise Crowley, Georgina Dawson, Mabel Hughes, Sophia Ludwig, Harriet White, Analisse Sterling, Eliza O’Malley, Janet Fischer, and Amelié Langston. All of the victims, save for Maisie Stannard. Distraught, her husband opted to bury her with his family.

“Do you think this really makes a difference?” You asked Ciel, standing from your kneeling position. You dirtied the front of your plain dress from kneeling in the dirt to arrange the flowers around the headstones. It was too cold to plant them, but they did make a lovely display of white and baby blue among the warm autumnal foliage.

The wind made the bare tree branches rustle and their fallen leaves dance, but thankfully, it left the white flowers you placed unmussed. You placed a combination of daisies, blue irises, and calla lilies around them, hoping their serene beauty might bring some peace to the souls around. Though most of these graves were missing bodies, you still hoped their spirits would resonate with the resting place. Body and mind were separate entities, no?

“I believe it does.” Ciel answered, dusting off his knees. He righted himself after you, having helped you arrange the flowers. You were clear that the flowers were a project you were set on seeing through with your own two hands, and apparently, that resonated with the Earl. Enough for him to accompany you and even help. You vowed that you would visit these graves as often as you needed to keep the flowers fresh. 

Remembrance was the least you could do, given that you hardly remembered most of the ballerinas in life.

Stepping back to admire the full picture of your work, you lit a cigar. You always kept a small humidor box in your deep coat pocket, along with a small knife to cut the cap and cedar spills to light it.

“My aunt adored the color red,” Ciel recalled, nostalgia softening his stoic face. “Sebastian and I filled the church with red rose petals, and I brought her favorite scarlet gown—she would have thought that white gown they had her in the most plain thing she’d ever seen. I believe she rested easier, knowing that she was being honored.”

“That sounds lovely,” you said, looking up from your igniting cigar to properly look at Ciel. He’d gone through those extra lengths just to make his aunt’s soul feel better at rest, despite never being able to know if the efforts made a difference. And yet, he liked to act like the most selfish man to walk the Earth. But he wasn’t. Far from it. Instead, he pulled at your heart and tugged at your stomach. “She must have enjoyed that. I’m sorry to hear you lost her.”

“I believe she did,” Ciel said, addressing your apology with a miniscule smile. It was barely there, no more evident than the corners of his lips pulling upward. He watched you take a long drag of your cigar in slow, deliberate puffs, as always. “And I think these women know that you brought their killer to justice, above all. Surely that matters a great deal to them.”

Watching smoke from your lips dissipate into the atmosphere, you chuckled sadly. You shook your head, rejecting the notion that you brought Natasha to justice. “You would have caught onto her sooner without me—you mistrusted Natasha from the start. You warned me last week, and I’m confident she tried to poison me that night.”

“She did a masterful job of framing her husband. I would have arrested him regardless, and I wouldn’t have access to investigating either of them without you. I’ve told you once, I shall repeat it a thousand times, if I have to: you were instrumental to our investigation,” Ciel took a short pull from your cigar. The days where he would admonish you for the habit felt like decades past.

Our investigation. You could have sworn your traitorous heart skipped a beat. Your palms felt clammy. After you confronted Natasha and her subsequent arrest last week, you and Ciel had been, for the most part, cautious around one another. The two of you were unsure of the boundaries that mutual forgiveness meant without a proper conversation. There simply hadn’t been any time, given the legal chaos that erupted between convicting a wife and husband for separate, yet related, crimes.

“A thousand times, you say? I may have to consider that request,” you said, smiling to denote your joke. Your cheeks felt traitorously warm, your smile unfortunately bashful. The Earl did this to you without trying.

Because you still loved him. The first man to notice anything about you beyond your looks and your dancing. The first man to care for your wellbeing, and take the time to unlearn the bitter beliefs that his class instilled into him. He fought for you, even when you had demanded he didn’t. But that didn’t mean he didn’t reject you the morning after you gave yourself to him. It certainly didn’t erase the fact that he’d danced with another woman in front of you. 

The misunderstanding between you may as well have been a chasm at the time. But now, you were each gradually bridging that gap in equal strides. 

Was that fair? You supposed not— Ciel was made to dance with another woman, just as fiercely as her duchess bullied her way into afternoon tea with him. And she had lied to you. Ironically, given the way she’d considered you vulgar. Was it not vulgar to lie in British polite society? Or was it only acceptable because she was lying to a commoner? 

“So long as you don’t overdo it, I shall oblige,” the Earl relented, meeting your eyes in the longest bout of eye contact you shared in two weeks. You almost forgot the sheer depths of sea Ciel’s eye held, and the intelligence those sapphire leagues captured. Mesmerizing—it was a shame that the fire damaged his other eye so severely. He, like you, was alone. Save for his staff. 

You accepted your cigar back, enjoying the taste of it on your tongue, the heat in your lungs a burning constant. You closed your eyes for a moment, appreciating the crisp air. Less than a month away from winter, you relished in this weather. Chilly, but not freezing. The best weather for a cigar. 

“I…” you started, your face red. “Thank you, Ciel,” you said, a touch more earnestly than you had meant to. But honesty was the only way to move forward, you felt. 

“Ballet…the aesthetic differs from all other professions. We have to hide all of our pain and discomfort behind a smile— make an illusion for our audiences.” There was no retreating, now that you’ve started. Ciel had already seen behind your facade—there was no meaning in reinforcing capitulated defenses. “Growing up in it from a young age, I suppose… I started to hide too much. I stopped trying to be close with others, and I-I thought you didn’t care for me anymore…” you admitted. 

You thought about the way all of your ballet instructors reminded you to maintain a pleasant face during rehearsals and performances, even though all of the contortions were unnatural to the human body. The best ballerina in the world was worthless if she couldn’t shroud her pain behind her character.

No matter how you felt, you had to maintain a pleasant face for the audience, the ballet patrons that paid your school (and later, the Opera House) for the right to your body. All to allow you to make a salary that kept you just above the poverty line. You had never dropped your pleasant face until you realized how false it was, the product of habit and sheer necessity. Everything had to appear effortless, even when it was excruciating. That was the industry.

You couldn’t help but chuckle; not even two weeks ago, you would’ve defended these sacrifices.

“I can see that now,” Ciel admitted, taking a guilty pull from your cigar. You both watched the smoke escape into the atmosphere. The light of dusk made the sky look pink. “I must have been a classist fool to assume that all aspects of this profession happened at dancer’s volition.” 

“You were certainly a classist fool,” you affirmed with a playful smile. After taking a final hit from the cigar, you extinguished it beneath your boot heel. 

“I am aware, thank you,” Ciel answered pointedly, making the corners of your lips form a smile. 

“Though unfortunately, most everyone still thinks that way,” he took your hand in his. The Earl ran his thumb over the top of your hand. You both wore gloves now, a measure against the cold especially now that autumn was in full swing with winter just on the horizon. 

You hummed in response, knowing fully well the social abuse you’d take for having Ciel at your side. For daring to love a man this privileged society deemed above your stature. Gwen, that miserable woman, was only the beginning. But you were no stranger to critique—nothing could possibly sting as much as some of the commentary you’ve suffered in ballet school and in your professional career. You were strong.

“But it is not a tradition I will allow to continue,” Ciel said resolutely, meeting your eyes again. “I brought accounts of the prostitution and power imbalances to Her Majesty, and she has decided to purchase the Opera House. She will also be instituting a series of Theatre Company Reform Acts to ensure it ends here—Swan Laws, they want to refer to them.”

The meaning wasn’t lost on you. 

You didn’t know how to start thanking him. Instead, you threw your arms around him, your gloves curling into his thick coat. Hot tears slid down your cheeks, they had been slightly chilled from the soft wind, the cold chapping your lips somewhat as well. 

“I do not know where to begin,” you mumbled, settling into the way the Earl’s stiff posture relaxed to accommodate you. His coat was soft against your cheek, his arms came around your back to embrace you. You let your eyes flutter closed for a moment, appreciating the safety and strength he offered you. 

Ciel held you close, his hand rubbing your back languidly as you sniffled, your appreciative tears  rolled down your cheeks. “I will always be endlessly fascinated and enamored by you. It would be a privilege if you could reconsider being with me, after the confusion I caused you. I… tend to push the wrong people away. But you? I never could have asked for a better partner for this investigation, and otherwise.”

A new warmth spread in your cheeks. Your heartbeat thumped with hope, light from Ciel’s confession. How could you reject that? He saved you. He listened to you. He seemed sure.

You wiped away any tears left on your face. Words were never a strength of yours, you had always thought. 

“Ciel, I want to be with you,” you declared confidently, your smile glowing as you looked up at the Earl’s thoughtful expression. The worry he tried to hide from you. Your eyes fluttered closed again as you kissed him, his familiar lips immediately responding to yours. A gentle hand held the left side of your jaw, lightly brushing strands of your hair out of your face.  

“That is an honor I do not and will never take lightly again,” Ciel promised, his pensive gaze inspecting your face. He was the most exacting perfectionist you’d ever met; you could never decide what he was thinking when he regarded you so closely. 

“I’m not sure you could if you tried,” you affirmed, a shiver running down your back. The wind picked up, causing the trees around you to rustle and whisper. 

“I’ll have Sebastian bring the carriage around. It’s getting rather dark out here, now,” Ciel mumbled against your lips, pressing on one more innocent kiss before he retreated, keeping your hand in his as he guided you out of the cemetery. 

December 13, 1895

The Royal Opera House 

From your dressing room, you could hear the orchestra begin to play The Nutcracker’s overture, a jovial melody on strings. The chatter of the live audience was palpable through the thin walls, you could hear the theatre fill with attendees. The run of this show was delayed an extra two weeks as your company appointed new interim leadership to run the performances—- she was one of the ballet teachers who worked under the Woods. She used to teach the classes for the newest ballerinas, the most patient of the staff.

Without the previous director and the short hiatus between the end of Swan Lake and this premiere, the entire company was revitalized. You could hear it in the music. You could see it in everyone’s faces. Rehearsal the past week was magnetic: you were all ready for this evening. 

You beamed at yourself in your vanity mirror, enamored with your matching pink corset and tutu combination. Humming the intense melody of the Act II pas de deux with the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier, you started to pin your tiara to the top of your head, careful not to ruin your sleek bun. You were made of pure anticipation and energy, a sense of certainty that you had never known in your life. Once you secured the accessory, you dabbled extra lip rouge and blush to your face in hope. Stage lights always washed out performers’ complexions. 

“You look brilliant,” Ciel told you, rising from the loveseat to the side of your vanity. He closed his copy of The Nutcracker and the Mouse King and left it on the small table to the side of the chair. The ballet adaptation of the story was fairly recent in comparison, having premiered three years ago in St. Petersburg. Your production was one of the first to happen in England. Despite having significant plotting differences from the novella, the Earl insisted on reading the source material prior to watching your opening performance. 

“How do you feel? Will you be alright if I join the rest?” he asked you, understanding that the overture signaled the audience to find their seats. 

You couldn’t have smiled more, your wide, childish grin was unbreakable. For the first time, it was starting to strain your cheeks. You had everything and more than you could’ve possibly asked for: the greatest love you’d ever felt, your stomach was full, your costume sparkled. All of this on the heels of a short performance hiatus that left you more rested than ever, each day supplemented with dance class and rehearsal to keep your body in shape during the break. You’d never had so much strength going into a performance. Ever. 

“I am indestructible, Ciel,” you answered, rolling onto the platforms of your pointe shoes for added height. Kissing the Earl left his lips a bright shade of pink, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

“I shall take my leave for the time being then, mon trésor,” Ciel said, employing that endearing name you loved so much. His treasure. “If you might need me, you know where to look. And I will meet you back here afterwards.” 

Ciel made a sizable donation to the theater to ensure that the box on to the right of the stage was exclusive to him. Although Her Majesty took ownership of the property, she could not dedicate state funding without the Parliament; the Opera House would have needed to function without two week’s worth of performance revenue, had Ciel not intervened. He’d been watching from the box during your final dress rehearsal yesterday, and watching you rehearse your arrangements hours earlier. When Ciel could steal time away from his executive work for his company, he managed to immerse himself in your career, playing the piano when you rehearsed at home, and now, publicly supporting your debut as The Sugar Plum Fairy. 

“Thank you. Watch closely—I will be dancing for you,” you sent the Earl a playful wink as he left your dressing room. He left a parting kiss on your knuckles so as not to ruin your makeup. 

While you were heavily featured in most of the scenes of Swan Lake, now your appearance as Sugar Plum was concentrated into short, intense scenes back to back in the second act. That made your stamina all the more important as you needed to be regal and in control, detail-oriented with almost no breaks. 

That required every ounce of strength in your lower legs particularly, but you were prepared, when it came time. You were strong and fortified, learning to accept that as your vehicle, your body was beholden to better care. This full grand pas de deux consisted of a duet between you and Antoine, who played the Sugar Plum Fairy’s Cavalier—her romantic interest, followed by the Cavalier’s solo variation, your solo variation after, and finally, you both danced together again in the coda, or the finale. 

You were all but a firecracker. Knowing you had someone in the audience who mattered to you, feeling your body sufficiently rested and fed, were frankly magical sensations. For the past two weeks, Sebastian had you on an incredibly balanced food regiment— he suggested you eliminate the word diet from your vocabulary in a broader effort to reframe your thoughts around food— and you prioritized a full night of rest. The butler even had you dipping your feet in iced water after long rehearsals to reduce swelling and inflammation. You had no idea. 

Hard work was not equivalent to dragging your body through abuse each day and night. Skipping meals and sleep did not make you a better prima ballerina—it only made you vulnerable to injury.

In fact, with all of this care reinforcing your natural talent, you could have fought an army. You had already proven yourself a valiant soldier, maybe even more than you were a perfect heroine. You embodied many roles rather well. 

Now, your characters danced for Clara’s honor in Act II, signifying their gratefulness for her and the Nutcracker’s victory against the Mouse King in Act I’s battle scene. This grand pas came at the end of the celebration after numerous ensemble characters— Arabian princesses, Russian Cossacks, Spanish chocolate, as well as Dewdrop and her Flowers. 

You were serene yet playful, encapsulating the magnanimous fairy. You were one with both your partner and the music, the perfect unit. The Sugar Plum Fairy knew who she was quite well, independent of her Cavalier. Still, they moved together, perfectly in tune as the music built to its climax. You stopped on the exact same stage marks, your arms reached into the same space, even your legs mirrored one another. The Sugar Plum’s Cavalier lifted her confidently—there was no hesitation in the escort’s hold— he never once dropped her.

Even as he lifted his significant other atop his shoulder, Cavalier was unwavering. This strength was the physical manifestation of his love for his dear fairy: supporting her, reliably catching her in one of your favorite moments of the show. Running from stage right, you leapt into Antoine’s grip in the center of the stage. Your fingertips nearly touched above your head in the standard fifth position. 

At your high perch, you could only think to peer at the box where you knew the love of your life was watching you. While you couldn’t see any distinctive faces from the stage, all you cared to know was that Ciel was there. For you. 

You’d never been in such a partnership before, the object of someone’s genuine care and interest. Sure, you’d been a plaything, a temporary trophy to trifle with and discard when your novelty subsided. But no one had ever deemed you a treasure. Someone always worthy of an apology, protection, someone worthy of love—the sacrifice and hard work that came with it. All that value seemed to be hidden away, like precious gems. 

Catching you by the waist, Antoine tilted the upper half of your body towards the floor for a moment. Moving quickly to maintain momentum, he used the leverage to face the audience and place you back steadily on the platforms of your pointe shoes. You danced in tandem with one another, flawlessly showcasing the secure love between your characters: the adoring way the Cavalier cared for the Sugar Plum, and her own adoring trust in him as she jumped into his arms once again. He lifted her high, and she held him close. 

The Earl supported you, and you trusted him implicitly. 

On your pointe shoes, you let yourself tip backwards, knowing Antoine would catch you with the same certainty Ciel would kick down a door. For you. The Cavalier caught Sugar Plum by her waist and her extended leg, lifting slightly only to resettle her at his side. The characters were a couple in love. 

At the end of your second premiere as prima ballerina, you didn’t linger to further absorb the applause in front of you. Instead, you hurried back to your dressing room because you knew the most important person was waiting for you behind the curtains.

Epilogue 

“Ciel!” Your Earl had been awaiting you in the backstage wings, paces away from where you exited the stage. He’d opted to wear a black evening suit for this occasion, the raven suit making his deep hair and ultramarine eye all the more conspicuous. Much like the night you met him, it was a number composed entirely of neutral shades. Apparently, a tailored suit on the man came as natural as leotards and restrictive pointe shoes came to you. 

With the same intensity as the Sugar Plum Fairy had, you bounded towards your lover and held him close to you, in spite of the heat your body carried and the sweat that slicked your skin. You couldn’t help but snap to his side like an opposing magnet, your face burying into the side of his neck when you lifted yourself en pointe. He caught you just as Sugar Plum's Cavalier would have.

“You put on quite a show,” Ciel told you, pride palpable in his warm tone. “That was masterful. You always are.” An arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand flat against your bare back. His leather glove felt cold against your skin, a welcome change from the blazing stage lights. You swore that one day, they would cause you sunburn.

You were exhausted. Your heart pounded, droplets of sweat fell down your neck tracing the side of your spine. Your breaths came in hard bursts, your lungs working to their limit. The muscles in your legs and feet were molton. But you smiled in spite of this pain, and not out of necessity for once. It was because of the sheer love you had for this man.  Your heart beat for him—the slightest quirk of his lips as he watched you, the unsuppressed chuckle in his chest from your question.

“No flowers for me?” You smarted playfully, pulling away before you could damage your costume from the embrace. Not to mention, you weren’t anxious to allow the rest of the company free access to your private relationship with Ciel. You knew that The Queen’s Guard Dog had an infinite supply of enemies and British society had countless newspapers cautiously watching you. They were waiting for you to fail, but you would never give them the satisfaction. 

“I like to think I have something a little better in store for you than flowers,” your Earl’s arm remained around your waist, helping support your worn body between the bustling backstage to your dressing room. The moment the door locked behind the both of you, asked Ciel to unclip your corset, overwhelmed with the need to get out of your suffocating costume. As much as you adored its shining accents and the pink, it grew burdensome after expending every last bit of your energy. 

“What for? I mean, what could be better than flowers?” you quirked an eyebrow, your smile lopsided. Ciel never failed to bring you a bouquet, even when your courtship had been a ruse. You adored them every time, the least materialistic person.

You hurriedly unlaced your pointe shoes, stepped out of your tutu and stockings, and clipped on a simple navy blue gown.

“I suppose, they will just wither and die, eventually. I want to commemorate this night perhaps more…intentionally,” he explained as he hooked your costume onto a hanger. 

This night? More intentionally?

“Of course,” you turned towards your vanity mirror, wiping at your face with cold cream. The next day was December 14, after all. His birthday. Could that be what he was mentioning?  While you knew a share of the trauma he felt from that day—-losing his family in the fire— you also hoped to give Ciel some lingering sense of celebration with a waiting wine bottle you purchased for the makings of a relaxed night in. You’d been rehearsing a short self-choreographed piece for him, knowing his adoration for your dancing, and his lack of interest in making a spectacle out of his day.

There was a short silence that followed as you finished cleaning off your face. You were checking your reflection for any leftover face makeup when Ciel spoke again. You watched him approach you from the mirror, turning to face him properly as he stopped at your side. Still sitting in your vanity chair, you looked up at him, a curious smile on your face as you analyzed his serious expression.

“As you recall, I first met you here,” Ciel started, his hand toying with something square in his jacket pocket. “So, each time I’ve thought about how I wanted to approach this, I couldn’t imagine being somewhere else. This was the only right way.”

You snickered, thinking back to the best aspects of that night—an evening you never thought you’d come to look back at with fond nostalgia. That night, you would have told anyone who asked that you disliked Ciel Phantomhive. You thought he was classist and misogynistic, cold. Condescending. You never would have thought he would come to be the most intelligent, thoughtful, empathetic, and determined person you’d ever get to know. Loving not outright, but in his own way: re-considering his belief system, playing the piano, constructing a dance studio on his estate. For you. 

“You wore some red gown. I thought…you were breathtaking. I had to ask you to put on more clothes in order to let myself focus,” Ciel admitted, his face flushing to the tips of his ears from the admission. 

“To let yourself focus? I thought it was because–” you started to assert that he told you to cover up because he was a noble clinging to traditionalism, but your Earl interrupted you with a lovingly stern expression, fixating his gaze on you. He titled his head to suggest mild exasperation with your never-ending need to chime in.

You obeyed, silencing yourself with another dazzling grin at Ciel. As he…sank down on one knee in front of you and retrieved a small velvet box from his coat pocket, opening it to reveal a ring.

“Veux-tu m'épouser?” Ciel asked. You blinked, swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat. Tears immediately formed in your eyes, causing you to blink rapidly to keep them from blurring your vision. 

Because that meant…

Will you marry me?

You felt as if someone knocked the wind out of you. A scarlet blush spread across your face with the intensity of a wildfire. Goosebumps littered your arms, despite your gown’s sleeves. He wanted to marry you. He truly wanted you as his Countess. He was legitimizing your claim to his heart with this ring. To all.

“I couldn’t imagine my life without you, Y/n. You have broadened my worldview in so many ways. I never dreamed myself capable of accepting love from anyone, much less someone as breathtaking as you. You shine both on a stage and off, challenging me to better myself each day, inspiring me with your passion for ballet and that stunning intellect of yours. I would be incredibly fortunate to be enlightened by you each and every day, for as long as I may live. If you would do me the honor,” Ciel said. He always held such a noticeable degree of reverence for you, regarding you as some precious being.

“Absolutely, I will,” you beamed as Ciel held your hand, gently siding the engagement down your ring finger. The band was gold, its diamond cut into a square. Two smaller diamonds sat on either side of the largest diamond. Still on his knees, Ciel was still tall enough for you to kiss by leaning down to meet his face. 

Lingering close to your Earl’s face, your smile grew sly. You blinked guilelessly. “Though are you certain you do not wish to discuss how we will allow our courtship to slowly burn out over the next month to avoid public suspicion? Would that suffice? That would allow you to resume your real search for a—”

He didn’t even let you finish your sentence, pulling you back in for another intense kiss. 

“There will never be a need for that. I put an end to that search ages ago, for all intents and purposes,” he admonished you with no real weight to his words. 

Before you could verbalize your next quip, your new fiancé interrupted you once more. “Yes, I am certain. Y/n… you are all I could possibly want,” his hand was gentle as it cupped the side of your face. His thumb caressed your jawline, a touch that was barely there against your electrified skin. 

“I cannot wait to see what our life looks like, together, my Lord,” you kissed Ciel, taking his hands in yours. As you rose from your seat, you guided Ciel to stand properly on his feet, clinging to him the moment he righted himself.

“That’s Ciel, to you, mon trésor.”

You welcomed your incoming new role, the future Countess of Phantomhive, with your widest possible port de bras.

Acknowledgements: 

First thing’s first, I want to thank you. Thank you so much for reading and interacting in any capacity with me!! I appreciate every second you put into checking out my writing, and I hope it really touched you! This story is meant to show copious amounts of growth in a person and the importance of empathy and compassion. I’ve loved Ciel since middle school and I like to think this love has matured with me, lol! 

This is also my first mystery storyline!! I put so much thought into every detail, and I don’t think I could have gotten to this point without you all being here and so so so supportive and patient at every turn. 

Thank you especially to my amazing friends here on Tumblr, @mylostleftfootsock and @earls-wife, and my amazing best friend IRL @readfreak03. (She literally made a Tumblr account to read my updates, I'm crying). Thank you all so much for being so inspiring and supportive of me—especially for hearing me and my chaotic ideas out. Without your endless support for both my writing (and my personal life endeavors) and your detailed feedback and ideas, there wouldn’t have been this. 

I want to thank everyone who reaches out to me in comments, asks, dms, mentions, and reblogs, everyone on my tag list, and all of my amazing anons. 

I want to shout out @katherine101, @endlesslovesick, @suniika, @goby10, @lavendervogh, @eunisyia, @luckyladylottie, @soleil-lei, @lottiehasadvice, and my lovely Random & Sweet anons: I always, always look forward to reading what you have to say!! It’s so much fun to chat, and your feedback is so amazing. I really do appreciate each comment you leave for me! You’re all so kind, it’s endlessly motivating for me. I read every single comment, ask, and reblog multiple times. 

I genuinely had so much fun writing this fic. I’ve wanted to write a ballerina!reader x Ciel for so long—probably since I was in the middle of writing The Indignant Pawn. I was developing this story as I was writing! Ever since I stumbled on a History.com article about prostitution in vintage ballet, I was hooked. I knew I needed a fire-brand reader experiencing this in real time, and a Black Butler-level scandal to draw Ciel into the fold. Their polar-opposite personalities essentially wrote themselves. Their natural chemistry, the arguments, the sweeter moments just flowed. 

To make this story as accurate as I could, I read countless interviews with real prima ballerinas regarding their interpretations of their characters—their hardships, their advice, their day-to-day lives. I watched so many TikToks (special thanks to @/lifeof.lori!) and tutorial videos, too. I really came into this knowing nothing about ballet besides having an excited curiosity, and now I can confidently say that I understand it a whole lot better and I definitely have a newfound respect for real ballerinas. What they do is incredible. 

Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. I can’t believe this is my second complete fic ever! I’m so excited to show you what I have in the works. When I finished The Indignant Pawn, I gave you a hint about this story, my next full body of work, because I was a little mean with the way I ended my first story. Literally it was the tallest of cliffs I could leave you hanging from. This time, I was nice, so I think I’ll leave you guessing :)

Stay Tuned,

Dannnn

[thirteenheavens]

I was wondering if I could request giving ateez Yeosang a BJ after he had a long day of work/practice?? 🫢🫢👀

(I also wanna say I LOVE your blog and writing so much it’s an unhinged problem…) 💝💝💝

Notes: back to writing woo oh my god anon thank you so much honestly you’re too sweet thank you for supporting me!!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

Yeosang returns home after a long day of work and practice, looking exhausted but still handsome as ever. He sighs as he walks into the house, rubbing his temples in an attempt to alleviate the stress of the day. You hear the door open and close, followed by the sound of Yeosang's footsteps as he makes his way towards the bedroom.

He pauses in the doorway, his eyes widening slightly as he sees you lying on the bed, waiting for him. Yeosang's tired expression melts into a small smile as he takes in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire. He quickly strips off his clothes and joins you on the bed, his body feeling warm and solid against yours. Yeosang pulls you into his lap, his hands roaming over your body as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"I needed this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "Needed you." You can feel the tension in his muscles as he holds you close, the stress of the day slowly melting away under your touch. He lifts his head and captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he claims you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. As the kiss breaks, Yeosang's hands move to the back of your head, gently tilting it back so that you're looking up at him.

"I need you to take care of me," he says, his voice rough with need. "Please." You can't resist the pleading look in his eyes, and you nod your head in agreement. Yeosang lets out a soft sigh of relief, his hands guiding you down his body until you're kneeling between his legs.

"I'll take care of you, baby," you say, your voice low and sultry. Yeosang lets out a soft moan at your words, his eyes darkening with anticipation as he watches you.

"You look so needy right now," you tease, running your hands up and down his thighs. "All worked up and desperate for my touch." Yeosang shivers at your touch, his body responding to your every movement.

"Only for you," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "No one else can make me feel like this."As you tug his boxers down, Yeosang's cock springs free, already hard and throbbing with need. You take a moment to admire the sight before you, your fingers tracing the veins along his shaft. Yeosang lets out a low groan, his hips bucking up slightly in response to your touch. Yeosang's eyes flutter shut as you wrap your lips around him, his hands gripping the sheets tightly.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his body trembling with pleasure as you take him deeper into your mouth. You begin to move your head up and down, setting a slow and deliberate pace that has Yeosang's toes curling in pleasure. His fingers tangle in your hair, gently guiding your movements as he loses himself in the sensation of your mouth on him. Yeosang's breath comes out in ragged gasps, his hips rocking upwards as he chases the feeling of your mouth on his cock.

"So good," he manages to gasp out, his voice thick with pleasure. "You feel so good, baby." You pick up the pace, taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. Yeosang lets out a strangled moan, his body arching off the bed as he struggles to control himself.

"I'm not going to last much longer," he warns you, his grip on your hair tightening as he tries to hold back his release. You can feel him starting to tense up, his body coiled like a spring as he gets closer and closer to the edge. You hum around him, sending vibrations through his cock that make him cry out in pleasure.

"Please, please don't stop," he begs, his voice ragged and desperate. "I'm so close, baby. So fucking close." His hips buck upwards with more urgency now, his body seeking out the pleasure you're giving him.

"I'm gonna come," he gasps, his fingers digging into your scalp as he loses control. Yeosang lets out a loud, guttural moan as he reaches his peak, his body shuddering as he spills into your mouth.

His grip on your hair tightens almost painfully as he rides out his orgasm, his hips jerking upwards with each wave of pleasure. As he comes down from his high, his body relaxes back onto the bed, his chest heaving with exertion. He loosens his grip on your hair, his fingers gently stroking your head as he looks down at you with a dazed expression.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, his voice hoarse from his moans. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

[kitasgloves]

I'm in love with you

next track

— ♬ how haikyuu characters would tell you they're in love with you

— ♬ SFW, fluff, gn reader, no beta

— ♬ Kageyama Tobio

Kageyama was not familiar with romance, it was entirely foreign to him. He doesn't understand how people gain feelings for each other. He can't comprehend the enjoyment of having someone in your life. He thinks romance is trivial and doesn't bother associating with it. But as the typical turning point of every romance novel, someone was there to prove him otherwise.

You were in contrast to the setter. You met each other on your first day as the official manager of the SCHWEIDEN Adlers. Kageyama was curious about you. The sense of responsibility, resilience, and great humor oozed out of you that he can't help but be drawn. You were similar to a familiar orange-haired friend of his, but also different in many ways.

When he exhibited grey, you were bursting with colors. When he shines, you explode with light. When he took your kindness to heart, you brought out the best of him. After a long time of being exposed to you, Kageyama's heart can't help but beat so strongly when he's around you. It beats so strong that he fears he's going to need a second heart.

Kageyama has often thought about the beaming smile on your face, your melodious laughter, your hilarious comments, the scent of your clothes, the warmth of your skin, and the glimmer in your eyes. Kageyama concluded that he was probably going down with something, but what? The symptoms of his rapidly beating heart, his flushed face, and his antsy fingers are only present when he's around you. What the hell could this be?

"You're in love with [Name], aren't you?"

Hoshiumi teased him during their stretching after a practice match. Kageyama would've been quick to dismiss it with a logical response, but he falls silent and still. Ushijima takes notice.

"Hm, I notice the way you look at them, Kageyama"

"Yeah, you look all dazed and head over heels whenever [Name]'s around"

Their libero, Heiwajima added. Kageyama bites down an annoyed response and just shakes his head.

"I'm not in love with [Name]"

"Yes, you are"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

Kageyama was about to smack Hoshiumi on the head when their captain Hirugami stepped in between them with a disappointed stare. Kageyama goes home that day, thinking about his feelings for you. He's come to accept that he has formed some sort of crush on you, but he tells himself that he doesn't want more from you. But as time progressed, these complicated feelings grew, clearly affecting Kageyama even when he was on the court. The coach had to bench him out one time because his performance wasn't up to expectations.

He had to do something about these stupid feelings because he couldn't afford to be constantly benched. Kageyama has thought about what the characters in romance novels do to confront such feelings. They express them through giving gifts and hanging out with their love interest. So, Kageyama copies them.

The setter tries to woo you by giving you small gifts during breaks, making sure he's as subtle as possible. He gains the courage to ask if you want to watch a movie with him. Kageyama thinks he's doing everything correctly when he compares your happy responses to the romance novels he read. As Kageyama grew closer and closer to you, these feelings grew as it began to stress him out.

What in the world is going on with him?

It's like he loses his athletic talents and logical thinking when you come around. It's like you've made him weak when all you did was behave the way you usually do. Kageyama frowns at the thought. What should he do next? In the romance novels, the character confesses their feelings.

Confess your feelings?

Kageyama swallowed as a bead of sweat trailed down his forehead. He thinks he should do it then maybe these feelings would go away. However, as he tries to set this plan into motion, he becomes speechless. The way you gaze at him warmly and tilt your head when he calls your name has his stomach in knots.

"Ne-nevermind"

He would say every time. Kageyama desperately wants to tell you how he feels about you but he can't fucking do it. And the frustration shows especially on the court.

"Ow! What the hell Kageyama!"

Hoshiumi complains as he fails to receive Kageyama's monstrous serve. His teammates have been murmuring how aggressive the setter was lately. They wondered what could have made Kageyama so angry. The coach blows the whistle and instructs them to take five. Kageyama sits down and aggressively wipes the sweat off his face. His eyes land on you handing the team water bottles, his leg bounces as he waits for you to come to him.

"Here you go, Tobio-hmmph!"

Everyone gawked in shock, their jaws dropping on the floor, and some dropping their water bottles. Kageyama has read somewhere in romance novels that characters sometimes confess their feelings with a kiss. So, he decides that if he can't say it, he'll show you instead.

When the setter pulls his lips away, he takes in the bewilderment in your eyes and the pink hue on your cheeks. He inhales and looks at you in the eye.

"I'm in love with you, [Name]"

All of a sudden, he can finally say it to you. Everyone cheers and hollers at the confession. The pink hue on your cheeks turned into crimson. You gently peeled yourself away from the setter, trying to come up with a response.

"I-uh, what?"

"I'm in love with you, [Name]"

Kageyama repeats. He sees you shield your face as you cutely shied away from him.

"You're joking"

"I am not"

"Oh my gosh"

Kageyama wasn't sure if he was getting rejected or friend-zoned. But as you regained your composure, you surprised him by pulling him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him. At this point, everyone loses it. When you both pulled away, Kageyama turned breathless as he blinked rapidly at you.

"I'm in love with you too, Tobio"

— ♬ Kuroo Tetsuro

Kuroo thinks his job at the JVA in the sports promotion division couldn't get more interesting until you rolled by. Initially, he viewed you as an adorable younger co-worker that he enjoys riling up. He couldn't help it when you gave him the most entertaining reactions. Immediately, the two of you created a bond of making the work atmosphere like a comedy show. Kuroo would purposely say something stupid to annoy you and you'll reply by scolding him or just whacking him on the head.

But under the comedic scene of your work relationship, Kuroo has taken a certain liking to you beyond the teasing remarks. He has grown to show ways in which he cares for you. When he's not being a teasing piece of shit, Kuroo checks on you like asking about your day or if you've eaten lunch. Sometimes he'd drag you to eat lunch with him, he'd even pay for the food. If the two of you were working overtime, he insisted on taking a heavy portion of the work so he could send you home early. When you'd protest, he'd make a clever deal to have you agree. Even the little things like lending you his jacket when you're cold, sharing his umbrella on rainy days when you don't have yours, and walking you home when it's late.

He wonders if you've noticed any of these things, he thinks he shouldn't care but he can't help but seek your reaction. Kuroo was in glee when he found you warming up to him and returning his gestures. You'd bring coffee for him in the morning, you'd share your lunch with him, and even invite him to one of your friends' birthdays. As time escalated, the somewhat relationship once filled with teasing was now replaced with unspoken tenderness.

Kuroo can act dumb and pretend. He can pretend he's not actively seeking you when in a crowded room, he can pretend that your smiles don't make his heart race, he can pretend that he doesn't care about your interests, and he can pretend that he's not falling for you. He would hide everything with his signature smirk and teasing comments, but secretly, he's dying to know if you would reciprocate his feelings.

So, he tries to quietly profess his love through his actions. Kuroo hints at his romantic feelings for you through the mundane things he would do at the office.

"I bought you coffee"

I'm in love with you

"Have you eaten lunch yet?"

I'm in love with you

"Here, you can borrow my jacket"

I'm in love with you

"I'll walk you home tonight"

I'm in love with you

There are times you're only treating every clue as his kindness and it's making his chest tight. Kuroo continues to do everything through his teasing.

"Your shirt looks like a clown vomited on it"

I'm in love with you

"Nice pants, [Name]. Did you steal them from your grandma?"

I'm in love with you

"You have the music taste of an edgy teenager"

I'm in love with you

"I hope no one has a crush on you yet because they're going to be disappointed"

I'm in love with you

You would always respond to his teasings with irritated sounds or physically hitting him. Kuroo was going mad at how every hint was flying over your head. He felt like he wanted to fistfight god. He was hoping, praying that you would take a hint and return his feelings because truthfully he was too scared to tell you.

"Just fucking tell them like the man you claim you are, Kuroo"

Kenma, his best friend, rolled his eyes at him when he told him everything about it. He hates how he was right. He needed to man up and tell you how he's absolutely lovestruck by you. By man up, he means getting drunk during a karaoke with all of his co-workers while singing karaoke. To be fair, the majority of the people were even more wasted than him. You were making fun of his drunken antics, filming them on your phone as blackmail later.

"You're wasted, Tetsu. Let's get you home"

"M'not drunk! Get your ass back here [Name] and dance with me!"

Kuroo pulls you against him and dances along to the sound of your co-worker's singing. You'd snort and laugh at him. He doesn't let you go even at the end of the song, he keeps dancing with you.

"Okay big guy, that's enough"

"You have nice eyes, [Name]"

He slurred and you raised a brow. You chuckled and shook your head, thinking it was just Kuroo being drunk.

"You have the prettiest smile too and the cutest laugh. I just wanna pinch your cheeks and kiss you right on the mouth"

This time you freeze and gaze at him wide-eyed. It may seem that Kuroo was beyond wasted with his drunken smiles and giggles. But you know what they say, a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts.

"...Really?"

"Uh-huh. You put on the ugliest outfits but still look sexy anyway. You drive me crazy, [Name]"

Your heart skips a beat as heat blooms on your cheeks. While your co-workers were still partying, you took the responsibility to bring Kuroo home since he was too intoxicated. Kuroo wakes up on your couch, shirtless with a horrible hungover.

"Here drink some water and take these"

You were suddenly there to hand him some water and pills. Kuroo takes them graciously. You called him over for breakfast as he tried to recollect everything from last night. When he fails to remember what happened after drinking god knows how much alcohol, you'd laugh at him.

"I did something stupid, didn't I?"

"I got a video of it, don't worry"

"Anything else? I didn't throw up on you or something?"

"Not really but you said some interesting things"

And when you told him about everything he told you last night, Kuroo was mortified. His blood was cold but his face was hotter than summer. He watched in pure embarrassment as you sent him a teasing smirk.

"I didn't know you thought of me that way, Tetsu"

"I-I didn't me-mean it, I swear!"

"Aw, that makes me sad"

"God, [Name]"

Kuroo ran a hand up his face to his hair and tugged the roots. He swallows and sighs.

"Fine, I did mean what I said to you last night"

Suddenly, you're speechless. He leans forward, finding the courage to elaborate his feelings to you.

"You always run through my mind, I love the smell of your hair, the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, and I just..."

Kuroo pauses to catch his breath. You look like you were holding yours as you were waiting for him to finish. He offers you a sheepish smile.

"In summary, I'm in love with you"

It happened in a blink of an eye, you threw yourself unto him and crashed your lips against his. Kuroo can feel his heart go to a screeching halt. But as his eyes fluttered close and his hands found their place around your waist, he returned the kiss like it was the most natural thing in the world. The moment one of you pulled away, it seemed like the world had stopped.

"God, Tetsu. Here I thought I was an idiot for having a crush on you"

"Well, you still are"

You rolled your eyes and smacked him on the arm as he laughed. Kuroo kissed your cheek and smiled.

"But you're my idiot"

"Shut up and kiss me more"

— ♬ Bokuro Kotaro

Bokuto was naturally a free-spirited man who easily drew people into him and is easily drawn to people. It's mainly the reason why he has gained many friends and acquaintances. Bokuto was also easily intrigued by anything, especially if it was shrouded by mystery that aroused his curiosity. So, it was no surprise when he developed a fascination with you.

In summary, you were working as the MSBY Black Jackal's PR. You were reserved, professional, and oozing with confidence. You quickly gained the respect of both the athletes and your co-workers. Your first encounter with Bokuto wasn't anything spectacular, in fact, the spiker wished he had forgotten about it because it was embarrassing.

He has done something stupid that caused chaos on the internet and local sports outlets. It affected his image and reputation as a promising professional volleyball player, including his team. And as PR, you were tasked to handle it. It was decided that he should make an official statement to clear his and the team's name, so you created a list of do's and don'ts for the athlete's guidelines in formulating his statement and giving him the freedom to construct it.

You discussed with him the guidelines and Bokuto, eager to impress you, nods his head like an excited toddler. He knows he should've listened because all of the guidelines you told him were important yet it flew over his head. Bokuto was distracted by you the entire time you were explaining everything. He watched you like a fascinated owl, taking in your features. From the scent of your hair to your minuscule habits. He imprints your face in his head instead of the guidelines.

Fueled by the rapid beating of his passionate heart, Bokuto goes to make his statement. And it was a nightmare for you working as PR, the only thing that salvaged everything was how charmingly hilarious Bokuto was. It was a headache watching him say inappropriate and unnecessary sentences while live on television. You even considered resigning. However, after the ordeal, Bokuto comes up to you like an energized kid with shining eyes.

"How was it?"

Now, you were blunt. You made no room for sugarcoating your opinions. Yet the way Bokuto waited for your response made you bite your tongue. You sighed and merely gave him a thumbs up. He cheers.

Thinking back at it, Bokuto realizes how dumb he was. But hey, at least he still has his career and survived being canceled on the internet. Everyone was aware of how Bokuto was trying to befriend you, they didn't think much of it because the spiker always wanted to become everyone's friend. Somehow, he couldn't get close to you, or rather, you refused to let him near. It was odd considering that even Bokuto managed to be friends with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

"[Name] probably thinks you're annoying"

Sakusa said one time and it made his hair deflate. He didn't mean to come off as annoying so he tried a much tone-down approach. Bokuto would briefly form conversations with you during breaks, it was mostly about ordinary things like the weather or what you had for lunch. He thinks you're slowly warming up to him by being the first to initiate the conversations. Bokuto's heart flutters at you sharing your interests with him.

He knows things are taking a drastic turn when he finds himself sleepless at night. It was important for an athlete like him to have a good amount of sleep yet he failed to shut his eyes and fall into slumber. Bokuto's head was filled with impossible scenarios, romantic scenarios involving you and him. Bokuto would reach to brush your hair behind your ear, you'll wipe the rice off his cheek, you'll hold his hand, and he'll spin you around. Bokuto's eyes shoot open at the sound of his alarm, he checks the time and realizes he's thirty minutes late.

"Shit! I'm gonna be late for the practice match!"

He thankfully arrives just in time to stretch and play the match. While everyone was making fun of him for forgetting to put his hair up in his usual hairdo, you were giving him concerned glances. This was the fifth time he was late, and his performance on the court was less energetic, and he seemed sluggish too after practice.

"Bokuto"

You called out during the water break. Bokuto flinches but faces you with a bright smile.

"Hey hey hey [Name]! What's up?"

"...Are you okay?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem...tired. Have you gotten enough sleep?"

You watched as he let out a nervous chuckle and it was enough to answer your question. You sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You should prioritize your sleeping schedule because it's affecting your plays. I know I am not your manager in the team but it could seriously affect your image during official matches"

"Right, yeah. Sorry, I'll work on it! I don't wanna put any burden on you as our PR"

"Bokuto..."

This time you look him right in the eye and Bokuto's heart skips several beats.

"I don't care about you putting a burden on me, I have handled much worse than you"

You tilt your head towards Atsumu and Sakusa, Bokuto has to hold back a laugh at that. You suppress a smile.

"I care about your well-being and health because you're my..."

You paused, casting your gaze away. If Bokuto's hair was styled up it would start to deflate right now.

"Because you're my friend"

You finished with a hint of pink on your cheeks. Bokuto holds back the urge to clutch his chest at the rare display of cuteness from your usual stoic face. What you said both gave Bokuto a sense of hope and despair. It meant that there was a possibility you could view him as more than a friend or a friend only.

He's been overthinking about it since then, resulting in losing more sleep. Bokuto didn't want to disappoint you but damn it these feelings are getting really complicated! He figured he had to let it off his chest someday or he was just going to continue suffering by carrying these unspoken feelings.

Bokuto tries to ask you if you want to go out and see a movie. The first time, you decline. But he doesn't lose hope. He asks again if you want to go party with him at a club with the team, and you are quick to say no. Well, third time's a charm.

"[Name], would you like to grab dinner with me tomorrow?"

"No, I'm sorry but I have something planned for tomorrow evening already"

Ouch

Bokuto brings a fist to his chest and falls down to his knees in a dramatic display, having to be rejected for the third time. You might as well have stabbed him right in the chest. All of a sudden, you extended him a small envelope. He gives you a puzzled look. He takes it and it was an invitation to your friend's birthday party, his eyes went wide at the bold and italic instruction that one must bring a date.

"Huh?"

"See, I can't grab dinner with you tomorrow, I need a date for my friend's birthday party. I'm wondering if you're willing to be my date"

"Yes!"

The spiker grins at you and raises his fists up in victory in a ridiculous manner. You chuckled and shook your head. Bokuto literally pleaded with his friends (a.k.a. the entire team) to help him get ready for your date with him tomorrow. Bless them because they had his back from his outfit to styling his hair.

Bokuto arrived at your place to pick you up and my god did he almost fainted at how gorgeous you looked that evening. When you linked your arm with his on the way to the venue, he felt like tearing up. But he keeps it together. Everyone at the party complimented his looks, the way his hair was swept back to show his handsome face, and his tasteful choice of clothing. He thinks the night was going well. After your friend blows their candles, the party resumes.

There was lively music, and people scattered around either dancing or talking. But you and Bokuto were stuck in your own world, sipping champagne and exchanging hushed jokes. When a soft melody begins, Bokuto holds his breath and says a silent prayer.

"Would you like to dance with me, [Name]?"

He asks while extending his hand out. You take it with a nod and he feels like his body is floating. Everyone was waltzing with their partner and when Bokuto placed his hands around your waist he froze. Panic is visible on his face.

"What's wrong, Bokuto?"

"I don't know how to waltz"

"Oh, then let me teach you"

Bokuto's heart melted. There was trial and error. Bokuto keeps stepping on your foot while making an absolute fool of himself and earning a few amused giggles from other people. You only smiled patiently at him as he found the perfect rhythm.

"Holy shit, I did it!"

"Congrats, you're a quick learner"

The spiker smiled proudly at himself and you couldn't help but laugh. As the gentle music continued while you two waltzed on the dancefloor, Bokuto gulped. This was his chance! His chance to tell you how he feels. However, you opened your mouth first.

"Bokuto, do you have feelings for me?"

Crunch!!!

You winced as your face displayed pain when Bokuto stepped on your foot, rather painfully. You both pulled away. He becomes frantic as he apologizes profusely, ruining the moment between you two. Great, he fucked it up. He couldn't meet you in the eye.

"Bokuto"

He looks down at his feet, his face featuring an embarrassed flush. You sighed.

"Bokuto, look at me"

He continues to behave like an embarrassed child. You grabbed his broad shoulders and forced him to look at you.

"Kotaro"

Your eyes met his and his chest tightened at the way you finally said his first name. You were giving him a soft look, silently assuring him that everything was fine. Bokuto draws in a sharp inhale.

"I'm in love with you, [Name]"

A lot of people turned their heads at the loud proclamation. Your eyes went wide and your face heats up at the sincerity of his tone.

"I've been in love with you since the day I met you. You're just so interesting and I've been thinking about you so much that I couldn't sleep properly"

Bokuto confessed. A few people gasped, it seemed like the music was fading away too. The blush on your face intensified as you watched him rigidly.

"I want to touch you, hold you, and kiss you. I want to be the one that makes you smile and laugh. I want to spend the rest of my days with you if you'll allow me"

There was a collective sound of 'aww's from the moved audience watching the spectacle. You open your mouth to say something but Bokuto keeps going.

"I want to buy a house with you, pay taxes with you, and grow old with you. I...I want to marry you!"

In a flash, Bokuto gets on one knee making everyone gasp as if he's going to pull out a tiny box with a shiny ring. You frantically wave your hands around.

"Wait, stop! This is going too fast! I'm pretty sure you don't have a ring right now, Kotaro"

"Oh, shit, you're right"

Bokuto stands back up on his feet. You quietly went over to him and grabbed his large hands. The weight of the people's anticipating eyes goes unbothered to you.

"I suppose you have beat me, I meant to confess to you first. I'm in love with you too, Kotaro"

And the crowd goes wild. Bokuto lets out a scream and picks you up in his arms spinning you around like he'd imagine. The cheering goes deaf in his ears as he focuses on the sound of your laughter. It fills him with absolute happiness as nothing could compare to the joy of knowing you're in love with him too.

Although it seemed like a win for him, it ended up being a workload for you as PR because someone filmed the entire scene and posted it on social media as it went trending. Now everyone was dying to know who was the person that Bokuto Kotaro ended up offering his heart to.

— ♬ Oikawa Tooru

Contrary to popular belief, Oikawa had no luck when it came to romance. Sure, he had gorgeous looks, a hot bod, a charming personality, and a heart of gold. But he had no one to willingly lend his heart to. He had relationships in the past, all resulting in failure. But then he didn't mind, he didn't mind if he had no one to hold or share his secrets with. The Oikawa then wouldn't have cared if he didn't have someone to kiss. However now, he's growing conscious.

Oikawa was no stranger to being a heartthrob. He was used to being surrounded by people thirsting for his attention. Sometimes he reveled in it. But he thought how nice it was to have someone in the crowd to lock eyes with and smile because they saw him as who he really was. Perhaps, he's been consuming too much romantic media lately.

The setter is a hopeless romantic who believes in true love even though he hasn't technically encountered it yet. But he wishes to. Oikawa was growing tired of the media portraying him as a cool and super-talented athlete. He's just a stupid guy who's a volleyball nerd and obsessed with astrology. He's not out at night hooking up with someone, he watches Ghibli movies and listens to popular love songs. Oikawa was just an ordinary guy who wanted to be loved for who he truly was.

When he arrived back in Japan to have a vacation and reunited with his best friend, Oikawa wasn't expecting anything to happen. He thinks this is just another long vacation and after that, he'll return to Argentina and be back to the pathetically single moron that he is. And then he met you. Iwaizumi's roommate. Previously when he returned to Japan, Iwaizumi lived alone in his apartment, so he was surprised to see you answer the door instead of his childhood best friend.

"Woah, you're not Hajime"

You said and gave him a glance from head to toe. Oikawa stood stiffly with an awkward smile, hugging all his luggage. You raised a brow.

"You friends with Hajime?"

"Yes, I'm his childhood best friend"

Judging from the way you called his best friend by his first name, he thought you two were close. You furrowed your eyebrows and suddenly snapped your fingers.

"Oh, you! Heard a lot about you from my roommate, you're Oikawa right?"

"Yep"

"Cool, come in! Hajime was out doing some errands"

You smiled and opened the door wider to let him in. The apartment was livelier compared to the last time he visited. There were plants and aesthetic decorations that filled the spaces. Oikawa settled his things down by the living room and took a seat. You were only wearing a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt as you walked to the kitchen.

"You hungry, bud?"

"Oh, no thank you"

"Good, I don't know what to feed you. Hajime does the cooking around here"

You laughed and the setter found himself chuckling. Your demeanor was welcoming and interesting. Oikawa watched you walk around the place tidying up, seemingly to make everything more presentable. Oikawa decides he wants to get to know you more.

"The last time I visited, Iwa-chan didn't have a roommate"

"Really? Well, I kind of begged him to let me stay here since my last place was shitty"

"So, how long have you known him?"

"Long enough to know he's obsessed with Godzilla"

You and Oikawa shared a laugh. You settled in the living room, plopping on the beanbag across from the setter, and chatted. Somewhat having a playful interview and getting to know each other. The way you matched Oikawa's personality impressed him greatly. Why the hell has Iwaizumi not introduced you to him yet?

You were a breath of fresh air. You talked to him without regard for his popularity, hell, he thinks you don't have a clue he's a famous athlete. Maybe you didn't give a shit, either way, he was glad. Both of you found a lot of common interests like volleyball and astrology. Oikawa for the first time felt like someone had finally glanced at his true self.

By the time Iwaizumi arrived at the apartment, you and Oikawa were blasting Taylor Swift in the speakers and talking about zodiac signs while sprawled out on the floor. There was a mixture of shock and disgust on Iwaizumi's face.

"Hi, Hajime!"

"Hi, Iwa-chan!"

You both greet him enthusiastically. Iwaizumi closed the door and crossed his arms, giving you two an odd look. He pointed at his best friend.

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough for me to know all of your embarrassing high school moments"

You replied with a mischievous giggle. Oikawa copied you. Iwaizumi mumbled to himself as he entered the kitchen while rubbing his temples. Oikawa was going to stay for a week, occupying the couch to sleep on. But the two of you grew close so quickly and suddenly, that you two would lay your mattress in the living room and have some sort of slumber party every night.

Oikawa expected to catch up with Iwaizumi but instead ended up bonding with his roommate instead. How could he not when you literally matched his energy so well? It was like you were the missing piece of his soul that made him whole. Like the Yin to his Yang, the sun to his moon, or the water to his fire. It seemed like the planets aligned when he met you.

His stay in Japan was unexpectedly filled with new memories with you. The two of you were always out and about either partying or exploring. Iwaizumi witnessed how his best friend slowly carved a special place for you in his life. The man witnessed everything. When you two would get home at five in the morning wasted, later Oikawa would assist you when you're throwing up in the toilet. When you two would get into stupid arguments, mostly Oikawa would get upset and you would be the first to apologize as you two made up. When you and he would blast loud music in the speakers and have a mini concert, Iwaizumi got a complaint from the neighbors.

And most importantly, Iwaizumi witnessed how his best friend was falling in love with you. From the tender stares to the caring gestures, it was no mistaking that Oikawa had feelings for you. Iwaizumi knew the setter well, how he was a romantic but could be devasted and hurt because of it. How he desperately worked himself to the bone to become better. And how he longed to have someone who saw him past the charms.

Oikawa pouted when Iwaizumi forced him to hang out with him and Matsukawa and Hanamaki. The four of them went out for drinks and did some catching up. However, Oikawa was occupied texting on his phone, most likely chatting with you.

"Hey! Iwa-chan give that back!"

The setter whined when Iwaizumi snatched his phone and pocketed it. Matsukawa and Hanamaki laughed at him.

"Are you seriously talking to [Name] right now?"

"Huh? How did you know?"

"Iwaizumi filled us up with your unfolding romance with them"

Hanamaki replied. Oikawa glared at him and blushed, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa shared amused laughs.

"Just admit it Shittykawa, you're in love with [Name]"

"I am not!"

The way the setter immediately denied provided a great amount of proof. Oikawa loved to deny the truth, especially how painful it was. He denied how he wasn't naturally born with talent, he denied the fact he hasn't gone once to Nationals, and he denied how he was harboring strong feelings for you.

Because the truth was he was petrified. Now, that he found someone who can make his heart beat so fast, he doesn't want to fuck it up. Oikawa doesn't want to fuck up the friendship he had with you. Oikawa was sure you only saw him as a friend and only held platonic feelings for him. He thinks confessing to you would just fuck up everything, so it was better to stay as friends than ruin what he had with you.

"Just confess, you idiot"

"I can't, Mattsun!"

"Why? Are you scared?"

"...Yes"

Oikawa exhales. His friends shared a look. He was about to leave Japan tomorrow. He won't be seeing you again for god knows how long. His heart aches at the thought of being so far away from what he deemed as his soulmate. He felt so stupid for falling so easily. Curse his stupid heart and stupid feelings.

"Oi, you're not stupid for falling in love, okay?"

Iwaizumi reassured him. Oikawa gives him a grateful smile and gulps down his beer.

"I know. It's just never met someone who made me feel so complete and I would hate to ruin everything because I admitted what I feel"

"That's love, dude. You get happy and hurt at the same time"

Hanamaki said. Matsukawa gives him a pat on the back as he tries not to get teary-eyed.

"I shouldn't have returned here"

"Hey, cut that out. How else you would've met [Name]?"

"Yeah. Just tell [Name] how you feel and if all goes to shit, you'll still have us"

"No homo tho"

Everyone shared a lighthearted laugh. Oikawa has really been counting his blessings but meeting you was the greatest blessing of all. As he finishes another glass of beer, Oikawa takes a confident stand.

"Okay! I'll tell them how I feel!"

All of his friends cheered and patted him on the back. Oikawa thinks it will be fine, even if he'll inevitably end up sobbing like an ugly baby on his flight tomorrow back to Argentina. As he returns back at the apartment, he sees you scrolling on your phone. When you see him enter, a warm smile spreads on your lips and it makes his knees weak.

"Hey, Tooru"

"[Name], can I tell you something?"

"Sure! I got something to tell you too"

"Oh, you go first!"

Oikawa insisted. He was nervous as fuck, he needed spare time to prepare how to spill his feelings for you. But you shook your head and laughed.

"Nah, you can go first"

Shit

"No, I insist"

"Come on, Tooru. I don't mind"

"No, you go first"

"No"

"Yes"

"No!"

"Ugh! Fine!"

You raise a brow as he runs his hands down his face with a frustrated groan. Oikawa looks you in the eye, his eyes growing wet the longer he stares.

"I've been thinking this through and...fuck! I can't do it!"

The setter turns away and collapses on the couch. You give him a concerned look and join him on the couch.

"Hey, you know you can tell me anything?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow, [Name]"

"I know, it's making me sad as fuck, Tooru"

"I...I don't want to leave"

"But you can't"

"I don't want to leave you"

Oikawa sniffs. You frowned and grabbed his hands, he looked at you. Your gaze meant something deeper, like you were gazing directly at his soul, witnessing his flaws but seeing past them by holding his hands. Oikawa was convinced you have always seen the real him no matter how much he pretended. And he stares back at you like you're the best thing that has ever happened to him in his life. Oikawa inhales.

One, two, three...

"I-"

"I'm in love with you, Tooru"

You blurted out. Oikawa's eyes bulge out of its sockets. His mouth goes agape as his face displays sheer bewilderment. You nervously smiled.

"Sorry, I can't stand seeing you leave without telling you how I feel"

"[Name], what the fuck?"

"I understand if you don't feel the same-"

"I'm fucking in love with you too, [Name]"

Oikawa finally confesses. You gasp in response before letting out a breathless laugh. He doesn't miss the way your eyes became glassy.

"Oh my god, tell me you're kidding!"

"No! Never! [Name], I'm in love with you. I was about to tell you but I got nervous"

"We're fucking idiots"

You said as you both burst out laughing. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes both from relief and joy. As the laughter subsided, you both gazed softly at each other. This time Oikawa grabs your hands.

"[Name], you have completed me. You see me as who I am and I just want to be on your side all the time"

He goes to kiss your knuckles turning your face red. Oikawa sighs as he traces your knuckles with his thumbs.

"But I have to leave you behind, here in Japan. I wouldn't mind if you want to start a long-distance relationship"

"Oh, about that"

"Yeah?"

"Remember when I said I was going to say something to you?"

"Oh, wasn't that the confession?"

"Nope!"

You grinned and went over to your bag and pulled out your passport and a flight ticket. You showed it to Oikawa.

"I'm coming with ya to Argentina!"

"Oh my god!"

Oikawa couldn't control himself as he picked you up in his arms and spun you around the living room. You laughed as he excitedly babbled how he was excited to return back to Argentina with you. Oikawa felt like the luckiest man alive, striking the ultimate jackpot to romance. Because he gets to be with you, who made his heart whole.

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[zairene]

AS A BOYFRIEND osamu dazai

* ˚ ✦ synopsis: how osamu dazai would be as a significant other.

* ˚ ✦ genre: headcanons !

* ˚ ✦ warnings: not spoiler free + mentions character death in anime + mentions of suicide.

* ˚ ✦ author’s note: my first BSD post !! enjoy the new content! <333 ( also, i did try to take a more canon approach to this just so i could practice characterization ! feel free to critique anything or give some feedback in general ! )

the famous osamu dazai. a young man who’s enemies shouldn’t be exactly proud that they are his enemies. a man who has too many tricks up his sleeves, and always seems to manage to get himself out of the stickiest of situations. a man with convoluted emotions that no one could ever quite understand, except for his closest late friend sakunosuke oda.

but even in the darkest of moments, dazai still has a lighthearted side to him despite the enigmatic façade he keeps all the time. due to his past, i could find it very difficult for him to fully commit to anyone exclusively.

not saying he would sleep around a lot or have a significant amount of women on his roster, but due to his job and the way he views humanity and what it means to be alive. dazai finds little to no joy in living—so why would he even try a romantic relationship?

so, in these terms, you were not an exception.

at first, he viewed you as this beautiful girl he could finally do a double suicide with. after being the third woman to join the armed detective agency, he never really attempted to hide himself from you. so you saw all of his unwillingness to live very quickly and admittedly it made you a lot less attracted to him.

yes, he may have had the looks but his personality was an entire red flag for you. he never liked talking about himself or his past. he doesn’t open up. he’s serious, but not in the way you would want him to be with you. he’s serious about his job, he’s serious about the armed detective agency, and he’s serious about the relationships he has with the people around him.

but he was never serious about himself.

he knew this and never noticed how many people cared about him. but that’s not his fault, especially since being in the port mafia has extremely distorted his morality.

and over time, you learned to accept this side of him. you learned that you could never truly understand the mind of osamu dazai unless he decides to have that conversation with you.

after a plethora of missions alongside dazai, you did notice your growing feelings for him. the charming and overly dramatic side of him paralleled with an excessive amount of wisdom that grew on you. dazai knew his way with his words, and did he maybe try to woo you here and there? of course.

dazai was no fool, he knew about your feelings for him. he found himself also feeling the same but wasn’t sure how to express them. this feeling was somewhat unfamiliar. he knew how it felt to have feelings for someone but to also want to have a romantic relationship with them? he was stuck.

he was scared. he didn’t want to get you, someone he cared about, to get wrapped up in his business. for his enemies to become yours, and for you to fall victim to their wrath. causing dazai to lose someone else that gave him a reason to keep living.

so a lot of your interactions, before getting together, consisted of you blatantly flirting with each other during work or just in general.

but when you both finally decided to give things a shot, boy did that change things for both of you and the agency in general.

you both were a secret at first. it was obvious you both had something going on but no one had gotten a confirmation so no one assumed. this was all stopped when atsushi, of all people, walked into the office hallway at the wrong time.

there were you and dazai, having the most heated makeout session ever. atsushi was for one, a little traumatized, he’s never seen dazai in this way nor did he ever predict he would. he stood in silence while the both of you were frantically trying to fix yourself as if he didn’t stumble upon the whole scene. atsushi was at a loss for words. “i’m-i’m… just gon—gonna…” he bolted out of the office after he just came to the conclusion he was not gonna be able to talk to you after seeing that.

safe to say that he looked neither of you in the eye for about a week. but best believe he did blurt it out randomly on a quiet day in the office, and that’s how news spread. y/n and dazai are officially dating!

now, onto the actual relationship and not the buildup.

fresh into it, things didn’t change. besides the fact you both had exchanged numbers by then and you could see him outside of work and at your home as well. you both still had the same dumb arguments as you had before but with a heavy amount of tension this time.

once you both get comfortable, PDA is your fucking thing. sitting on his lap while he worked or him always having his arm wrapped around your shoulder or waist. you could say he was doing all of this just to spite kunikida! he was.

dazai is romantic when he puts the effort in. some of your dates are followed with a nice candlelit dinner in an extremely fancy restaurant, or just you or him going to one another’s place just to feel each other’s presence.

there was versatility, and you liked that.

you began to see more of a vulnerable side of dazai as time went on. he started to share more of his life piece by piece to you. you were patient with him, and he appreciated that. he never goes into explicit detail about every little thing about himself, but you can tell he’s trying to change for you as his love for you blossoms into something he never thought could be possible for him.

you both still have your disagreements here and there, and arguments with him are extremely painful. they aren’t rare but they aren’t common either. most of the time it is just petty arguments, just a few minutes of bickering, and dazai is already attached to your hip smothering you with kisses just to show how sorry he is.

painful arguments consist of the both of you not talking for days on end. having to see each other at work made it even more difficult, and when you both weren’t talking, yosano is always coming up to you because it is obvious something is wrong between you too. you reassure her things will be fine and you still love him all the same.

making up with dazai is surprisingly easy. the no communication stage isn’t, but once you both have had time to calm down and think about the situation, he is more than capable of having a mature conversation with you and mending things.

osamu dazai is not the perfect boyfriend, but he isn’t a bad one either. he is someone who would come with a lot of baggage and patience—learning that he’s not someone who easily communicates his feelings and would rather keep up the mysterious act to the grave. nonetheless, dazai is trying. he’s attempting to change and seems a lot healthier these days ever since he’s been with you. things are positive overall, but this also includes your cooperation and being able to handle him as a person and not just as a boyfriend.

(📦) — BUNGOU STRAY DOGS TAGLIST // n/a . . .

(📝) — TAGLIST FORM :: sign to be apart of the taglist!

[l1tw1ck]

Otherwise I'd have something more simple (?) for headcanons.

Imagine Kazuha, Ayato, Kaveh and Cyno as rapists/creeps. What would their go-to methods to prey on their victim be? As in, do they just pounce on sight, stalk them for a while or manipulate them?

(Idk how that works with requesting headcanons, I randomly picked these four, but if you have ideas for another character or only one of them, I'd like to hear them too, but you can also just... Ignore this, if this is bullshit)

-⛩️

Inside the Brain of a Creeper (not a minecraft reference)

bottom: Kaveh, Cyno, Kazuha, Ayato x top!gn reader

CW: Non-Con, Stalking, Just overall dark stuff

Kaveh

tw: non-con, manipulation, drugging, stockholm syndrome

♡ He would definitely go for the manipulation route and use his charms to woo you

♡ He'd get you comfortable with him and make sure you see only the best parts of him

♡ He plans to make you only have eyes for him. And by that, he means that he wants to be the only person you ever see

♡ He'll shower you with all the love he has, which is a lot, and make you fall for him

♡ Then, he'll invite you over to his house for dinner. He did a lot of not so great things to get his own house. He couldn't pull this off with Al Haitham as his roomate

♡ Unbeknownst to you, he drugged your food

♡ Once you pass out, he'll take you down to the basement and tie you up

♡ He'll keep you drugged constantly so your brain is more susceptible to his manipulation

♡ He'll whisper sweet words into your ear as he uses your body

♡ With the way he treats you, it's impossible for you to see him as a bad person

♡ And once you finally accept him and your new life, he'll allow you access to the rest of the house. You deserve to experience it, he bought it for you after all

"I love you." Kaveh sits on your lap, peppering you with kisses. You look at him hazily. You're barely there. You don't even remember your life before all this. "I love you too.." You murmur.

Cyno

cw: non-con, yandere, stalking

♡ He would stalk you, learn your routines, your schedule, your likes, your dislikes, etc. He'll learn everything he needs to know before approaching you

♡ Of course he'll occasionally visit you while you're gone or asleep. He might watch you sleep, give you oral, or masturbate to the sound of your heart beating

♡ He'll convince you that you coincidentally met someone who's practically your other half, someone who likes everything you like

♡ You'll grow to like him platonically and trust him. You'd never suspect that he'd do anything to you

♡ He'll weed out anybody who he deems a threat to you or your relationship. Anyone who crushes on you will be crushed

♡ He'll even steal your phone and distance you from all your friends so the only person you talk to is him

♡ Since your friends have mysteriously started to ghost you, you decided to spend more time with Cyno

♡ It's hard for him to keep his composure when he's around you. It's just so nice to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and smell you.

♡ After a while, everyone turned against the two of you. It became you and Cyno against the world, at least that's what he says

♡ You ended up falling for him. He's the only person who sees you for you and with the increased amount of closeness between you two, it was inevitable

♡ Once you confess, Cyno can't hold back anymore. He kisses you and strips you without even asking for permission. he doesn't listen to a word you say, he doesn't care if you want it or not. He's waited so long and now that you love him, there's nothing stopping him from doing this

"I love you too." Cyno grins. His expression gives you chills. You feel like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. He spent a long time watching you and he's finally taking his meal. He's so much stronger than you, you can't escape. You just have to let it happen.

Ayato

cw: non-con, oral, asphyxiation, abuse

♡ He fell for you at first sight and knew he had to have you. He was willing to do anything to get you

♡ He ruined your life. He fired you from your job and prevented you from getting any work. You had no one to turn to and he took advantage of that

♡ He offered you a job and you were so desperate that you agreed without question

♡ You thought everything would get better for you from then on. He allowed you to move into the estate since you lost your apartment and the pay was amazing

♡ He tricked you into thinking you were going to be his personal assistant. Little did you know, you wouldn't be assisting him with work

♡ He'd force you to eat him out and prevent you from moving away. You'd have to make him come twice in order to breathe again

♡ You'd become his stress reliever. His little toy to use as he pleases. Whatever he wants, you give it to him

♡ He loves having power over you and gets off on it.

♡ He likes to hurt you both physically and mentally. He'll slowly break your spirit and make you completely submissive

♡ He loves seeing the look of fear in your eyes when you do something he doesn't like. The expressions you make are almost enough to stop him from punishing you. Almost

Ayato tightens his grip around your throat. You slap his wrists desperately, rapidly losing air. "Beg for it." He grins. "Ple- please-" You struggle to speak with your throat constricted. "Ayato- stop, please- please-" Tears fall down your cheeks. He lets go of your throat, allowing you to breathe again. "What do you say?"

"Thank you- thank you so much.."

Kazuha

cw: yandere, murder

♡ He likes to stalk you. He enjoys just watching you live your life from a distance and likes to borrow a few things of yours from time to time

♡ He used to be content with just "watching over you" but then you decided to start looking for a partner

♡ He couldn't handle the idea of you loving, touching, and especially fucking someone other than him. He can't let anyone take you away from him

♡ He managed to steal your phone and figure out the password you use for your dating app. Whenever you plan to meet up with someone, they end up dead before the date

♡ You thought you kept getting stood up or ghosted and eventually gave up on it all

♡ After that, Kazuha decided he needed to claim you

♡ He'd sneak into your room while you're fast asleep and very slowly remove your clothes. He'd take a moment to admire you first since he's never seen you naked up close

♡ Then he'd finally do it. He'd kiss you and finally learn how the inside of your mouth feels. He could probably get off just by tongue kissing you

♡ And once he's semi satisfied with kissing you, he'd get naked as well and finally have sex with the love of his life

♡ On an inconsistent schedule, Kazuha would come and try out all the things he wanted to do with you. Of course some things require your consent but he'll get that to happen eventually

♡ You'd never be able to identify him and no matter how hard you try to prevent him from seeing you again, he'd always find a way to break in

♡ At some point you just gave in and let it happen. It felt good and it's not like he was going to hurt you anyway

♡ The look on Kazuha's face was almost creepy when you finally stopped fighting him

♡ A few nights after that, he decided to sleepover instead of leave like he always does. He hugged you as the two of you fell asleep and you even let him make you breakfast

♡ You're not sure why, but there's something stopping you from reporting him to the police

♡ You don't really know how it all happened but you ended up dating and Kazuha moved in with you

You wake up to Kazuha masturbating on top of your previously sleeping body. The look on his face sends chills down your spine. Even despite all you've been through with him, you're still scared of him. At least to a degree. It's clear he'd never hurt you but god the things he does are terrifying

[bassboosted-moon-chao]

So I was thinking and wondering; what if the Florges line had a closely related (but not the same) male counterpart line? And so, I drew the following Fakemon:

meet Falilys, Falarino and Fanceur!

Fairy-Types drawing from Water power, they're male ballet dancer/butler themed. Dex entries + big ramble under the cut.

Falilys ("fa-lee-lees")

The Tiny Lilypad Pokémon

Fairy-Type — drawing power from Water-Type

Exceedingly rare in modern times. It's thought Falilys is born when a Flabébé undergoes a strange mutation in the egg.

The dewdrops Falilys carries on its head are important to it. Knocking them off makes it cry.

A very honouring Pokémon, Falilys are often seen carrying Flabébé across lakes, ponds and rivers in exchange for pollen to eat.

Falarino ("fa-la-ri-no")

The Lilypad Pokémon, evolved form of Falilys

Fairy-Type — drawing power from Water-Type

The lilypad Falarino once used to travel is now carried on its head. It practices balance with it, twirling and dancing across lake surfaces.

Some folklore says Falarino's teardrop shaped marks developed after it was shunned by Florges.

With the grace of a dancer, Falarino emerges at night to heal stagnant bodies of water and encourage healthy growth of aquatic plants.

Fanceur ("fan-se-ur")

The Lilypad Pokémon, evolved form of Falarino

Fairy-Type — drawing power from Water-Type

Fanceur will only remove its lilypad— its source of power— to use as a shield for someone it loves. It spins up streams of water when it dances.

With a haunting cry and an ever-sorrowful expression, Fanceur skips and skims across bodies of water, telling a tragic tale through elegant dance.

Though people used to assume Fanceur would woo Florges with its dances, it's now been found it acts more as a personal servant to its counterpart.

And now for the ramble. Down below are Shinies, colour variations (Fanceur colours are Dawn, Cream, Slate, Dusk and Silk) and a head shape comparison between Fanceur and Florges.

Hoo!! So! This line is my pride and joy. it's my first time making a Fakemon not look like shit. I thought it would be cool if there was a diverging line at birth for Florges and I ran with the idea of it becoming a dancer-servant rather than a guardian. I think it would also be really funny if they shared the same egg group BUT you can't breed Florges and Fanceur anyway. because fuck you. made the Shinies shades of purple to match Florges, and then here we are! funny sad water lily fairies.