#and i wanted to know about the ballet of the same name

[retrosabers]

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[lacemyimpurities]

♱ ⸝⸝ next thing i know she was feeling on me ,

cw. older brothers bestfriend!sukuna ༝ ballet dancer!reader-ish , nsfw , car sex , piv , super whipped kuna , ooc kuna cause yessss... lwky streetracer!sukuna too umm, written with the ryd by steve lacy in mind

it's 9 pm on a friday afternoon, the two of you in the backseat of his ZL1. large hands on your waist guiding you to meet his thrusts as you lay prettily like putty in his hands against his chest, he does all the work usually. and he doesn't mind it, considering he's your first and he'd do anything to stay as your last. his nose presses against your neck, the scent of florals and vanilla invading his senses. a scent he already committed to memory. a scent that reminds him of you.

his hands slide up under your dress, trying to get a feel of all of you while he listens to your whines. the prettiest sounds he's ever heard, from the prettiest girl.. your brother will definitely kill him.

you guys met when you both were in middle school, him in 8th grade and you just enrolled into 6th. you were his buddies little sister, always known as his little sister and nothing more. he tolerated you, didn't really ever make remarks towards you knowing he would have his head on a stick if your brother ever found out. so you three were peas in a pod, your brother always making sure you were with him so he can keep track of you and have you experience some sense of a normal childhood, knowing it'd be exploited soon enough by the time you reached high school yourself.

they both would walk you to school like a your personal bodyguards. since the highschool was next to the middle school, even after they went to grade 9 they stayed accompanying you. a routine, for 4 years until the two boys graduated and went to college. having to leave you behind for Utokyo, sukuna hadn't seen you after that. your brother visiting you when he was free instead of you coming to him, sukuna didn't think much of it. that was, until your brother decided to graduate early and make big moves to the states. you had just gotten into college and absolutely devastated you only had one year with your dear brother, him leaving sukuna as your guardian for his last year as a senior.

it wasn't as bad as he'd thought, you didn't really make a fuss or anything. just had his number as an emergency contact, but rarely heard from you. he'd do monthly check ups in honor to stay loyal to your brother's request, you'd say your okay and both of you would go on your merry ways. months quickly passed. and it was already sukuna's turn to graduate. you didn't have any family that was as close as your brother, since you two were the son and daughter of very busy figures. and sukuna's little brother yuuji that was the same grade as you, claimed he was busy.

you attended his graduation, cheering when he gets his name called and receiving his diploma. he was surprised, when you ran to him after the ceremony with roses and a stuffed bear just for him. (more like for you since it was the brown male version rilakkuma to your favorite bear korilakkuma) he never expressed it, but he appreciated having you around.

since then, you two had gotten closer. having a more casual relationship with occasional meet ups, you'd have performances and give him your plus one ticket. while he had his races and you'd get vip seating, sometimes even getting to ride with him during practice runs. although you like the thrill, he has only let you join a handful of times for safety reasons. it was now your senior year, with you freshly 21 it was natural you wanted to go get drinks and celebrate your coming of age. sukuna of course tagging along, muttering something about "needing to make sure you don't get laced or some shit.". you get to a booth with your of age friends, them all clearly oogling him but he'd be glancing at everything else. from the dance floor to the bar he so longingly wants to perch at, on a stool and drink his own heart away. but he stays sitting next to you, on the end to make sure no idiot gets close to you. his arm was outstretched your direction behind you casually, as you nursed at least 8 shots. your alcohol tolerance was never good, when your brother and sukuna drank in highschool, you were always welcomed to join but only ever had soju mixed in with some sprite or yakult. he knew your limits, and he knew your habits, your likes and dislikes.

you tapped out fairly early as he predicted and decided to leave, tapping sukuna's thigh and he paid your part on the check given to the table. (birthday girl privileges he explained) the two of you then made your way out to his car. he drove you back to your place, but you had asked him to stay when he was about to turn the other way. he was reluctant, but stayed standing where he was. you said to get a bag of his stuff to stay the night while you shower off the sweat and smell of alcohol. and get he did, deciding to bring a pack of beer as well so he can drink as much as he missed at the club.

you didn't seem drunk, far from it. coming out your bedroom to him watching some movie and cleaned up himself. clad in a tee and pajama pants, his cherry blossom colored hair damp. you'd settle down next to him, curious about what he's drinking. he'd give his currently opened can for you to taste, knowing you'd hate it and scrunch your face. when you scrunch your face, he'd laugh and get you some water to rid of the taste. you never liked beer, so why would you now? you always liked routine, never strayed far from what you liked, consistent. he watched as you down the glass of water, beginning to munch on one the various snacks you had on the coffee table when you felt like picking at something, something that was occasionally sponsored by sukuna. when he'd pick up groceries at the market for himself or for a friend, he'd also pluck some chips or sweets from the shelf, making sure to never have you snackless.

he knows you like the back of his hand, you're predictable.

it was the next day and you had the worst hangover ever to be recorded in the history of humans, as so you claimed. both of you had knocked out on the couch last night, but you had awoken with a wince and he sprung up. he was amused as he took in your expression, your hands rubbing all over where your could on your head in attempt to soothe the fog.

"i'm surprised, you didn't seem drunk at all." he hummed, getting up to make some sort of hangover aid with the knowledge he gained from being in the frat with your brother, that also claimed to have the worst ever human recorded hangovers.

"i was, i just.. tried really hard to keep composure i guess." you say, watching him plucking things from your kitchen. you padded over, leaning beside him to see what he was doing. "your favorite soondubu jigae you get at that korean barbecue we go to all the time is good for hangovers, i'll make it since you have the ingredients. plus an egg." he'd explain, and you always so ever attentive when he spoke.

he sets down your bowl on the kitchen island first when he's done, making sure you were seated and had a glass of water too. he settled down beside you with his portion, occasionally watching you blow on the soup.

you two finished and he washed the dishes, settling beside you on the couch once more, squeezing your calfs to soothe the ache from your heels as you laid back. you two were conversing about alcohol and it's effects, before it faded to something else.

shortly after, that new anime that came out was on the tv. then mario kart. then mario party. you both tying each time on the switch, causing you call break to shower. you go and he scrolls on his phone, hearing you calling out from your bedroom that he can shower next. he does and comes out, towel around his neck with a new tee and shorts. but instead of the tee and shorts you were wearing earlier, you wear a nightdress. red, silk. he doesn't think anything of it till you guys lounge in the dark. moonlight shining through the window, and you suddenly slide a hand up his forearm to his bicep. clinging onto him like he's one of your plushies.

he accepts it. not saying a word, not moving a muscle.

that was, before you began speaking about checking off another thing on your bucket list with him.

losing your virginity.

he spirals, brain short circuiting. you? asking him? absolutely nothing could have led him to predict that you'd ever ask him such a question, nor anything to prepare him. he had been celibate for the most part since graduating due to work, and due to male anatomy... plus his cursed imagination.

he pops a boner.

still, he refuses with every last shred of dignity he has left after that question. saying you should keep it, save it. it's something sacred. but you stay quiet, and it makes him nervous. when was the last time he felt nervous?

"am i not attractive to you?"

he feels his hand twitch.

you are. hell, you are in every damn way since you entered college that it hurts. but your his best friends little sister, and he respects that. he feels you beginning to slip away because he didn't respond, his hand quick to halt you at your wrist.

"you are, pea.." his voice shakes at the end, almost as if it burned to call you by that name. sweet pea. he had given you that name after his graduation, because you were so small and sweet as fuck with that big bouquet in your arms. you look at him with those eyes, and he sighs. "boundaries," he says vaguely, "save it for someone you love."

you both sit in silence for a moment, before you move to slip off the left strap of your night dress while your other hand rests on his shoulder. "there were never any between us, why are there now?" you murmured leaning in, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

"i think... i do love you."

everything after that was a blur, you were underneath him on the couch. the same couch your brother had left you with, before he ventured off to new york. sukuna felt guilty, his hands gentle as he caressed every part of you he could in attempt to comfort you from his size. overwhelmed you felt. and terrible he feels. but all he could really do was kiss you, distract you from what you wanted. what he had wanted.

he feels your walls contracting for the 3rd time, your endurance ever so short compared to him and it's all the more endearing. he presses his lips against yours rather harshly, his hand that grabbed your face sliding down your neck to your breasts. the ones you've been insecure about for being so small, since you were small.

but he loved every part of you. so why couldn't you?

he pulls away for you to get air, fingers rolling your nipple beneath the flimsy fabric you call a dress. you're a sight, satin dress glued to your clammy skin. in red, his favorite shade too. a color that would never have graced your pretty pink and ivory hued closet if it weren't for him. you were always eager to appease him, but he was already too enamored to ever be unsatisfied. your hair was tied into a messy bun prior by him, a habit he's gained so he can feel and see you all over without your silky hair obstructing his vision. face flushed, body trembling, and a prominent bulge in your stomach from him. your his, and he's completely yours. "you left your lip gloss in my car," he murmurs, hands moving up and down your waist a few times, before finding your hand to press kisses against your palm leading to your fingertips.

you hum, watching him kiss your fingers. worshipping, he always is with you. your finger tips lightly press against his face when he releases your hand, nails dragging down to his chest. the ones he recently paid for. "haven't you known?" you murmur, confused on why he's mentioning it now.

sukuna's eyes darken as your finger traces down his neck, his pulse jumping beneath your touch. he knows exactly what he's doing, mentioning the lip gloss now. it's a reminder, a declaration. you've left pieces of yourself all over his life, little by little, until he can't ignore the fact that you're everywhere. in his car, in his apartment, under his skin.

he rolls his hips into yours, a low groan comes from his chest as he feels you clench around him. his hands grip your waist, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. he's trying to hold back, trying to be gentle, but it's a losing battle. especially when you look up at him with those big, doe eyes. eyes just like your brother's, but somehow softer. kinder.

"i've known, pea" he murmurs, voice rough and low. he knows exactly what he's doing. just like he knows that 'pea' is his new name for you. sweet. something fragile and delicate, just like you. he leans down, nose brushing your cheek as he inhales deeply. vanilla and florals fills his lungs, and he knows it's not just your perfume. it's you. It's the way you smell after a shower, after dancing, after... this.

"it's just my buddies at work know now too,"

"oh..." is all you manage under your breath, half lidded eyes flickering between his own soaking in his words. "m'sorry... what'd they say..?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. sukuna's eyes drift shut as your arms wrap around his neck, his face burying into your hair. his hands start to wander, one tangling into your messy bun to hold you close while the other traces down the side of your neck. he feels your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, matching the rhythm of his own.

"nothing much," he whispers, voice muffled by your hair. "just gave me shit. said i was whip cream when i used to be chocolate. that i was settling down, becoming soft."

he pulls back to look at you after you laugh a bit at his metaphor, red eyes dark and intense in the moonlight streaming through the window. His thumb brushes your jaw, your cheek, the swell of your bottom lip. he's studying your face like he's trying to memorize it. like he's trying to understand how you crept under his skin without him even realizing.

"but they're not wrong," he says softly, words almost tender. "i am different. everything's different now that you're in my life."

his hand slides down to your collarbone, fingers grazing the swell of your breasts. the thin fabric of your dress does little to hide your hardened nipples. gaze following the path of his hands, eyes darkening further. "i don't want to be chocolate anymore, pea," he whispers, ducking his head to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "i want to be your whip cream. i want to be the part of your life that's sweet and perfect. that fits with everything else."

he looks up at you, expression vulnerable in a way that's completely foreign. to him. to everyone. but especially to you.

"i want to be yours," he says softly. "completely. wholly. present, and in the afterlife."

you, sensible and perfect, stare up at him with those pretty eyes that he's been seeing in his dreams. those pretty eyes that he's been waking up wanting to see every morning.

he's been thinking a lot lately. about you. about your past, his past. the two of you squished together in the tiniest apartment he could find, a bed angling out from the wall and knocking into the kitchen counter. about all the things he swore he'd never do. a relationship. commitment. the white picket fence.

but now? with you on him, around him, everywhere? your fingers tracing the shell of his ear, your warm breath hitting his neck? your thighs squeezing his waist?

he wants all of it. badly. enough to throw away every boundary line and code of honor he's ever had.

"tell me you want it too," he pleads, voice hoarse and desperate against your throat. "tell me I'm not crazy to think this could work. that your brother would kill us if he found out, but that maybe, just maybe, we could sneak glances at each other across the dinner table and steal kisses in the kitchen. that we could wake up to the smell of coffee and each other." his hand slides down from your collarbone to your waist, squeezing the dip of your ribs. holding onto you like you're something precious. something he never wants to let go. "tell me," he whispers against your throat, ears ringing. "are you mine? are we doing this, together?"

you listen to his words, head tilted towards the ceiling of the car as he hunches over to your throat. your heart beats twice as fast than it already was prior, since when was sukuna one for labels? your hands sliding up his to hold his head close, pressing your cheek against his forehead.

"you're not crazy," you breathe out with a soft exhale, pressing kisses to the side of his face. "i want that too." you whisper, pressing your forehead into his cheek and holding him closer as if you two could merge into one.

"i'm yours ryo, completely."

yours. you said it. yours. the word repeats in his mind, sinking into his brain to carve a permanent place for itself there. he wants to laugh out loud, shout it to the world, smear it across every surface until the truth of it is blaring from ten miles away.

instead, sukuna squeezes his eyes shut and presses open mouthed kisses across your throat, his hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. one hand hooks under your knee, hitching your leg up to wrap around his hip. the other finds your jaw, tilting your face towards his like a bossy, demanding lover. his mouth crashes over yours, kissing you like he's been wanting to do it for years and finally getting permission. he kisses you until your breathless. until your lungs burn for air and your head spins from lack of oxygen. until you forget that you're still in the car, still pressed up against him with miles and miles of highway stretching out before you. he kisses down the column of your throat, fingers fumbling with the zipper at the back of your dress. it's not a request. it's an order. the command of a man who always gets what he wants. his hand slides up the curve of your side, palming the slope of your breast and tweaking a stiff nipple through the thin lace of your bra. one click. ther another. halfway down with the zipper. your dress gapes open, the chill of the air making you shudder.

this is happening. you're happening. the lines crossed. the decisions made. the past catching up to the present.

you're in this now. together. no turning back.

sukuna looks at you, red eyes blazing with mischief and hunger with a possessiveness that steals the breath from your lungs. you're both panting, both flushed, desperate to unwind the desire you both been holding eachother out on. his thumb drags across your bottom lip, smearing the lip gloss that's already smeared. marking you. claiming you. he leans in close, until you can feel the heat of his breath and the weight of his stare. he's taking it all in. memorizing every detail of your face. burning it into his mind for all of eternity.

he kisses you like he's starving for it, like you're his sustenance and he can't live without you. like he'll die if he doesn't taste you, doesn't touch you.

he kisses you like he's in love with you. like he's always been in love with you. like he'll never stop.

he needs to get you under him, around him, everywhere. all at once.

[globalrebrand]

How long do you think it would take the reader to actually fall in love with Capitano because they're in an arranged marriage? And the other way around

Starting with Capitano!

Capitano will always uphold the values of marriage and will be a model husband. He is an a generous yet pragmatic provider. Capitano will not spoil you, but he will ensure what you have is more than adequate for your needs. However, above all, Capitano is honest and loyal, he will never lie or attempt to deceive you.

At first this ideal husband behavior is more so because he respects the institution of marriage very highly and not necessarily because of who you are, though Capitano makes an effort to get to know you. He questions you about your habits and hobbies and after a while will think about how to cater to them.

Capitano actually has rather high expectations of his spouse. I imagine Capitano was pushed to marry due to his status and position, so he will want a partner who is independent, intelligent and dutiful. He will expect the same level of respect in the union that he is giving to you. The irony is that while he picked these characteristics to get a lover who will not disturb him, Capitano is deeply attracted to diligent, mindful and clever individuals. So as the reader demonstrates these traits, Capitano begins to fall in love with them, but due to their independent nature they aren't be the most receptive to the ways in which Capitano shows love, namely by being over protective and insisting on doing everything together. He's home so seldom that what little free time he has he would prefer to spend with his spouse. This becomes especially apparent the longer you two are together.

As detailed above, Capitano possesses many admirable traits which on paper make him easy to fall for, however this ignores his blunt, keen and sometimes prideful nature which depending on who you are, could rub you the wrong way at first.

He is an acute observer even without you detailing the quotidian goings on of your daily life, Capitano will start to notice and comment. He isn't necessarily critiquing, just seeing and noting. He will casually tell you about yourself which can be incredibly jarring at first, especially if you're unused to being seen by the people in your life. However...when it comes to himself, he doesn't freely offer information which can be frustrating. He wants to expose all of your inner workings, but is very selective when divulging his own. He begins to share more freely when you earn his trust, which builds slower than his actual affections for you. Capitano will come to love you before he fully trusts you. It's just the nature of the fatui that make him so suspicious and not necessarily you. He wants to trust you but years in his position have made it difficult for him to lower his guard.

Basically, Capitano appreciates a partner who is brave, self-sufficent and above all loyal. Devote yourself to him and Capitano will find his feelings changing rather soon into your union. Ultimately it takes maybe 2-3 months for Capitano to fall for the reader.

The reader in A Lady's Secret is incredibly independent and self-sufficient young woman from a modest background who knows what she wants and doesn't require Capitano's support. She is principled, hardworking, and doesn't meddle in Capitano's affairs. In fact she develops a pretty well rounded life outside of their marriage. She has season tickets to the ballet, successfully convinces Capitano to let her have two dogs (large thick furred beasts who can easily takedown wolves) and walks them around the forest to visit their distant neighbors when the winds aren't too cold.

The reader does these activities alone because she assumes that Capitano wouldn't want to join her but when he quietly questions why she doesn't invite him she starts to incorporate him into these activities. Not all of them. Capitano has no interest in visiting the neighbors, but he can be convinced to attend a quiet night at the ballet and walk the dogs in the forest. And the reader while initially worried she'd find that his company dulled her experiences, is delighted to realize that she actually prefers his accompaniment.

They definitely butted heads in the beginning when Capitano demanded that she inform him every time she left the house. She wasn't too keen on her whereabouts being surveilled, as she was used to coming and going as she pleased. Initially he was more flexible about these things but as he began to get attached he assigned her a personal body guard which had her really annoyed with him. This led to an argument where she called "smothering" and he called her "stubborn."

The difficult part for the reader early on is that she's intensely attracted to Capitano so she starts the sexual part of their relationship right away, but her feelings for him are slower to crystalize and Capitano uses this to his advantage. When you're still arguing with him about a security detail, he'll be withholding until you agree to his terms.

For someone as independent as the reader she struggles with Capitano's desire for control over her. He's not possessive per se but he is very very over protective and unfortunately due to his position he has every right to be. She just resents that she doesn't quite feel like his equal when he frets over her like this.

However, as she comes to appreciate his company, she is more permissive of Capitano's particular brand of affection which is demonstrated through ensuring her safety. Once the reader learns to appreciate Capitano's brand of care she falls for him. He is a supportive partner and an excellent listener. He is stoic and gruff but she knows from his actions that he cares for her deeply. I would say it takes the reader about 5-7 months to reciprocate his feelings in earnest.

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Artie grinned mischievously as his friends profile started to appear one by one. The app linked to the saved contacts in his phone and somehow they managed to extract a fairly accurate profile of Artie's friends, resulting in a couple avatars that Artie can choose and tweak to his likings. The app, called Chronivac, not only changed Artie's physique to look like a 30+ years old hairy muscle hunk, it also molded the reality in accordance to the final prompt Artie typed in, turning the 20 years old college dropout into a bonafide hunk living life lavishly from workout courses and OF, and he's about to spice things up in the life of his dear friends.

He started from Randall.

He started very methodically as he put Randy as the new name. Then, when the profile options opened, he started his work. Get rid of the glasses. Get rid of that acne scar and blackspot. Retain the face but make the jaw angular. Styling the hair so it's no longer greasy and moppy. Face done, now the body

Randall is quite a perv and his biggest turn-on is big titties, but well, most untouched virgin are perv anyway so maybe he should make Randy turned on with himself by giving him this large pair of muscle tits? Lol, that's hilarious, he thought to himself. Humh.....so maybe keep Randy as a 255 lbs fuckers? Well, turn all the fat into muscle and click "Optimize" because he can't be bothered to perfect Randy's muscle distribution.....hot damn that's one massive unit! Finalize the whole change with the short prompt

"Randy is a gym junkie and absolute freak of nature. He's probably the biggest 20 years old in the entire Americas. He's one of my mentee and he looked up to me as his inspiration, he even will not hesitate to take my cock if I instruct him to do so to get bigger, quite the dumb oaf he is,"

Click Save and then Process. Several seconds later, a transformed Randy appeared in the room that Artie booked for this holiday. Randy appeared to be sleeping while he got altered earlier, Artie just realized it's night time in the States so no wonder Randy is asleep. He will check him out later as he still have several more profile to go

Andy. Oh, yeah, the profile arrangement is based on surnames. Coleman, Randall. Garcia, Andy. Andy is Artie's bestfriend from childhood so Artie knows very well what Andy really wanted to look like.

Keep the name and lineage. A little tweak in his testosterone to boost that facial hair growth and make that balls pumped full faster with mini Garcias. Andy admired his hotter, older brother, Juan, so badass and clearly a true symbolism of what Latin American community deemed as macho, so Randall ensured that whatever feature Juan possessed, Andy is going to make that even better. Thicker hair, more defined abs, bigger biceps, bigger triceps, rounder delts, voice that trembles anyone that hear it, obviously bigger uncut piece of meat, more tattoos, all lodged in as part of the new Andy's persona. The avatar is looking quite a looker already so Artie just added a bit of simple prompt, click the Save button and then Process the changes. Andy suddenly appeared in the day bed next to Artie, still sleeping soundly and Artie just smirked as he continued his work

He tweaked Ollie's profile right after, making the pale and lanky 6'5" Norwegian-Lebanese former ballet dancer to be closer to his Lebanese roots as he shrunk him to a 6'1" muscle daddy. Ollie, or Olaf, quickly turned into Ali, and just like Andy, appeared in the same resort where Artie stayed

Michael is supposedly next on the list, but James is already quite distracting for Artie so he decided to work on James first. He's really not that close to James and to be honest, if it's not because James is Andy's college roommate, Artie probably would have 0 interest to befriend him. He might be clouded with jealousy because Andy seemingly enjoyed James company, and even worse, a little crush on him, but well, with a reality-changing app in the palm of his hands, why should he accept things as it is when he can change it? So, rather than focusing on the physical aspect, Artie simply turned his focus to James mental part. He smirked devilishly as he turned the pretty-much straight James into a horny, lustful bottom. Artie practically emasculated James and he felt zero remorse whatsoever as he then added to the prompt that James tagged along to this trip as he's a clingy cum dump that Michael fucked once in the seedy bar that he and Andy frequented. Yup, that's the plot of his change to the innocent Michael.

Artie quickly tweaked Michael profile, the smallest and shiest one in the friend group is now the horny beast who needs to fuck a hole in daily basis. Artie based all of them in the same city, the same apartment building even and then created this whole backstory of their ascendancy to the top of OF and independent adult industry in Michael's prompt space. When he clicked Process, the sound of James moaning in delight echoed all the way to the swimming pool, Michael is basically fucking the shit out of James

The noise also managed to wake Andy's up. Despite seemingly confused at first, Andy quickly find his senses and instead of freaking out or reacted in surprise, he seems to be very much comfortable and at home. Artie sighed with relief, thrilled that his little handiwork resulted nicely.

It seems like that Andy is totally not aware that his life has been dramatically altered by his own best friend that just whipped out his cock from the swimming shorts he's wearing. With a grin while his right hand started pumping his meaty cock and the phone flipped and locked in the table, Artie said

"Care to help a friend here? We can drench Ali to wake the fucker's up when we are close,"

[lexirosewrites]

Would you maybe possibly consider writing a ballet au? With Eddie as a powerful crimelord - maybe some smutty power dynamic stuff? 👀

https://www.tumblr.com/laughconfetti/774022134731259904?source=share ( saw this post and i could just picture it 🥵)

I don’t quite have it in me to write a whole fic right now, but I can make you a moodboard and write you a ficlet!💛

If Eddie was supposed to be looking respectfully, he had already failed.

There was no way he could control the powerful reaction his inner alpha was having to such a beautiful ballerina.

The most stunning omega dances his way gracefully across the stage as if his very existence hasn’t changed Eddie’s permanently.

While he’d never considered himself to be an expert on the arts or theater, Eddie can appreciate talent. Truthfully, he hadn’t even wanted to come tonight. Ballet isn’t something he needs associated with his name.

Eddie Munson isn’t soft. He isn’t known for his kindness or his mercy on others. He’s in charge of a massive organization that moves between the shadows.

He’s killed before and fools have tried to kill him in return.

There’s no reason for him to be at the theater if not for one man’s insistence that a deal be struck up over drinks and entertainment.

Eddie had been feeling generous enough to agree. He could use a night out on the town and perhaps the ballet would make his business counterpart more amenable to striking a deal.

“Steven has caught your eye, eh?” Richard asks, his tone unreadable. “He’s a beauty. That boy dances like a fish swims, effortlessly. Shame he’s an omega, but at least he’s good for something.”

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with that. Whatever Richard is insinuating with his almost fond rambling makes Eddie feel protective of the ballerina.

Richard is far too old to be looking at him, but Eddie isn’t much younger. It’s wrong for either of them to be looking.

“He is beautiful,” Eddie agrees, taking a drag from his cigarette thoughtfully. There’s a no smoking rule, but they’re in a private box and rules don’t apply to him.

Richard gives him a scrutinizing look.

“Allow me to be direct here, if I may: he’s for sale, Munson.”

For sale? Well, now that is interesting information. Why does Richard know that? And are they speaking of the same matter?

“His contract or…?”

Richard smiles in that particularly sleazy way of his.

“Even better. His marriage contract. He’s on the market for a mate and I happen to have quite a lot of influence over the matter. That is… if you’re interested.”

Eddie glances back towards the stage where his beautiful ballerina is taking a bow and waving at the crowd with a bright smile, catching flowers that are thrown in his direction.

Jesus, he’s precious.

“I might be interested,” he confesses hesitantly. It’s bullshit. Eddie’s so interested that he’ll die if Steve isn’t his. “What sort of sway do you have over his mating and why?”

Richard nods his head smugly.

“I’ve heard you have a particular taste in omegas, Munson. Knew you’d take one look at Steve and open your wallet,” he laughs.

Eddie is not amused. If this is the sort of attitude Richard has, Eddie will be dealing with Steve’s seller directly. Whoever is managing his sale has to be more tolerable than Richard.

“Listen, you piece of—”

The door to their box swing opens and snags both their attentions. It takes about half a second for Eddie to realize that Steve has changed out of his ballet costume and into something softer and looser.

The young omega has bundled himself up in pastel colored sweats that match the sweet scent wafting from his form.

“Oh. Hello there,” Steve greets him with a cheery smile.

Holy shit. He’s even prettier up close.

Richard springs from his seat and places an arm around Steve’s shoulder. Eddie almost growls at him for touching the omega.

“Allow me to introduce you to my pride and joy, my beloved son, Steve.”

Son. Eddie might be fucked.

“One million dollars,” he tells Richard confidently.

Steve looks adorably confused, but Richard looks like he might just pee himself like an overexcited dog.

“Steve, come meet your new alpha, Eddie.”

It occurs to Eddie too late that Steve may not be aware of his marriage contract being on the market. The hurt look in Steve’s shining eyes certainly says so.

[casscainmainly]

What I find interesting about Cass and ballet in Tynion's Detective Comics (2016) is not so much the communication or artistic expression aspect, but what it means for Cass' relationships to women.

From the beginning, Cass + ballet is heavily tied to her relationships with women. In Batman & Robin: Eternal #7, she first watches the ballet with Harper Row:

Ballet isn't just about "understand[ing] everything" (as Harper says), but about the physical and emotional connection Cass forges with Harper in this moment. The way their hands grasp onto each other symbolises the potential for ballet to form women-to-women bonds. Since this is N52, Cass' relationships with Babs and Steph have been sadly obliterated, so this is her very first connection to another woman.

Then, in Detective Comics #950, we meet Christine Montclair:

Christine is a ballerina who has been "handed" a key to the main stage by "the late Elaine Torsky," and who hopes to hand "that key to another young girl." Ballet becomes linked with a feminine legacy, one tied to "know[ing] exactly who she wants to become." The ideas of a female legacy and coming into one's identity strongly echo Cass' relationship to the Batgirl mantle, and the importance of female relationships to Cass' sense of self.

Ballet is, also, a storytelling medium - Tynion emphasises the importance of storytelling through #955's scene between Christine and Cass, where Christine reads her a story. She mentions that her mom used to read this to her. This is clearly an allusion to Shiva (since this arc is about Shiva), but more broadly this scene points to matrilineal connection through stories, something that Babs and Cass actually do in DC First: Batgirl/Joker. In that issue, Babs tells the story of her first encounter with Joker, which inspires Cass to do the same. Cass' mimicry - something she also does with Christine, copying her movements in the ballet school - showcase her desire for connection with other women.

(The book is also written by Carolyn Wu-San, another connection between women, stories, and family.)

And it's this connection to women that allows Cass to say her name, harkening back to Babs giving her her name in NML. This scene is also funny to me because Tynion created Orphan but he's aware the name is not something Cass actually likes - if anything, 'Orphan' feels like a punishment Cass imposed upon herself (especially in this arc, which doesn't reference that Orphan came from her dad).

It's just interesting that ballet and storytelling are mediums in which Cass finds an expression of herself, but it's not because of the communicative aspect - she never actually performs in front of anyone. Instead, it's the feminine community and legacy that allows Cass to discover herself beyond Orphan.

All this to say it's a shame Cass couldn't be Batgirl here because I really like the parallel of female legacy between ballet and Batgirl, but it gets lost without acknowledging Batgirl (2000) and DC First: Batgirl/Joker. But conceptually, Cass and ballet is about so much more than her 'communicating' via dance, and the role women and stories play in her love for ballet should be acknowledged more.

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

Introducing Coconut!Reader

You can call it sleeping around. I call it strategic networking.

Paired with Rafe and Ward Cameron

content warning: Cheating? if you consider that but mostly just father and son sharing the same woman

Requests for this au OPEN/closed

Divider by THE QUEEN @starfxkrinc

Coconut is all bounce and gloss silk robes, ballet pink nails, designer heels with bows, rollers in her hair, and gloss on her pout.

Think “Barbie meets bombshell” all soft curves, plush lips, and giggles. People see her and assume she’s just another pretty face who majored in “how to smile pretty.”

But the bitch has a 4.0 GPA, graduated top of her class in pre-law as summa cum laude. and she’s currently securing her degree in urban development with a business minor. Brains so sharp they could cut glass.

Former Miss North Carolina Teen and a Miss USA Top 5 finalist. Her pageant walk is so precise it could hypnotize a room, and she’s got a terrifyingly sweet voice she uses like a weapon.

She knows how to network, flirt, disarm, and charm thank you, pageant training. That’s how she landed her internship at Cameron Development.

She flutters her lashes in interviews but hits harder than any other candidate in data analytics. Ward said, “You’re too pretty to know what zoning codes are.” She replied with the entire state regulation index from memory.

Ward is intrigued first by her body, then by her mind, then back to her body. When he offers her a “bonus” for working late, she acts shy, but takes it.

She starts sleeping with Ward because he throws money at her like she’s a damn trust fund. Cashmere sets, vintage pearls, a new Cartier bracelet “for being such a good little intern.”

She lets him call her “doll,” but only if she gets the black Amex when she wants it. She’s not ashamed he’s the one panting at her feet.

Rafe catches her sneaking out of his dad’s office in smeared lipstick and thigh highs. She tries to lie. He laughs.

“You’re not even subtle,” he growls, cornering her in the elevator. “You’re gonna fuck him and not me?”

She’s cocky about it until he makes her beg on her knees right in Ward’s office chair. After that, Rafe makes Ward share.

Now she’s their perfect little secret silk and lace between two generations of Cameron power.

Her biggest kink? Making men underestimate her and then owning their entire business plan in one sentence.

She wears pastels and keeps her voice sweet, but she’s vicious behind a keyboard.

Ward lets her sit in on meetings just for the view, but she ends up correcting his executives mid presentation.

Rafe starts letting her take calls for him because she negotiates harder than he does.

Ward calls her “Sugar,” “Princess,” and “Sweet girl.” He likes her docile, on his lap, brushing her curls while he sips bourbon.

Rafe calls her “My little intern,” “Pretty bitch,” and “Cameron Property.” He likes to wreck her lipstick before board meetings.

She lets them think they own her when really, she owns them both.

She’s a pillow princess with Ward, soft moans and legs open while he worships her like a dirty church prayer.

With Rafe? It’s rougher. Meaner. Messier. He likes to see the lipgloss smeared, the pageant girl ruined.

They both think she belongs to them but she’s got their names memorized in her planner like appointments:

9am: Blow Ward before morning meeting.

1pm: Let Rafe bend you over the desk.

6pm: Pretend like nothing happened and look pretty at the fundraiser.

Ward buys her a house. Rafe buys her a car.

Ward wants to take her to Europe for “company expansion.” Rafe threatens to move her to his penthouse just to keep her close.

She smiles through it all, files her nails, and books both flights. Who said you couldn’t have sugar from two sides of the spoon?

She’s using all of this for her thesis: “Gender, Power, and Capitalism: Sleeping With The American Elite.”

And yes she plans to publish it anonymously, after graduation, once she’s long gone… with the Camerons’ secrets and their money.

ALTERNATE ENDING I couldn’t decide which one so requests are open for Both!

Eventually, Ward proposes. Of course he does. She’s the perfect southern wife on paper, smart, stunning, obedient in public.

The engagement is a society spectacle thousand dollar cake tastings, Vogue coverage, diamonds bigger than her ego. She says yes with teary eyes and crossed legs. It’s what she was raised for to secure a name, a legacy, a life of luxury.

The ring never stops her. On the night of her engagement party, Rafe sneaks into the bathroom and takes her from behind while she moans into the marble.

The pearl necklace she wore to the dinner is still around her throat when he finishes. Ward knows. He always knows. He just doesn’t care not as long as she comes home to his bed at the end of the night, looking like money and ruin.

She’s a wife, a whore, a scholar, and a mastermind. She knows Ward will die loving her and Rafe will die chasing her. She keeps both. Rafe calls her a slut when he’s buried inside her. Ward calls her Mrs. Cameron. She lets both speak. She never loses.

In the end?

She doesn’t just have the crown.

She is the empire.

[bucketgetter535]

I don’t even like her

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

CW: Swearing/Subtle internalized homophobia

WC: 1021

Notes: basically Paige is an angsty sixteen year old who “hates” this girl who goes to her school and vents to her therapist about it. (Lowk ooc for Paige but this is self indulgent) anyway this could be the only fic I ever write cause I’m also using it for a creative writing project at school so… give feedback if you want more ig?

The carpet in the office was too clean. That was the first thing Paige noticed every time. Too clean and too soft, like she wasn’t allowed to stomp on it. Like it would judge her shoes for having walked through a parking lot. Her chair squeaked a little when she leaned back too hard, and the window always had that little hum from the traffic outside. It wasn’t annoying. It was just always there.

Dr. Reyes sat in the chair across from her, the same leather armchair every week, ankles crossed like she had all the time in the world. She had that therapist expression that wasn’t fake, but wasn’t… not practiced, either. It was the kind of face Paige found herself trying to match sometimes. Even now. Even when she didn’t want to be here.

“So,” she started, not even looking at her notebook, “how’s this week been? Any change from what you were feeling before?”

Paige shrugged. Her hood was up. Her sleeves were pulled over her hands. “Fine.”

“You seem tired.”

“I guess.”

Dr. Reyes gave her a minute. She always gave her a minute.

And Paige hated that it worked.

“I’m just—” Paige exhaled, tugged at a loose thread on her sweatshirt. “I don’t know. People are annoying.”

“People, like… your teammates?”

“No. I mean yeah, but not really.” Another beat. “Just this one person.”

Dr. Reyes didn’t say anything.

“She’s just—God.” Paige sat up straighter, suddenly full of words. “She’s not even that great. Okay? Like people act like she is. People think she’s like this goddess or something. And she’s not. She’s just a girl. She’s literally just a girl. A normal girl. She’s not even that funny. She just—laughs at dumb stuff. Like it’s charming or whatever.”

Dr. Reyes stayed still. Just listening.

“And she’s not as good as everyone says she is. Like okay, yeah, she’s good, but she’s not better than me. I’m better. I am.”

“You’re talking about—?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying her name.”

Dr. Reyes smiled just slightly. “Okay.”

“She walks around like she owns everything. Like she doesn’t even know how pretty she is. It’s annoying. It’s so—manipulative. Like, don’t act all humble and act like you don’t know what you’re doing when you wear those stupid crop tops or laugh like that or—” Paige stopped, red in the face now. “Whatever.”

There was a silence. The kind that only existed when someone had just told a really big truth disguised as a rant.

“You sound like you think about her a lot,” Dr. Reyes said softly.

“I have to. She’s always there. Practice. School. Online. My friends won’t shut up about her. Even my dad likes her.”

“And you don’t?”

“No!” Paige’s voice cracked on it. “I mean—God, no. I hate her.”

Dr. Reyes raised an eyebrow gently. “You hate her?”

“Yes. I hate her dumb face and her dumb smile and the way she always smells like coconut conditioner and how she somehow makes basketball graceful. Like it’s supposed to be messy. It’s supposed to be violent, and she makes it look like a ballet or some shit and it’s infuriating.”

Paige was breathing faster now, curled slightly forward, like the truth was physically pushing its way out of her.

“And I hate how she looks at me like she knows me. Like she sees through all my shit. I hate how she’s nice to people. I hate how she’s mean when she’s mad. I hate how I know her favorite color is pink and she loves chocolate and eats some kind of treat every night because she’s got the worst sweet tooth. I hate how she texts with perfect punctuation. I hate that she doesn’t get pimples. I hate that she calls me ‘P’ like she’s allowed to.”

Dr. Reyes tilted her head just slightly. “She calls you that?”

Paige blinked hard. Her voice dropped. “Only sometimes.”

The room felt smaller now. Warmer. Or maybe that was just her.

Dr. Reyes was quiet, letting it stretch. Letting Paige decide where to go next.

“I—” Paige’s voice cracked again. “I think about her too much. And I hate that.”

“What do you think about?”

“She’s just always there. In my head. Like I’ll be in math or on the bus or listening to music or brushing my teeth and she just shows up. And it’s not even like I want her there. She just is.”

“And when she’s there?”

Paige swallowed. Her voice went small. “Sometimes I’m mad. Sometimes I just want her to look at me. Like, actually look at me. Not like a teammate. Not like a friend. Like… like I’m special. Like I’m more than just good at basketball.”

Dr. Reyes didn’t move. Her stillness was the safest thing in the world.

“And that makes me mad, too,” Paige whispered. “Because I shouldn’t want that from her. She’s her.”

“What’s wrong with wanting that?”

“Because it’s her.” Paige’s eyes were glassy now. “And if it’s her then—then maybe I’m not who I thought I was.”

Dr. Reyes’ voice was gentle. “Who do you think you are?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

The room went still again. Paige wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“I hate her,” she said again, softer now. “I hate that I know she’s everything I want to be. I hate that she makes me feel safe and out of control at the same time. I hate that I see her name and my stomach flips. That I hear her voice and everything feels quieter. I hate that her hands are so gentle when she rebounds and that she lets me win arguments because she knows I need to. I hate that she smells like home. And I hate that Azzi Fudd might be the only person I’ve ever—”

She stopped. Bit her lip. Looked away.

Dr. Reyes let her.

When Paige looked back, her face was blotchy, and her voice was nothing more than a thread of air.

“I don’t even like her,” she whispered.

And for the first time, Dr. Reyes wrote something down. Just one word.

Love

[kissylec]

BROKEN RIBBONS & PERFECT FISTS — rafe cameron, 06

pairing . . . boxer!rafe cameron x ballerina!reader in which . . . a clean slate is what you needed, to get away from a past you're not proud of and start over, focusing on what you were most passionate about, ballet. outer banks seemed like the best option, a breath of fresh air, new people. what you didn’t expect was that someone just as broken as you would stand in your way, staking your heart on a single name— rafe cameron. ch warning .ᐟ . . . curse words, rafe being an ass

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

BROKEN RIBBONS & PERFECT FISTS. — 05 . 06 . 07

SARAH NOT BEING THERE MADE YOU FEEL LIKE AN INVATION. The silence in Tannyhill was almost overwhelming as you dressed to go downstairs and maybe get something to eat. The window in her room was open, letting the salty breeze in and rustling the white silk curtains.

The wood of the stairs made a noise every time your feet made contact with it, your hand sliding down the railing as you walked down, the contact of the wood making your fingers tingle. From where you sit, you can hear movements in the kitchen, stopping your steps, cutlery and plates being placed on top of the same table you had dinner at yesterday.

The chair dragging against the floor makes you realize that you weren't alone, and that whoever was there with you wasn't going to leave anytime soon. You sigh and resume your pace, your walk to the kitchen becomes almost endless, but when you finally manage to enter, you realize that the one standing there with you is Sarah's brother.

Rafe.

He doesn't bother to look up, somehow he knows that the one standing in front of him is you. If it were Sarah, or even Wheezie, his annoyance would be less.

"Good morning" you say, entering the kitchen and looking at him briefly.

He doesn't answer, and you frown. Your memory travels to what happened yesterday at dinner, how rude he felt, and how few manners he seemed to have, in contrast to... well, the rest of his family.

You swallow hard and walk past him, your feet heading to the fridge, opening it to take out a bottle of water. "Uhm, I'll get some water, I hope you don't mind."

You swear you heard him sigh heavily, as if you were bothering him while he was eating breakfast. You instantly think it's you, there's no chance you're bothering someone you don't know, maybe he's having a bad morning and he had a bad night yesterday, but there's no way you're the one causing that bother.

Your gaze falls on the back of his neck, your hands holding the water bottle as you walk over to him, sitting next to him.

"I wanted to know if you happen to know—"

"Don't talk to me."

What the fuck?

"Excuse me?"

His blue eyes travel to you, taking a sip from his glass of ice water. "Don't talk to me," he repeats, starting to get up from the table and leave his dirty dishes in the sink.

You part your lips as you follow him with your gaze, truly stunned. Was he serious?

"Wha—"

"I don't know you, I don't want you to talk to me, understood?"

And who does this guy think he is?

Before you can even respond, he's already gone, leaving you with your mouth hanging open and your gaze fixed on the sink.

kissylec says . . . FINALLY another chapter omg 🙄

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[cedarwrought]

nice: futility in the pursuit of perfection

(spoilers for EP 1 under the cut)

note: i'll refer to the original nice in this analysis, not lin ling. (we'll talk about him later LOL)

this is purely based off of the official trailers, pv, character concept, and episode one, so my thoughts are subject to change as more episodes are released <3

in nice’s character concept, he’s is shown to be nothing short of a perfectionist. everything has to be perfect: stationary, plates, silverware (or goldware, i suppose) have to be in their rightful positions. all of his belongings are gold, white or fall in a shade of brown, black. even his pillowcase is set in a neat geometric pattern. his hero costume’s color scheme- gold, white, and blue- screams sophistication and poise.

nothing can be out of place- so why choose to die the way he did? it's messy, undignified- and most importantly, public.

what type of fan wants to see their shining hero's brains splattered out on the street? in his hero suit, no less.

nice wanted to permanently tarnish his image of being “perfection incarnate.” he decided to damn himself even further by pointing finger guns at lin before falling- a bittersweet farewell.

despite his endless pursuit of perfection- and having seemingly obtained it (with the title of no.10 hero, his face plastered across every other billboard in the city, and a beautiful girlfriend fitting of his clean, polished image)- i think nice hated himself.

his floor in hero tower is devoid of any personality or sentimentality. the only decor is a piano off to the side, two treadmills (the other presumably meant for moon)- and most importantly, a statue of himself- of nice- in the middle of it all.

offering a palm out to whomever stands before it, the statue almost seems welcoming, friendly. almost. it looks like it belongs in a city hall or museum, not someone's personal residence.

so why keep a statue of himself in his personal living space?

you could theorize he's narcissistic. i mean, people would kill for the prestige tied to the name "nice." (we even get a glimpse of this jealousy in his character promo- hello mysterious stranger.) maybe it inspires him as he steps into another day of being “nice.”

but to me, it’s a reminder fueled by self-loathing.

nice has nothing- is nothing- without being perfect, adored, and envied. he's a former ballet dancer- an art form known for its severe dedication to the craft. we don’t even know his real name. If he can’t be the perfect hero, what is he? And when that image is threatened, what will he do to maintain it?

according to the official trailer 3, nice says he will “use whatever dirty tactics it takes to prevail.” the “villain” we see in his PV calls him out on his alleged hypocrisy, implying that he was involved- or at least knows of some of nice’s misdeeds in the pursuit of perfection.

hell, even his own hero name calls him out. To be nice is to be agreeable, pleasing. niceness is a surface level trait: a veneer meant to cover imperfection and rot. he's not supposed to be kind, much less good.

“Nice” has to be perfect, and whoever held the mantle before lin was unable to afford the cost.

EDIT: the video i had originally referenced for the the quote "use whatever dirty tactics it takes to prevail" had a mistranslation, as @/spidey-deadpool and @/rainibao kindly pointed out in the tags. in the original Chinese video, nice says "No matter what dirty tricks you play, I’ll overcome them perfectly." this lines in better with the self-loathing aspect I had mentioned, and im curious to see how it plays out!

referencing ballet again- it's an art form that ultimately breaks down your body. professional ballet dancers typically retire in their 30's or 40's due to the physical demand, and it seems that the same can be said for herodom- with the cost being your mental health and well-being. faith and trust from the public seem to enhance a person's physical capabilities and prowess, but the standards to maintain that image become increasingly rigid the more renowned a hero is, given how deeply heroism is entrenched in capitalism. im very curious as to see how debilitating injuries are handled in TBHX, but for now, we see the aftermath of how it led to a young hero taking his own life.

[badkitty3000]

The Bodyguard

Chapters 1 and 2

Chapter 3 ->

Chapters 4 and 5 ->

Chapter 6 ->

Chapter 7 (final) ->

Five Hargreeves x female reader, multi-chapter, request

Summary: Five is hired to protect you, a professional ballet dancer, from an obsessive stalker. As the threat from the stalker escalates, Five must navigate his growing feelings for you while keeping you safe

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, choking, bathtub sex, after care

A/N: This was sent as a request for Five romantically linked to a ballerina. It quickly evolved into a crazy story involving a stalker, and turned into a multi-chapter saga. In true Bad Kitty form, it will entail smut and romance and all the good stuff. And yes, it is very loosely based on the great 90's movie of the same name

I will probably post new chapters every couple of days or so, but I don't have a set schedule. Let me know if you want to be added or dropped from my tag list

Thank you to everyone that continues to be interested in my fics. You all are amazing! ❤️😽

Chapter 1: The Ballerina

Five sat in the dingy private investigator’s office, across from the sad and bloated looking man who was interviewing him. As the man droned on in a monotonous tone about sick days (there weren’t any) and health benefits (there weren’t any), Five flexed and unflexed his hand against his thigh in an effort not to walk out of there.

He needed a job. And not just some shitty job cleaning floors or bussing tables. He needed some actual money so he could get an actual apartment and not live in the actual hell he was currently living in. 

After he saved the world, and his family was safe, they had been left to fend for themselves. They had their powers, but that didn’t really mean anything in the grand scheme of things. Turns out when you aren’t being manipulated and corralled into superhero fame by your overly ambitious father, no one seems to give a shit if you can teleport or throw knives or commune with the dead. At least not in any way that’s lucrative. It’s an entertaining party trick at best.

So, against his better judgment, Five found himself once again living in an abandoned hellscape. Only instead of an empty world caused by an apocalypse, it was the empty shell of the Umbrella Academy. It was sad and depressing, and not very comfortable, but he would be damned if he was going to shack up with one of his siblings. As far as Five was concerned, that wasn’t even an option.

When Five had figured out a way back to their correct and rightful timeline, he managed to jump them all there safely, including Lila and Sloane. He even figured out a way to age himself up a few years so that he could pass as a young adult and not an adolescent. The only thing he managed to botch this time was arriving one year after their father killed himself, instead of the one day he was aiming for. During that time, the Academy had fallen into disrepair. There had been no signs of Pogo or Grace.

His siblings dispersed to try and fit back into their old lives, or find new ones for themselves. Each one of them asked Five to come with them, but he declined. He wasn’t some kid that needed charity. He could take care of himself. He’d done it for years.

It was now six months later, and Five had not made much progress. He lived inside the dilapidated mansion, roaming around like a ghost that couldn’t move on. He sold some things that were of value that hadn’t been looted, or were hidden away, so that he had enough money to buy food (and booze) and the bespoke suits he had a penchant for. But getting an actual job when you had no credentials to your name, not even a driver’s license, was more difficult than he had thought. Combine that with his baby face and no one took him seriously. No one with any real clout, anyway.

Which is what brought him to this rundown office building he was sitting in today. Klaus was the one that got him the interview, so Five shouldn’t be surprised it wasn’t exactly a high-end joint.

“Anyway, that’s about it,” the tired man said to Five before taking a sip of what had to have been some very stale coffee in a paper cup. “It’s a private security detail. One client. Just have to make sure she gets to and from work ok, and check around her house for creeps. Pretty straight forward.”

“So, I’m a bodyguard?” Five asked suspiciously.

The man shrugged. “I guess if you want to think of it that way. And we’ll give you a car, so add chauffeur in there, too.” He paused. “You got a license, right?”

“I do,” Five answered, which wasn’t a lie. He had a license. It just wasn’t legit. But he could drive, so he figured that was all that mattered.

The guy eyed Five up and smirked. “Luckily we don’t guarantee complete safety, which is why we’re dirt cheap compared to some other places.”

“Why luckily?” Five asked, his eyes narrowing.

The man’s large shoulders moved up and down again with apathy. “You know. You’re not exactly built like Arnold Schwartzenegger, you know what I mean?”

Five nodded slowly. “Sure. But I got the job?”

“Yeah, you got the job. But I will need to make sure you can handle a gun before I send you out there. Legality thing, you know?”

The man reached into a drawer of his beat up desk and pulled out a revolver. Five watched silently as he loaded a few rounds into the chambers and checked it over a few times. He held it up to Five.

“You know what this is?”

“A gun?” Five ventured, just to be a prick.

The man rolled his eyes. “I mean do you know what type it is?”

Five sighed. “A .357 Magnum revolver,” he answered in a bored tone.

The man’s eyebrows raised. “Yeah, that’s right. Have you used one before?”

“A time or two.”

“Now, I’m gonna need to make sure you know how to use it properly.” He handed it over the desk for Five to take it from him. “See how it feels in your hand.”

Five looked the gun over, making a show of feeling the weight of it.

“Feel comfortable?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Five nodded with a smile, right before he turned in his seat and aimed the revolver at the door to the office that he knew led to the back alley.

Before the other man could say anything, Five shot one precise bullet directly into the doorknob, blasting a hole right through it, but leaving the door intact. The noise inside the tiny office was deafening but Five didn’t flinch. Instead, he thoughtfully looked the gun over again, nodded a few times, and set it back on the desk.

“So, I got the job, right?” he asked again, this time standing up and peering down at the man who was still gaping at him while sitting at his desk. Five stuck his hands in his pants pockets and waited for an answer.

“Y-yes, yeah, you got the job,” the man stuttered before clearing his throat and passing a hand over his bald head. He stared at the neatly massacred doorknob. Then he reached over and handed Five a large envelope containing all the specifics of the job. “Here you go. You start tomorrow.”

“And when do I get paid?” Five asked while taking the envelope from him.

“Uh… every Friday.”

Five nodded, already on his way to the door.  “Great.” He stopped and turned again. “I’ll need the keys to the car.”

“Oh right!” The man dug around in the desk drawer again before pulling out a set of keys. He tossed them to Five. “Here you go. Black SUV. Parked out back.” As Five caught the keys and turned to leave, his new boss spoke again. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

“I won’t,” Five answered over his shoulder as he walked out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

**************************************

Later that day, Five was poring over the documents inside the envelope. Sitting at the precariously balanced table where he once ate his mom’s smiley face pancake breakfasts, he grimaced and tipped back his third beer of the night.

“What a crock of shit,” he said to himself, his voice echoing off the bare, cement walls.

The envelope held a few documents and legally binding contracts from the security company. From what Five could gather, his new “asset” was a young ballet dancer that was requesting a private security guard for herself. From the sounds of it, she had a stalker, and despite a restraining order, she was afraid for her safety.

Enter Five.

He tossed the papers to the side and sighed, taking a look around him. God, he hated it there. He needed to get out. Even if it was some equally shitty apartment, anything was better than the Academy. 

So, if he had to put up with some stuck up ballerina princess in a frilly tutu, then he could do that. He figured if he hung in there for a couple months, played by the rules and collected his weekly pay, he’d have enough to get out of this shit hole. He just had to play his cards right, make nice, and not piss anybody off. He could do that. Piece of cake.

***************************

“Where the hell is this lady?” Five grumbled to himself as he stood outside of the black SUV the security company had assigned him. 

He was waiting outside of the address he had been given, where this supposed prestigious dancer lived. It was a giant mansion, set back off the road, with a long, winding driveway that led to the house. Five had turned into the circle drive near the front entrance, cutting off the engine and staring up at the ivy-covered stone and brick exterior. The grand, heavy oak double doors at the top of a set of wide steps were flanked by two large, snarling lion statues.

Five had sighed heavily before getting out of the car and standing next to it. He had been told not to bother knocking; that she would come out on her own at 7:00am.

He checked his watch. It was 7:06. He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the car. “Figures,” he muttered.

At 7:09, one of the doors to the house flew open, banging loudly, as you rushed out, carrying two large gym bags in one hand and a travel mug with your breakfast smoothie in the other. A set of keys dangled from your hand holding the drink, and a pair of sunglasses were perched crookedly on top of your head.

As you tried to close and lock the door behind you, you wrestled with your bags and almost spilled your drink, all while swearing and kicking at the door.

“Stupid… fucking… dumb door never wants to close… piece of shit key… who designed this…“

When you finally got the door closed and locked, you turned to face Five who had been watching all of this go down with a stunned expression. You blushed and then smiled.

“Uh… sorry,” you said nervously. You hoisted your bags up again and made your way down the steps. “The stupid door never wants to lock properly.”

Five realized, a minute too late, that he probably should have helped you with your bags. Instead, he just watched you bumbling around like some sort of cartoon character until you reached the car. You plopped the bags on the ground near Five’s feet.

With a loud exhale, you extended your hand and introduced yourself. “Hi. You must be the guy the security company sent?”

Five took your hand in his, shaking it once before dropping it again. “Five Hargreeves. Nice to meet you.” 

Five ran through a kind of inventory of you in his mind. It was a habit he held onto from his assassin days. An immediate assessment of his target.

Slim but toned. Cute face. The tight bun on top of her head is kind of cliche, but whatever. Gray sweatpants, black leotard. Nice enough rack. Scuffed up tennis shoes. A voice that isn’t too annoying. Clearly a disorganized mess though. But all in all, could be worse. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” you gushed. “I couldn’t find my shoes and the blender top flew off while I was making my smoothie, so then I had to clean that up, which was super fun, and then –”

Five cut you off with a hand gesture. “It’s fine,” he said, although he didn’t look like he thought it was fine. He looked irritated.

“Ok,” you said, silently telling yourself to shut the hell up. You looked at the SUV he was standing next to. When he noticed, he seemed to remember why he was there in the first place and opened the back passenger door for you. “Thank you,” you said as you climbed in.

Five flung your bags into the trunk, making note of their weight and how you must be a lot stronger than you look to be hauling those things around. As he came around to the driver’s side, he slid in and started the engine. Before putting the car in drive, he turned in his seat to face you.

“You know, you shouldn’t be just hopping into strange men’s cars like this.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You have no idea who I am. You didn’t ask for any form of ID or other proof that I’m who I say I am. Anybody can wear a suit and drive a black SUV.”

“Oh… “ you stammered. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Well, do you have any ID?”

Five sighed. “Well, it’s kind of late for that now, isn’t it? You already got in the car. I could be driving you off somewhere to murder you, chop you up into little pieces, and dump your body parts in a field.”

You looked nervously out the window and your hand came to rest on the door handle. The doors automatically locked with a loud click and you jumped.

“See?” Five said, with his finger on the lock button. “Don’t you have a stalker that I’m supposed to be protecting you from?”

You nodded slowly.

“Well, based on this first impression, I’d say he’s pretty fucking dumb, because you are extremely easy to catch.”

Your mouth hung open and you slow-blinked as you tried to say something in your defense, but everything he was saying made sense. That, and he was kind of scaring the crap out of you.

Five reached over into the glove compartment, and pulled out a piece of paper and a plastic-covered badge attached to a lanyard. He handed them over to you.

“There. Here’s proof I am who I say I am, even though you apparently don’t care.”

You took the items from him, skimming the paper first. It was a signed document from the security agency with their official seal at the top, assigning a Number Five Hargreeves to be your personal security detail. It looked legit. Next, you studied the ID. It was a picture of Five, looking like he would rather be doing just about anything than getting his picture taken, along with his name, title, and some sort of employee number underneath it. It also bore the seal of the agency.

You handed them back to him. “Thank you, I appreciate you showing those to me. You’re right, I shouldn’t have trusted you so easily.”

Five shoved them back in the glove compartment and closed it. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

As he put the car in gear and headed down your driveway, you leaned forward in your seat. “If you’re so intent on making sure I know who you are, why aren’t you wearing your badge around your neck so that I can see it?”

There was a pause. “Because I try not to look like an asshole and wearing that badge around my neck won’t be doing me any favors.”

You sat back in your seat, grabbing your smoothie and rolling your eyes before taking a sip. Well this guy’s a real charmer, you thought to yourself. At least he’s kind of nice to look at.

Your dance studio was about thirty minutes away, and the car was awkwardly quiet as Five drove. You cleared your throat a couple times, but he seemed to ignore you.

“Do you want to turn the radio on?” you suggested.

“Not really.”

You sat there for a minute, pondering. “You know, I did do some research on you beforehand, so I’m not a complete moron. The agency had given me your name. I know you were one of the Umbrella Academy kids and that you can teleport. That must be pretty cool.”

There was no answer from the front, so you tried again. “So what was it like growing up with–”

“Reginald? Not great, actually,” Five interrupted, clearly annoyed with your question.

You bristled at his continued rudeness. “I was going to say Allison Hargreeves, the actress, actually.”

“Oh,” he said, and you saw his eyebrows furrow together in the rearview mirror. 

“I love all her movies, especially that last one she did, that rom-com?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is she nice?” you asked, still trying to break the ice.

“Is Allison nice?” Five asked in return.

“Yeah. You know, she’s so famous and high-class. I always wonder what celebrities are like in real life.”

There was a long pause before he answered. “She’s an idiot. All of my siblings are idiots.”

“Oh,” you said, sinking back in your seat. After thinking for a minute, you sat forward again. “You know, you’re not very nice.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I’m really not.”

For the next ten minutes, you gave up trying to converse with Five. But then out of the blue, he spoke up.

“So, I read about this stalker guy of yours.”

You weren’t sure if he was going to say something snarky again, so you hesitated. “Oh… ok.”

“They sent me a file on him. Sounds like a real creep. I understand why you would want to hire someone.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, relieved. “Yeah, it’s not been a fun few months, that’s for sure.”

“So what happened? He fall in love with you at a ballet recital or something?”

You let out a little snort of laughter. “Well, first of all, we don’t call them recitals… I’m not six. They are called performances or simply ballet. And yes, that’s kind of what happened. Although I wouldn’t call becoming unhealthily obsessed with someone falling in love.”

“Good point,” Five mused. “But he’s been following you to work?”

“Yes. The studio has stopped letting him in and will call the cops if he tries to, but he still sits in the parking lot in his car waiting for me to walk inside.” You shivered a little. “He just watches me.”

“You have a restraining order, though?”

“Yeah, he’s technically not allowed within a certain radius, but that radius is not very big. And if he stays on public property, there’s not much I can do about it.”

Five nodded. “Does he know where you live?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him near my house, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Does he go to your performances?”

“Yes. He’s there every single time, rain or shine, sitting in the very last row to comply with the restraining order. He’ll even come to the matinees and return for the evening performances. And he always dresses in a tuxedo and carries a bouquet of flowers that he tosses on stage afterwards.”

“That’s intense. I would imagine that might throw you off your game, knowing that he’s out there.”

“Yeah, sometimes it does,” you admitted. “Which, truthfully, is one of the reasons I wanted to hire you. If I know someone is there keeping an eye on this guy, then I might be able to concentrate on my dancing instead of worrying about what he might do.”

Five’s eyes flitted to the rearview mirror again to look at you. He had nice eyes, you noticed.

“There must be something more. Some reason this guy is freaking you out so badly.”

Your voice got quieter as you answered him. “Well, for the last few weeks he has started sending me letters to the studio.”

“He doesn’t mail them directly to your home?”

You shook your head. “No, thankfully. Now the secretary just throws them directly in the trash when they come through. But I’ve read enough to know what they say.”

“And what do they say?” Five asked.

“They… uh… they say how much he loves me and how much I have changed his life. He says he thinks about me all day and night and knows we would be happy together if I just give him a chance. That he’s not a bad guy, he just loves me so much and I’m not giving him a shot. Sometimes he gets angry because I don’t respond. Sometimes it’s just more rambling.”

“Is that all?”

He must have sensed you were holding something back, which meant he was actually listening to you and was observant.

“No, that’s not all. Sometimes they get very… graphic.”

“Graphic? Like violent?”

“No, more like… explicit.” You blushed a little. “Sexual. All the things he wants to do to me or says he is going to do to me once we are together. It’s all very detailed.” You shuddered at the thought. “It makes me sick.”

“I would imagine,” Five said with a small nod.

He didn’t say anything else on the subject and you didn’t volunteer any more information. Soon, you were arriving at your dance studio. While your first impression of Five wasn’t exactly blowing you away, you did note that he seemed to take his job seriously. When he got out and walked around to your side, he surveyed the parking lot before opening the door for you. 

You got out and looked around. When you noticed the familiar dark blue pickup truck parked in the back, occupied by a tall, thin man wearing a baseball cap, you pointed him out to Five.

“There, that’s him.”

Five nodded. “I saw him when I got out. I’ve got my eye on him.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. This is what I was hired for,” Five responded, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right. Well, can I get my bags then?”

Five hauled your bags out and handed them over to you. “I would carry them for you, but I need my hands free. Just in case.”

You understood what he was saying, and it made sense. If he needed to use a weapon, he couldn’t be carrying two bags stuffed with dance attire and water bottles. As you walked towards the door, Five accompanied you, staying close. You were always observant of how other people carried themselves, probably because you used your body as a way of artistic expression, so you were honed in on others’ body movements as well. 

Five held himself confidently, walking swiftly and with purpose. You liked how he matched your stride so that he didn’t stray too far ahead or behind. And you liked how his suit coat brushed against your arm a few times. You stole a couple of quick glances at his face while you were walking, but looked away before he could notice. There was no denying he was handsome.

When you led him inside, this observation was confirmed by the number of sideways glances and outright gawks that he received from the other dancers. Male and female. You kept your head down, embarrassed to be seen with an actual bodyguard in tow, and headed for the locker room to change. As you got to the door, you turned to Five.

“I’m not sure how this works, exactly,” you admitted. “Do you wait here? In the car?”

Five looked around curiously, taking in his surroundings. “I’ll be here, in the building. Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way. I might take a few looks outside periodically, but I won’t stray far.”

“Thank you.” You paused, remembering that you weren’t supposed to thank him. “I rehearse for six hours, though,” you added guiltily.

Five shrugged. “That’s fine. When you’re done, I’ll take you home again.”

“Alright, then,” you said with a nod and a smile. Then you walked into the locker rooms, leaving Five in the hallway.

****************************

Five waited, as he told you he would. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to hang around in a dance studio all day, but he was used to having to endure long, boring stretches of time by himself. At least in this case, there were some nice views to be had. Five tried not to be obvious, but the beautifully sculpted bodies that walked past him all day long were not going unnoticed. About halfway through the day, after Five had taken a quick survey of the parking lot, he decided to park himself in front of the window that looked into the large rehearsal room. He didn’t know much about ballet, so he was a little curious about it. 

As he stood there, arms folded across his chest, he watched as you and your fellow dancers practiced the same few steps over and over again. The director was demanding perfection each time, and from Five’s point of view, it was perfect. He couldn’t stop staring.

The fluid movements of your body had him transfixed and he kept his eyes on you, ignoring the other dancers twirling around you. You gracefully lept and flew through the air like some sort of beautiful gazelle or mythical fairy creature. You had removed your sweatpants and were wearing a black leotard with gray leg warmers, and of course your pointe shoes that allowed you to dance on your toes.

Your legs were nothing but muscle and sinew, toned and tightened by years of discipline. The way your arms bent and swayed with each movement looked easy and second nature, even though Five knew it must have been incredibly difficult. You made it all appear effortless, and Five found he was staring a little too long, because at one point you turned toward him and caught him. You gave him a small smile before returning to your work, and Five moved to a different area where he wouldn’t be tempted to watch.

On one of his wanderings, he came across photos of the dance company members lining a wall. He paused, glancing over the names and faces, casually looking for yours. It wasn’t hard to find though, because there you were, front and center. A professional headshot of you, larger than the others, was framed in the middle of the wall. Underneath was a small plaque with your name and the number of years you had been with the company. It also read “principal dancer”.

When the day was over, and you had showered in the locker rooms there and changed into clean clothes again, Five led you back to the SUV. Your stalker was still there, waiting in his blue truck, until you were inside the car and then he drove away. It was what he always did. Waited until you were finished with your day and then left. You wondered where he went or where he lived. But you also didn’t really want to know.

As Five drove you back home, it was silent for a while before he spoke up.

“What is a principal dancer?”

You were surprised at first by his question. You didn’t really think he would take an interest in anything personal having to do with you. But he must have seen your photo inside the studio.

“A principal dancer has the highest rank within the dance company,” you explained, feeling your face flush a little. “Sometimes they’re called prima ballerinas.”

Five took that in for a second. “So, you’re the best dancer?”

You laughed. “I wouldn’t say I’m the best, necessarily, but I’ve definitely paid my dues. There are many talented dancers in our company.”

“But not as good as you,” Five said. You saw his eyes glance in the mirror again. “I saw you.”

You nodded. “I saw you watching. Do you like ballet?”

“Not particularly, no,” he answered honestly. 

“Oh. Well, that’s a shame.”

“I enjoyed watching you, though,” he said, and you thought you heard his voice crack just a tiny bit as he said it. Then he cleared his throat. “Not in a stalker way. I just mean the dancing was interesting.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was more silence as the car sped along en route to your house. You couldn’t help the tiny smile that formed on your face as you looked out the window. This guy was starting to grow on you.

When you arrived home, he got out and opened the car door for you again, this time taking your bags for you as you both headed up the stairs to your front door.

You laughed nervously. “I feel like this is a date and you’re walking me home.”

Five shook his head with a slight smile. “Not a date. I’ll just make sure you get in safely and there are no signs of forced entry, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Got it.” You turned to unlock the door and then stopped, turning to face Five again. “So, there’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?”

You looked at your feet. “Well, it’s just that this house… I know it looks fancy and you probably think I’m some rich bitch snob, but… “ Five couldn’t deny that, so just waited for you to finish. “Let’s just say don’t judge a book by its cover, ok?”

Five didn’t say anything at first, until he realized you were actually waiting for a sign of acknowledgement. Then he nodded. “Ok.”

You unlocked the door and let Five step inside first. You held your breath as you watched him walk into the grand foyer and take everything in. You knew what he was probably thinking. That he couldn’t believe you lived in such a shit hole.

Five spun slowly around, looking at the open first story of your house. Once upon a time it had been a beautiful mansion. Now it resembled more of a construction zone than anything else. The walls of the massive living room that were lined with faded, gold-striped wallpaper, were half-torn down or riddled with holes. Only half of the lights worked in the house, leaving just a few old sconces on the wall flickering dimly. A sitting area on the other side of the foyer was filled with old, dusty furniture that had collected over the years that were in various states of disrepair. A grand piano sat off to the side, covered in a large sheet to keep the dust and dirt off. It was one of the only things in the house that you cherished.

You sighed and laughed quietly. “Home sweet home.”

Five looked at you curiously, his head tilted slightly to the side. He slid his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels.

“You’re right, this is not what I expected from the outside.” He looked around again. “What happened?”

When he asked you that, you got a sense that he didn’t mean what happened to the house, but rather, what happened to you for you to end up living this way.

“This was my grandmother’s house. She grew up here and lived here her entire life. When I was little, I used to come here all the time. Even then it was starting to become a little disheveled. Nana wasn’t much of a housekeeper.” You laughed at the memory. “But she was fun and a little crazy, and she took me to my first ballet when I was five. After that, I used to dance right here in this foyer, pretending I was the star of the show, while she played the piano.”

“She paid for my first dance lessons and came to every recital. But then her mind started to go and her housekeeping skills got even worse. The house fell into disrepair over the years and she kind of just shut herself inside while it deteriorated around her. I tried to help, but after a while she didn’t remember who I was.” Your eyes filled with tears. “That was the worst part.”

“What about your parents?” Five asked.

“They’re still around, but they don’t really see my dancing as a real career. I think they still view me as a little kid playing dress up.” You shrugged. “They wanted me to be a doctor or something they could be proud of.”

Five’s eyebrows creased together. “They should be proud of you now. You’re the captain of the dance team.”

You laughed loudly, which made him crack a smile. “Principal dancer, but yeah… close enough.” You shook your head. “It’s not enough for them.”

“So, what made you end up here?”

“Well, when my grandmother died, she left all her possessions to me. She didn’t have much in the end, just a couple thousand dollars and this house. So, I decided I’d live here until I could afford to either move somewhere better or fix it up. No one wants to buy it in the state it’s in. Unfortunately, on my salary, that will take a while.”

“Dance captains don’t make good money?” Five asked with a smirk.

“Not really, no. For the amount of work we put in, our dedication, and the discipline we have for our bodies… it’s really not much. But I figure the house is free, so I might as well stay here and save up. I don’t need any place fancy, anyway.”

Five nodded, his green eyes searching your face before pushing his hair off his forehead. “I should take a look around, just to be safe. Then I’ll leave you alone for the night.”

“Ok, yeah,” you started walking further into the house. “Follow me, I’ll show you around.”

You gave Five a tour, leading him through each aging area of the house and taking him through the outdated kitchen that still, embarrassingly, contained some of the remains of your spilled smoothie from that morning. The two of you walked up the grandiose, winding staircase so you could show him each bedroom and bathroom. When you came to the master bedroom, which was the one you had taken over, you paused with a smile.

“This one might surprise you.”

You opened the double doors to the bedroom with a flourish, presenting the room to Five like it was some sort of splendid wonderment. He stepped inside with you and you gestured around.

“I decided to splurge and make this my little home within a home,” you explained.

The room was big, and you had kept your grandmother’s antique four poster bed, but spruced it up with a luxurious, light pink comforter, fluffy pillows, and a couple strings of fairy lights overhead. The dressers and vanity mirror were also original, but you had refinished them and added new, updated hardware. A small reading nook with a big, comfy armchair and bookshelves took up one corner of the room.

Five hadn’t said anything as he looked around, which made you a little self-conscious.

“So, yeah… this is where the magic happens,” you joked, laughing stupidly at yourself and then blushing.

Five just gave you a semi-amused look, but didn’t comment further.

You cleared your throat. “Here, let me show you the bathroom. This will really blow your mind.”

The en suite bathroom was the crown jewel of the house and just as large as the bedroom itself. It was the one room your grandmother had kept up and it was still beautiful.

“She loved baths,” you said as you motioned to the gigantic soaking tub that was big enough for four people.

It was surrounded by gorgeous, expensive marble tile, with a stand alone shower that was also impressive. You had lined the ledge around the tub with candles and scented soaps that you loved to use after a long day of dancing. The sink and cabinets were adorned with gold accents, but without being too gaudy. You had added plush, pink towels and other accents to give it your own flair.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

Five nodded. “It’s definitely impressive. Your grandmother seemed to have good taste.”

“Yes, she did.”

After another few seconds, Five turned to you. “Is there anywhere else I need to look before I leave?”

“Oh,” you said, suddenly feeling a little stupid that you had been showing off your bathroom, when really all he wanted to know was that everything was locked up safely. “No, this is it. In terms of outside access points, anyway.”

“Just make sure you keep all doors and windows locked. Even on the second floor.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card, handing it over to you. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything or you suspect anything.”

“Yeah, ok. Thank you.”

With another nod, Five turned to head back out of the room. You followed him down the stairs until you were at the front door. He opened it and then turned to you again.

“You know, you really shouldn’t lead a strange man through your house like that. There were several spots where you would have been trapped with no way out if I had ill intentions.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously?”

Five smiled crookedly. “I’m just saying… you shouldn’t be so trusting.”

You eyed him up for a minute, trying to determine if he was making fun of you or not. You decided to see if you could rattle him a little. “And what kind of ill intentions would you be thinking of… you know… if you had any?” You put your hand on your hip and cocked it to the side. 

Five wasn’t so easily thrown off his game, though, and he didn’t even flinch at your flirty invitation. With that same half-smile he shook his head. “See you tomorrow morning.” He paused, looking back on his way down the steps as you stood in the doorway. “Same time? Or should I factor smoothie accidents into the equation?”

You laughed, despite your annoyance. “I promise I’ll be on time.”

“Good night,then,” he said, before heading to the car.

“Good night, Five.”

******************************

Chapter 2: The Letter

When Five arrived back at the Academy, he went immediately to the bar, just like he always did, and poured himself a generous glass of whatever he was in the mood for at the moment. Tonight it was bourbon. And not a bad one, either. He took a sip and sighed, letting the smokiness of the liquor burn deliciously down his throat.

Five shrugged off his jacket and vest, loosening his tie and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he sat heavily on one of the old bar stools. The house was quiet except for the occasional whistle of wind through an exposed crack, or an ominous creaking noise from somewhere within the old foundation. It all added to the overall ambiance of a haunted house that Five was starting to grow accustomed to.

As he sat there, ruminating on the happenings of the day, he spun the chipped crystal glass idly on the bartop in front of him.

He wasn’t sure what to think of you. He had been expecting a rich, stuck-up princess type, but that’s not what you were at all. Instead, you were surprisingly pleasant; and Five didn’t find most people pleasant. So, this was fairly new territory for him. During the few short interactions he had with you throughout the day, he found himself enjoying your company. Again, this was all new for Five.

He thought about how you and he weren’t that different in some ways. You were both living alone in these big, crumbling mansions that appeared impressive from the outside but were a mess on the inside. If Five really wanted to go down that road, he could make the case that your houses were metaphors for yourselves. But the last thing he wanted to do was to start analysing his psyche, so he moved on.

He found himself lost in a daydream of you dancing effortlessly and gracefully around the dilapidated halls of the Academy, just like he had seen you dance in the studio that day. In his fantasy, you were surrounded by a golden halo of light that brightened every room you passed through. What a contrast your elegance and beauty was when compared to the darkness of the mansion. He smiled at the thought.

He thought of how you had made the best of your situation and had actually carved out a space for yourself in that old house; making the master bedroom and bathroom into your home within a home. Five looked around him. He had done nothing like that. The thought had never even occurred to him. He had made the space livable, at least for his meager needs, but it was in no way a “home”. He had not decorated it with things he liked or found interesting. He hadn’t brought in any new furniture or tried to fix what was there. He had essentially made it like his camp he had with Dolores during the apocalypse. A relatively safe place to come back to every day. A place to survive.

Five then thought of your stalker. He had no sympathies for this unknown and possibly dangerous man that was obsessed with you. But he could almost see his side of things. Especially if this man had seen you dance, Five could see how that could spark some sort of unhealthy, imaginary romance. Not that he would hesitate to take that fucker out if he needed to, or that he would ever stoop to such a pathetic level himself, but still. He kind of got it.

He started taking a mental inventory of all of the access points in your house that he had noticed while you had led him around. You had told him that you didn’t think your stalker knew where you lived, but Five had his doubts. Why would this guy stop at just the studio and theater? If he was that hung up on you, then there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t have followed you home at some point. 

Again, Five’s mind wandered back to your dancing, only this time instead of the Academy, he pictured you twirling around in your beautifully marbled bathroom. The candles that surrounded the edge of the tub were lit, illuminating your face and body with flickering light. And then somehow… for some reason… Five started to imagine you in less and less clothing until you were fully nude. Your strong body and defined muscles flexed and moved with each sensual pose you demonstrated for him, all while growing closer and closer until you were right there in front of him. Your warm skin pressing against him… your soft mouth a mere inches away… 

“Five,” you whispered and god damn it if he didn’t want to drop to his knees at just the sound of his name on your lips.

“Five!”

Five jumped, startled out of his fantasy by a very real and familiar voice.

“Fivey! Hello? Where are you?”

Five groaned before tipping his head back and yelling in response. “Klaus, where the fuck do you think I am?”

Klaus sauntered into the parlor, looking around him as if he hadn’t just been there a few days ago. He spied Five sitting at the bar and he broke out in a smile.

“Oh, hey there, Fivey.”

With a roll of his eyes, Five took another drink before addressing his brother. “Klaus, I only occupy one room of this crap hole, and it’s the same room every time, so I’m not sure where your confusion is coming from.”

Klaus shrugged, joining Five at the bar and leaning over to grab one of the bottles from underneath. He unstoppered the half-full bottle of vodka and took a swig. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I like pretending we’re in an old sitcom together. You know, like ‘Honey, I’m home!’ and then you run out with an apron and heels on, carrying my favorite drink for me while I sit in an armchair and smoke a pipe.”

Five turned so that he could lean his back against the bartop. “Klaus, in what universe do you think I would be the housewife in that situation?”

Klaus shrugged again, reaching over to ruffle Five’s hair, which earned him a swat on the hand. “I’m not sure, but you’d look awfully cute in an apron.”

“God, you are disturbed.”

“Thank you!” Klaus responded happily before taking another drink. When he lowered the bottle he sighed. “So, what’s been happening around here?”

“Not much. I started that new security job you turned me on to, so thank you for that.”

“Did you? Oh, well that would make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“My buddy, the one who is friends with your new boss and told me about the job opening, said some psychopath came in there yesterday and shot up the place. Right before demanding he be given the job.”

Five nearly choked on his drink. “What? I didn’t shoot up the place!” Klaus raised a skeptical eyebrow. Five sighed. “It was one, very tiny and very discrete shot into the doorknob of the door. I wouldn’t call that shooting up the place.”

Klaus smiled. “I see.”

“And I certainly didn’t demand the job. It was offered to me before I shot up the place.” He closed his eyes in frustration. “I mean, before I fired the single, harmless shot.”

Klaus chuckled. He loved getting under his brother’s skin. Even if that did put him at risk for bodily harm.

“So, what is this job anyway? You like a security guard at a mall or something?”

“More like a bodyguard.”

That piqued Klaus’s interest and he put his elbow on the bar, propping his head up with his hand as he smiled slyly. “Ohhh…. Tell me more about that!”

“There’s nothing to tell. She’s a dancer and she has a stalker.”

Klaus gasped dramatically. “Dancer? Like a stripper?”

Five scoffed. “No. She’s a ballet dancer.”

There was another loud gasp that prompted an irritated scowl from Five. “A ballerina! Oh, Fivey… this is like some serious romance shit! I can just picture it… the stalker tries to get to the beautiful, helpless ballerina, threatening to kidnap her or worse… but then you swoop in to save the day, knock the guy on his ass, and then guess who gets the girl?”

Klaus waited as if he expected an actual response from Five. When all he received was a blank stare, he poked Five in the shoulder. “You do, silly! No woman can resist a real life hero saving them from the clutches of the evil villain. She’ll probably reward you by immediately jumping those skinny little bones of yours. Do a little tongue pirouette on your downstairs bits, if you know what I mean.”

“Klaus, what the fuck?” Five responded, running a hand down his face in frustration.

“What? I bet she’s rich, too, huh?”

“Not really, no.”

“Oh,” Klaus answered with a disappointed sigh. Then he perked up again. “But mark my words, Fivey. When she sees what a badass killer you are, she’s going to be on you like flies on shit.”

“What a charming visual, thank you for that,” Five sighed.

“You know what I mean. She won’t be able to hold herself back.”

“First of all, stop being a pervert. Second of all, you don’t even know anything about her. I haven’t even told you what she looks like or her age or anything!”

Klaus nodded. “You’re right.” Then he grinned. “She’s hot though, isn’t she?”

Five took another drink, speaking over the top of his glass. “She is moderately attractive.”

“Ha!” Klaus exclaimed, slapping Five on the back and making him slosh his bourbon onto his good suit pants. “I knew it! Well, good for you, Broseph Stalin. It’s about time.”

“About time for what?” Five muttered while he angrily wiped at his pants with a napkin.

“About time for you to get that new and improved dick of yours wet. You’ve been keeping it sealed up for too long. Time to let that bad boy out for some air!”

“Jesus Christ, Klaus!” Five cried, throwing his hands up. “What is your fucking problem? Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“What? I’m trying to help you out!”

“Klaus, the only thing you are doing is reaffirming my decision to live alone.” Klaus put on his best pout and tried to look hurt. Five rolled his eyes before trying to change the subject. “The job pays pretty well at least, so I should be able to get out of here soon.”

Klaus looked around at the sad remains of their childhood home and nodded. Then he turned to Five with an almost nervous smile. “So, if you move out, does that mean no more drop-ins?“

Five sighed and shook his head. He reached over and patted Klaus on the shoulder, although he didn’t make eye contact. “You’re always welcome, no matter where I end up, Klaus.”

Klaus clapped his hands and tried to lean in for a hug, but was met with nothing but empty air as Five blinked away at the last second. Klaus toppled off his barstool in the process, while Five laughed at him from the other side of the bar.

“You’re an asshole,” Klaus grumbled as he hauled himself back up.

Five smirked. “Yeah, I know.”

*************************

Over the next few weeks, you and Five developed a kind of routine. He would arrive at your house and wait outside by the car every morning at 7:00am on the dot. You would stumble your way out somewhere between 7:08 and 7:15. There was the predictable exchange of Five’s irritated grumblings while you blabbered on about whatever it was that made you late that day. It would end with Five taking your bags and opening the car door, all while smiling and shaking his head at your constant state of turmoil.

You liked your little talks in the car to and from the studio. It was awkward in the beginning, but over time it became comfortable. You would chat about your work and rehearsals, and gossip about the other dancers. There was always a love tryst going on somewhere, but you stayed away from all of that. You didn’t need that drama in your life. 

“So, what about you? You never talk about a boyfriend,” Five had asked one day on the way home. You noticed the slight shift in tone when he asked you. Like he was going for an air of casualness but not really pulling it off.

“Oh, no,” you said, waving your hand in the air. “No boyfriend for me.”

“Why not?”

You paused, not really sure how you were supposed to answer that and why he wanted to know. “Well, lots of reasons I suppose. The main one is probably that I’m so busy that I don’t have time to even see my family or friends, let alone a boyfriend.”

“What about the male dancers at your studio?” Five asked, clearly not wanting to drop the subject.

You sighed. “No thank you. Most of them aren’t into women anyway, and the ones that are I have no interest in. Plus I don’t need to be dating anyone from work. I’ve got enough going on.”

Five nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “Good point.”

You leaned back against the backseat and looked out the window. Then you chuckled quietly to yourself.

“What?” Five asked.

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking that you are the closest thing I have to a boyfriend right now.”

There was a moment of silence before you saw Five swallow. “How is that?”

“Well, other than the dancers in my company, you are the person I see the most lately. You’re there when I get up in the morning, you’re there when I come home. You’re one of the only people that has seen inside my mess of a house, including my bedroom. We talk every day and know each other’s personal lives.” You laughed again. “Honestly, the only thing different is that we aren’t fucking.”

Your giggle came to an abrupt halt as you clamped your mouth shut. You don’t even know why you had said that, it just kind of came out. You worried at your bottom lip with your teeth as you tried to decide whether to say anything else to cover it up or just shut your trap and pretend it never happened.

There was a long, silent pause as the car drew to a stop at a red light. Five’s eyes met yours in the mirror and he didn’t look away.

“Well, that figures,” Five said and you saw him smirk. “I get all of the boyfriend duties and none of the perks.”

Your jaw dropped open for a second and then you let go with a loud peal of laughter. You punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Five Hargreeves! I never knew you made jokes!”

He shrugged, his eyes returning to the road as the light turned green again. “Well, now you know. I’m a fucking comedian.”

That made you laugh even harder and you tried to suppress the smile that kept creeping up the entire ride home. And even though he tried to hide it, Five was wearing one, too.

************************

Your little naughty joke seemed to have broken the last barrier between the two of you, and after that it was like you were an old married couple. When you weren’t having deep conversations and learning about one another’s lives, you were either cracking stupid jokes at the others’ expense or bickering over the smallest things. Within the span of another two weeks, Five had somehow become your friend. And not just a casual one; he had become your number one confidant. You felt comfortable with him. You felt safe. And you were pretty sure he felt the same way about you.

Your stalker continued to show up every day to your studio, just like always. Sometimes he would get out of his truck and stand there, just watching, as you and Five made your way inside. On those occasions when you felt a little more on edge, Five would blink you directly into the building, to avoid the man being able to see you. 

You liked when he blinked you places. He didn’t do it often, but when he did it was like a little adrenaline rush and it always left you laughing. Plus, you couldn’t deny that you liked having him that close to you. He would usually just hold on to your upper arm, but sometimes he would take your hand in his. Once, for no discernible reason, he had wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in close. There had been a split second when you thought he might kiss you, but before you could even entertain that thought, you were being ripped through a portal and landing on the other side where he let go of you immediately.

Five also started spending more time outside of your rehearsal room. You would catch him through the window, trying to look like he wasn’t interested but failing. You found yourself flaunting your body just a little more when you knew he was looking. Not so much while you were dancing; that you took very seriously and were focused in. But during breaks, when you took a drink from your water bottle, and just happened to let a small river of water slip down your exposed neck and between your breasts. And when you needed to adjust your shoes and would coincidentally bend over directly in front of his sightline. It was silly, but hey, you didn’t have anything else going on in your non-existent love life, so you had to create some excitement.

While you did enjoy each other's company, your relationship never extended past Five’s security duties. Every night he made sure the house was locked up and safe, and every night he left to go back to his decrepit mansion while you stayed in yours. He had given you his number, but you had never had to use it. 

Until you got the fright of your life.

Five had left hours earlier, yet you were still awake and roaming around the spacious house. You settled into a kitchen chair, listening to the sound of the tea kettle on the stove start to come to life with bubbling water. It wasn’t loud enough yet to cover the noise you heard coming from outside, though. A noise that made you freeze like a horror-stricken statue in your seat.

It was the unmistakable sound of car tires rolling slowly up the gravel driveway to your house. The noise became louder until it stopped altogether. And then you heard a car door open and slam shut again.

“Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself.

You hopped up, racing over to the light switch on the wall and clicking it off. Then you crawled into the living room, staying low to avoid the windows, and switched off the lamp you had been reading beside earlier. The house was now in total darkness as you listened to a pair of heavy footsteps make their way to the front door.

You held your breath as you crouched next to one of the old sofas. Maybe it was Five, you thought to yourself. Maybe he forgot something or was just coming to check on you. You rolled your eyes at your stupidness. The footsteps came to a halt near the door. There was a moment of pure terror while you waited for whatever was going to come next.

Would they break a window to get inside? Kick in the door? Would they find you huddled on the ground and put a bullet in your head? Or worse things you didn’t even want to entertain?

After a few seconds, the same footsteps began to retreat and fade further away. You heard the car door open and shut again and the tires crunch on the gravel, presumably as the car backed down the driveway. And then everything was silent again.

When the tea kettle in the kitchen came to a full boil and shrieked its alert to you, you screamed out loud, your voice echoing off the walls. You clapped a hand over your mouth, but started making your way towards the kitchen again, still on your hands and knees. Once you stood and were able to move the kettle off of the burner and silence it again, you leaned against the counter and took in a big, shaking breath.

“Holy fuck,” you cursed.

After at least another ten minutes of keeping still, there were no other worrying sounds from outside or inside, and you switched on the light in the kitchen again. After slowly making your way to the front door, you peered into the peephole. When all you saw was the dark outside and an empty porch, you breathed a sigh of relief. But, like an idiot, that wasn’t enough. Unlocking the door as quietly as possible, you opened it just a crack so that you could quickly peek outside.

There was no one there and you were about to close the door and lock it again, when something caught your eye. In the open maw of one of the lion statues on the porch was a white envelope, giving the illusion that the lion was delivering you some mail. Taking another hurried look from side to side, you leaned over to snatch it up and slammed the door shut, locking it and pressing your back against it while you caught your breath.

With trembling hands, you looked down at the letter-sized envelope in your hand. Your name was typed neatly on the front with a hand-drawn heart next to it. You made a little groaning noise and tried to blink back the tears you felt forming in your eyes.

Five. It was the first thought you had. I need to get to Five.

Chapter 3->

Tag List: @vera-arora, @loganskittycatears, @raggabashie, @coolspider-man101, @cincohargreeveslove, @moon6star, @hopefuldesignofkawaii, @dorkyfangirl24, @chifuyu-monam0ur, @tuanputri-magui, @little-forest-goblin, @i-liketoast, @groovydazephantom, @d4rkpasseng3r, @ur-moms-fav-whore, @dremnia, @iselinde, @whatsawagonwheel, @wawawafdtuhdjh, @marydbl, @rubixgsworld, @yangzpotter, @yourlocalbrellie, @1-is-loneliest-number, @ifellinto-fantasy, @mimi4morr, @em1989ts, @fndmsrndmyfckinglfe, @moonkitty59, @wonwon1e, @smt-obsessed, @strawberrymilk4k, @voteforevilthoughts, @xfanficluvrx, @losingmymindforsoobin, @sofiebikovi, @jana0509, @thesilvertheorist

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Masterlist

Din Djarin x f!reader | 18+ | ~40k words | complete 1/15 main masterlist | ao3

summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

full fic tags/warnings (spoilers!): modern AU, ballet AU, fluff, angst, flirting, dancing, lots of ballet terms (I’ll define things/link videos/etc. -- see below), misunderstandings, character study, romance, pet names (sweetheart, beautiful), lots of tension, later: smut, kissing, grinding, fingering, p-in-v sex, creampie, each chapter will have its own tags, Din lifts reader (see note below about reader)

a/n: welcome to the Din ballet fic!! I started writing this in April and it’s finally finished! I’ll post a new chapter every Wednesday, there are 14 total. There’s some smut coming but it’ll be a while, folks. See my notes below about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!! This fic is so much better because of you. 🧡 And thank you to @almostfoxglove for reading over it and confirming I didn't forget all my ballet, lol. 🩰

note about reader: in this fic you’re a ballet dancer, first soloist at Nevarro Ballet Theater company. I haven’t mentioned the reader’s body size or shape (or hair) basically at all, even to the point of avoiding clothing (except for costumes), but I understand the image that goes along with ballet – I danced for almost 20 years. Din does lift you many times. Please feel free to picture whatever you want, but I know that this might seem more limited. You also have a best friend named Adrian who is in the company with you. I never specified age, but to make first soloist most would be in at least their early 20s. Din is 27.

Chapter list and notes about ballet under the cut! Comment or reblog to join the tag list. 🥰🩰

Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

** Bonus: Amazing art of Din by @kenobiwanx!! **

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

...

some notes about ballet: I will share links to videos and such as much as possible, but here are some definitions to get us started – principal, (first) soloist, corps de ballet, variation, and class vs. rehearsal:

Principal - this is the highest level a dancer (of any gender) can reach in a company. Dancers are ‘promoted’ through the ranks. Principals usually have exceptional technique and artistry and can perform solos, pas de deux (partnering), headlining and/or the most challenging roles, etc. (e.g., the white (Odette) and black (Odile) swans in Swan Lake, both usually performed by one principal). Sometimes dancers are hired directly in as principals (like Din, in this fic). Smaller companies might have 5-6 principals, while larger ones could have as many as 20. Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 14 principals, including Din.

First Soloist - not every company has this rank, but it’s in between principal and soloist. Nevarro has 4 but they are counted among the soloists (12-14ish total). Soloists are often understudies for larger parts, and first soloists would do the same. In this fic reader is a first soloist, just promoted at the start of the season.

Soloist - this is sort of a middle level, for dancers who are doing very well and have proven themselves capable of taking on bigger roles. Many ballets have multiple roles, including supporting roles in the narrative, for soloists and principals to showcase many dancers’ talents. A smaller company might have 5-6 soloists, and a larger company might have as many as 20. (Larger companies also do more shows.) Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 12-14 soloists, including first soloists.

Corps de ballet - this is the lowest/starting level in a company. It’s where most would start from and has the largest number of dancers – these are the dancers who come out on stage in large groups or form the background unnamed roles in narrative scenes (like a party). Reader started in the corps and was promoted to soloist and then first soloist.

Variation - a solo dance, usually a piece from a larger ballet (e.g., the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker). We say ‘variation’ because there are many ballets that have been choreographed differently by multiple people in the ballet world (e.g., there are famous versions of the Nutcracker by Petipa, Gorsky, Balanchine, Nureyev, Baryshnikov… and more). So there can be multiple variations of a solo from a single ballet, and more can be created or altered, etc. But in general the term just means solo.

Class vs. rehearsal - most companies distinguish between ‘class’ and ‘rehearsal’. Class is for the whole company and focused on improving technique. It’s quick and often repetitive and everyone sort of knows what to do. Most people would have ‘their’ spot at the barre and fall into a typical order for going across the floor. After class, most would go into multiple hours of rehearsal, PT, strength training, etc., depending on whether it was a performance day or not. Most companies are rehearsing for more than one performance at a time, so they might have a longer rehearsal for the show coming up this or next weekend, and a shorter one for another performance a bit farther away. But in the days leading up to a show, that show’s rehearsals would probably take over. This can vary by company. On show days, most would have fewer rehearsals with a 1-2 hour break before the call time to get ready.

Season - companies have 'seasons' which just refers to their plan for shows/schedule for the upcoming year. They might refer to like a fall season and a spring season, or the might have a full year schedule with different parts (fall/winter/spring), or they might have only a spring season that runs into early summer. It depends on the company and the size! In this fic Nevarro has a fall season and a spring season, but they tend to think about it as a full year for contracts/etc. They would have 3-4 big shows planned (think Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Giselle, Onegin, etc.) in each part of the season (so, 3-4 in fall and 3-4 in spring). And then they'd fill in the gaps in the schedule with "mixed programs", which are programs with multiple smaller ballets or pieces that feature a lot of dancers. So a mixed program might have a 20 minute Balanchine ballet, a pas de deux, a full corps piece from a larger ballet, and a piece for like 8 dancers. or something. Mixed programs are often when choreographers-in-residence and on staff get to debut their own work.

[evans23]

Hello! May I request Severus Snape x female reader? He might be scolding her for something and even calling her stupid. But she doesn't pay attention and tells him that she thinks everything about him is beautiful...

Thank you 💖

(Sorry for my english)

You're handsome when you're angry

Pairing : Severus Snape x Reader OC

Summary : You are the assistant of Severus Snape. The man who lived. The sarcastic, cold angry Potions Master. And you think he his handsome. Even when he is angry.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : None.

A/N : Thank you for your request ! I'm not used to writing about Snape because, well we have plenty of stories about him and each time I have an idea for our favourite Potions Master, I have that feeling that it has already been done, therefore, I hope you'd like it !

Also read on AO3

Six months. Six months since you'd been his assistant. You'd have thought the war had mellowed him out. That surviving a giant snake had made him more... agreeable.

But no, he was still the same good old Severus Snape. And he was now the one they called the one who lived. His name had been cleared of all shame thanks to Harry Potter. Or Bloody Potter, as Snape regularly muttered.

The potions professor had hardly appreciated the fact that Harry, in order to allow him to be officially pardoned and even receive the Order of Merlin, had made his memories public. At the time, Snape was in a coma, and McGonagall had encouraged Harry to bring justice to Severus, the bravest man who had ever attended Hogwarts, according to her own words.

Needless to say, when he woke up from a six-month coma, Severus wanted more than ever to jump off the Astronomy Tower... but he didn't have the strength to get up; the venom had made him weak, and all he managed was fall out of bed, face down, while Mrs. Pomfrey came running in, scolding him like he was still eleven.

And when Harry came to see him to thank him for protecting him all these years, Severus didn't tell him he was sorry and that he should have let him drop out of his damn ballet in his first year. No, he just told him, with cold calm, that he could put the Order of Merlin in his dark side.

Harry left the hospital wing with a big smile. Severus Snape was in better shape. And he was still himself.

And against all odds, when Minerva had offered him his old job as potions professor and Head of Slytherin... he refused. He had sacrificed enough of himself and life to finally stop thinking about himself.

He had traveled a bit, tried to find his place elsewhere, opened a small healing potions shop in Paris, tamed the demons that haunted the Vatican basements, lived a quiet life in a remote Swedish village where he barely lasted two weeks once winter came, then returned to the UK and wrote to Minerva.

The truth was, he didn't know how to be anything other than a potions professor. After all, he had spent his entire youth being one, and now he wasn't really old, but his soul was, and he was worn down. Worn down by life and the endless suffering it had inflicted on him.

Minerva had immediately given him back his job, arguing that the current potions professor could have competed with Longbottom, given how much she'd had to rethink the cauldron budget.

And two years later, you arrived. You were 33 years old. Not a young beginner, not a dunderhead fresh out of school. No, just a somewhat lost woman who'd struggled to find herself. A woman with her own past and her own wounds, and a recent career change that, you hoped, would finally open the doors to fulfilment, and especially to your dream career: Potions Master.

Snape had of course grumbled, protested, threatened to quit his job, but Minerva had been adamant. Hogwarts was part of a program for young wizards looking for their bearing, a pompous name given by the Ministry to people who had taken a little time to find their way in a world too fast-paced for them, or to those who had had to reinvent themselves after the war, and above all, Severus couldn't quit his job; he had nowhere else to go.

His house in Spinner's End had been burned to the ground, probably by Death Eaters. Not that he missed that hovel full of painful memories, but from then, Hogwarts was truly his one and only home.

When told about you, he had expected a 19-year-old girl, a recent graduate of a school with questionable training, whom he would have to keep a close eye on now that he had stabilized the cauldron budget. Not to a 33-year-old woman, disillusioned but eager to learn, capable of listening, absorbing knowledge, and above all, above all, not talking more than necessary. Or at least, not anymore. After one week you knew better. 

He would never have said it to your face, but one evening when McGonagall asked him what she should write in the report she was to submit to Granger, who was heading this rehabilitation program, he replied that you were promising and that he had nothing negative to say. McGonagall, her eyes wide as saucers, wondered for a moment if he'd lost his mind, her, who had never heard him compliment anyone, but she had the wisdom to say nothing about it.

You immediately found him handsome. Intelligent. Broken. Of course, you knew his story. Everyone knew it. It had been heard all over the wizarding world. But as the days went by, you were able to see beyond the story. You saw the man. And one day, you woke up hoping he would see you for yourself. For the woman you were, not the assistant.

He was tough, but he never shouted. His anger was cold, and he always spoke in the same laconic tone. Yet, you could tell whether he was in a good mood or not by a simple raise of one of his eyebrow. And you knew that after a class with the Gryffindors, and especially with McIntyre, a somewhat dreamy young boy incapable of following instructions unless you were behind him at all times, ready to catch his hand before he threw slugs instead of leeches into a potion that was particularly toxic if the wrong ingredients were added, then he wasn't in a bad mood or angry... he was unbearable. Suffice to say, you watched over McIntyre like a lioness her cubs, because you were the one who then had to put up with Snape until bedtime.

You didn't talk much, always about work, but little by little, you were getting used to each other, and he was putting up with you. At least, that's what you thought until today.

Today had been hell. You'd woken up late, and the glare Severus had given you... you were certain that if you'd still been a student, he would have given you detention until the end of the year... except it wasn't you he gave detention, it was McIntyre for setting his eyebrows on fire. His own, thank goodness, not Snape's. If that had been the case, you're certain McIntyre would have nothing left but his eyes to cry with on the train back to King's Cross forever.

However, you were the one who had to deal with detentions, which meant you'd never have another afternoon free until the end of the year.

Then you had to clean up the mess left by a fourth-year student who, Merlin knows how, had managed to make it impossible to magically clean the classroom. Three hours of scrubbing by hand, hands that were now red and irritated.

And after supervising the detention of two first-year idiots who had thought it clever to slip a toad into Madam Pomfrey's satchel, two idiots you should have made scrub the classroom after a second thought, you now had to spend your evening working with Snape on a highly unstable but terribly necessary position to vaccinate the thestrals who were suffering from a kind of purulent chickenpox, fortunately not contagious to humans.

The laboratory was dark, smoky, and smelled of a mixture of thyme, wood, and... Snape. Snape, his raven hair blowing over his eyes, was hunched over a cauldron inside which a purple liquid was bubbling bigger than your head. Your potion didn't have the same intense purple colour, but after a skeptical glance, Severus had said that was normal; purple could be more or less intense depending on the personality of the person brewing it. So you could easily guess that tonight, he was in as bad a mood as Filch's cat.

You didn't dare speak much. Not because he impressed you, but because you'd arrived a minute and fifteen minutes late, once again after your morning lateness, which had earned you a perfectly plucked eyebrow raise and a:

"Thirty more seconds and you'd have had to find another Potions Master to make life difficult for."

You hadn't replied; your past attempts at humour had taught you that it was a character trait very, very disliked by this man you admired almost in spite of yourself.

The problem wasn't that you weren't good at potions, it was that you operated on instinct, while Snape was rigorous. At least, that's what he said; you'd seen that he too had a way of sensing potions, of embodying them... and of being instinctive. But when you told him, you thought his gaze could have been the first to cast an Avada Kedavra spell. Or that he was trying to get into your head. When, still a little clumsy, you asked him with a crooked smile if that was what he was trying to do, he coldly replied that he already knew your head was empty and didn't want to inflict the torture of confirming it by entering it only to encounter nothingness.

You were busy stirring your potion, lost in thought, when it started to form black bubbles that made the table vibrate. It was when a greenish cloud began to rise from the cauldron that you realized: you'd made a mistake. Instead of using a specter's tear, you'd used a tarantula's tear.

A quick glance at Snape reassured you; he hadn't noticed. You tried to make amends by throwing in some catnip, but it only made things worse. A bubble burst with a dull thud, almost burning your forearm.

In an instant, Severus was leaning over the cauldron, wand in hand, muttering a formula you haven't heard before, and within seconds, the potion had returned to its original consistency.

"You brainless fool, are you completely stupid ? You could have set this classroom on fire ! The castle !"

He wasn't shouting, but his dark eyes flashed, and his voice, cold and sharp, hurt more than any scream.

"Do you want to die ?! Are you stupid or are you pretending ?! I should have told Minerva you were too incompetent to work at Hogwarts from day one."

He went on like this, accusing you of not taking anything seriously, of not being serious enough to have not yet found your way at your age, of not being reliable...

You took a step back, surprised, but you didn't lower your eyes. You were almost... peaceful.

"You can have your little smile... perhaps you'd like me to applaud you for not killing yourself like a first-year freshman ? Idiot !"

He had shouted that last word. His only outburst. Now there was only silence. Heavy. You took a deep breath, then, quietly, without irony, you said to him,

"I think you're handsome."

Visibly taken aback, Snape looked at you as if you were growing a second head.

"Even when you're angry. Even when you're tough. I know it's because you can't bear to lose control. Because you never really had it. You were only given the illusion that you were in control. You lost something. Not a Lily. Freedom. The freedom to choose. The freedom to be yourself. But I admire you. I admire you for managing to get back up and fight every time, after every challenge."

Severus sighed deeply, and for the first time, you saw him remove his mask. Before you, you had the man, the real one, not the spy, not the professor, not the bat from the dungeons.

"It's dangerous... to see monsters as men," he murmured.

"I'm less afraid of monsters than of men," you replied with an enigmatic smile.

And in an instant, he understood. Understood that behind your smiles and your slightly awkward humour, there was a story. A story that was nothing like a fairy tale. Experiences, mistakes, back roads... a painful past. Maybe not as painful as his, but pain is pain, and yours was no less valid because you hadn't gone through the same ordeals as him. He knew better than anyone that you have no right to compare one person's suffering to another's. It wasn't fair. Every individual was unique, every suffering valid.

"Even the darkest potions have a light within them if you know how to look," you added without looking at him, already busy cleaning your work surface.

Severus froze, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't know what to say. He was dying to enter your mind, but he wouldn't. He saw no point in stealing someone's memories to get to know them better. In fact, Snape had never used his gift to get to know someone, because he'd never wanted to. But suddenly, you, he wanted to know you.

"No woman has ever told me I'm handsome," he said, before mentally slapping himself.

"Because they never looked properly," you shrugged.

You raised your head, a genuine smile on your lips.

"I see you. Not your story. Not your past. Just you."

It wasn't the first time he'd been offered this kind of philosophical statement, which he found a bit silly. Even Potter had said it to him, and it was after he had seen all his memories... well, him and three-quarters of the Ministry. But coming from you, it sounded true.

"I think you're even stupider than I thought," he said without any sarcasm.

"Oh, you have no idea. If you asked me out for a Butterbeer, I might well say yes."

"Even Professor Longbottom isn't that stupid," Severus added with a slight twitch of his lips.

"So, when are we going to drink this Butterbeer?" you asked, staring into his eyes.

He didn't need to use his magic to know what you were thinking. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like a man. For the first time in a long time, he no longer hoped. He knew. Yes, he knew that life was offering him a second chance to love and be loved.

[peaxhxhair]

Raising Kids with them - Overwatch Heroes

Featuring: Cassidy, Mercy, Moira, Roadhog, Junker Queen Warnings: Moira. A/n: this isn't exactly the official setting for each character - but this is fanfiction so we're gonna ignore it lol Navigation Overwatch - MASTERLIST Consider becoming a member! <3

Odessa Stone (Junker Queen)

She wouldn't be into having kids at first - thinking that something so small would make her weak.

It does - but she refuses to admit it.

You both decided adoption was probably the best option - adopting a sweet baby girl.

I think Dez would be all about teaching her kids to fight.

Even before they've learnt to walk.

"C'mon kiddo! I was fighting at your age!"

Sometimes you would find her playing with your baby - making it look as if they were both boxing.

It was quite a funny sight.

You'll come home from work and find them watching wrestling or something.

Probably swears around your kid.

Your babies first word is probably 'cunt' or 'fuck'

You're usually the one to take your daughter to school, but on the off chance Dez does - the rest of the parents are scared of her.

The kids adore her though.

She'll struggle doing stuff like diaper changes at first - as anyone would

~~~

As your daughter gets older - she grows into a mini version of Dez.

She wont call her 'mom' - instead calling her something silly like 'cunt' or 'fuckwit'

Dez gets a real kick out of it - and does the same.

Dez would be a little disappointed if your kid didn't want to fight, though she'd still be supportive - even if she didn't really understand.

Cries on your daughters wedding day - but tries to hide it.

"I'm not crying cunt, you're crying"

Mako Rutledge (Roadhog)

I think Mako would be really good with kids-

Big brooding dad & cute tiny daughter combo type vibe

Maybe she's really talkative, and he just listens.

He'd let her put clips in his hair and paint his nails.

It's giving Gru when his girls are doing ballet.

He's always the one to hold the kids when needed - since he barely has any issue.

His hands are just so big.

Even if you had like - 4 kids he would have no trouble carrying them all.

You were grateful that you could have some time alone sometimes, as Mako is a very competent father.

'crane's hand back while driving when kid opens snack' dad

Your kid might pretend to wear his shoes - and they can barely even stand properly in them, let alone walk.

Moira O'Deorain 

Does not want kids.

Only agreed because you would make a face at her whenever you saw a baby.

test-tube baby fr

Literally will not go to another doctor about her kids health.

Does she know anything about kids? No.

Does she think she knows more than the QUALIFIED children's doctors? Absolutely she does.

MIGHT agree to taking your kid to see Angela - if you're not too keen on her doing science on your kid.

HATES being called mom.

She's fine with your kid just calling her by her name.

This was weird on the first day of school - most parents thinking your kids other parent wasn't in the picture.

She was fine with that idea - meaning that you 'left' your old partner for her. Narcissist.

~~~

Your babies first word was definitely her name.

but in the cute baby way.

'Moiwa'

When your kid gets a little older, maybe they'll ask about Moira's arm.

"This is what happens when you smoke"

Your kid will never even THINK about smoking ever again.

It isn't until they're 30 that they realise that wasn't true.

Prefers to keep her kids away from science - as much as it was important to her.

She'll barely talk to you about it either - which may be hard if you're also a part of Talon.

Having to bring your kids to work with you is definitely SOMETHING.

You'd prefer for them to be with you rather than with Moira, though.

Your kids are NOSY, so you have to bend the truth a little bit.

Just to make sure they don't view their mom as the ruthless geneticist that she ACTUALLY is.

"Why is miss Amelie blue?"

"She didn't eat her vegetables"

Angela Ziegler (Mercy)

BIG on consistent check-ups.

Sometimes she'll do them herself, but she prefers the professionals.

She doesn't specialise in child care, but she does make sure that your child is going to the best doctor in the field.

Definitely enjoys shopping for baby clothes.

Works with baby on lap - letting the little guy play with her fingers.

Aeroplane noises while getting the baby to eat.

does NOT let the kid eat candy until they're like 10.

This was hard for you - because it meant you couldn't have candy in the house.

Secret stash of sweets hidden somewhere in your car.

One in Overwatch HQ too.

ALWAYS prepared.

Baby needs a snack? She's got cut up grapes in her bag.

Always has wipes and diapers.

"Hey babe? Where's their bottle?" She's already retrieved it from the drying rack.

Tiny first-aid kid in her bag at ALL times.

~~~

If your kid wants their ears pierced at Claire's. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Angela is panicked at any idea of infections - especially when it comes to your kid.

Your kiddo is made to wear clip on earrings until they qualify to be pierced by a professional.

Will always make sure places are baby safe before you take your kid there.

~~~

She's calm 90% of the time - she just cares about general safety and health.

Matching onesies with your kid.

Chilli and Bingo core :)

Angela would LOVE doing Halloween costumes for your kiddo.

They're always so CUTE.

If she has the time, she'll put together matching family ones.

Cole Cassidy

Baby carrier dad.

Like he'll just carry your baby everywhere.

Gets upset when he has to put the little guy down.

"We're just fine over here. No need to pull us apart"

Your child definitely prefers him to you - which you're fine with.

It's just so cute seeing them play together.

I'd say he's a girl dad - the type to teach her how to shoot, or play football with.

9 times out of ten, he'll fall asleep while reading her a bedtime story, so he always just ends up sleeping in your daughters bed with her.

The two of them cuddled up on the tiny mattress - he's holding your little girl so protectively.

~~~

The moms at the nursery you take your daughter to all think Cole is hot.

Too right.

They just need to learn to keep their hands to themselves.

Your kid is very protective of him - and your relationship.

If you're married, she'll be like;

"Daddy, show her your wedding ring!! Isn't it nice?"

It makes Cole chuckle every time.

Cole didn't even need to shut the women down - your kid was doing all the work for him.

~~~

Definitely the dad that all of your kids friends like

"Your dad is so cool!"

He's always invited to their little tea parties and stuff.

Yes, he will put on the crown and princess dress.

[childrenofcain-if]

D + MCs who do ballet? Classic they were a punk, they did ballet trope 🤭

How would it go if D somehow stumbled into MC dancing alone at a studio?

the music echoed softly through the studio, a haunting piece by rachmaninoff played on piano, filling the wide, empty space like smoke. it wasn’t the kind of music meant for performance—it was private, introspective, full of cascading notes that fell like raindrops on the skin.

you stretched your arms upward, your fingers trembling slightly before melting into the next move, a slow arabesque. the floor beneath your feet seemed alive, absorbing your every step and breath, your body moving as though the music was stitched into your veins.

the studio smelled faintly of resin and varnished wood, and the walls were lined with mirrors that reflected you in endless variations—an infinite string of dancers chasing one another in ghostly synchronization. the barre stretched along one side, but you weren’t touching it. you were in the center of the room, spinning lightly on the ball of your foot, every motion deliberate and delicate.

you were a swan, or at least that’s what you told yourself, gliding across the floor with a mixture of grace and control. but there was something raw beneath the practiced movements. dancing alone always brought out a part of you you couldn’t quite name, something wild and unpolished that made your heart beat a little faster.

outside the studio, D was grumbling to themself, rifling through their sheet music with a kind of irritated intensity. their classical music class had been predictably boring, full of lectures about bach’s counterpoint and unnecessarily complicated homework assignments.

“this is ridiculous,” they muttered as they stuffed the papers into their bag. “who cares how many times he modulates in a fugue? it’s like professor khan wants me to suffer.”

they were halfway down the hallway when the faint sound of music drifted to their ears, a piece they didn’t recognize but which tugged at something in them nonetheless. it wasn’t from their class, wasn’t the droning lecture about sonatas or fugues. this music was alive, sharp and sweet like glass catching sunlight.

D slowed their steps, distracted, and when they passed by the glass window of the studio door, they nearly walked into the wall.

they stopped. then they stepped back.

their gray eyes widened as they caught sight of you moving across the studio, your body arching and spinning in time with the music.

you weren’t even looking at the mirrors, weren’t watching yourself at all, as if you didn’t need to see your reflection to know you were beautiful. your hair was pulled back, a few strands escaping and sticking to your neck, and your face was focused, serene.

for a moment, D forgot to remind themself to breathe.

you didn’t look real, not in the fluorescent light of the studio or the sterile smell of the building. you looked like a painting, like something fragile and otherworldly that didn’t belong in the same space as the chipped tile floor or their scuffed sneakers.

“god, they’re unreal,” D muttered under their breath, and then snorted at themself. “get a fucking grip, rook.”

but they didn’t move away. instead, they opened the door slowly, slipping inside without a sound. you didn’t notice them at first, too lost in the dance, and D leaned back against the wall, their arms crossed as they watched you. their usual smirk softened into something unreadable, their practiced nonchalance dulled by the quiet awe in their expression.

when you finally stopped, mid-pirouette, and turned toward the mirror, you caught sight of their reflection. you jumped slightly, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“D?” you said, your voice breathy with surprise.

D pushed off the wall and took a few steps toward you, their smirk reappearing like a reflex.

“don’t stop on my account,” they said, their tone teasing but warm. “i was enjoying the show.”

your cheeks flushed, though you tried to hide it by rolling your eyes. “flatterer. how long have you been watching?”

“long enough to know i could never do that spinny thing,” D said, gesturing vaguely to the space where you’d been dancing.

you blinked at them, caught off guard, before laughing. “the spinny thing? you mean a pirouette?”

“sure, whatever it’s called,” D said, stepping closer. “i kind of wanna learn it.”

you hesitated, eyeing them skeptically. “you’re not exactly the most... graceful person, D.”

“hey,” they said, placing a hand over their chest in mock offense. “i’ll have you know i’ve got excellent rhythm. i just… don’t use it for dancing.”

you snorted but relented, gesturing for them to follow you to the center of the room. for the next few minutes, you tried to teach them the basics—how to balance, how to turn without tripping over their own feet.

D was, predictably, terrible. they stumbled more than once, their movements awkward and stiff, but you didn’t seem to mind. you laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. honestly, it didn’t seem like D cared much about looking foolish in front of you.

“i think i’m doing it,” they said at one point, wobbling precariously as they attempted a turn.

“you’re definitely not,” you said, laughing so hard you had to clutch your stomach.

“harsh,” D said, grinning despite themself.

but then, as you were correcting their stance, their hands brushed yours, and something shifted. the laughter died in your throat as D turned to face you fully, their gray eyes suddenly serious.

“you’re fucking amazing,” they murmured, their voice low.

before you could respond, they cupped your face in their hands and kissed you, their lips soft but insistent against yours. you froze for half a second before melting into the kiss, your arms wrapping around them.

the barre was behind you, cool against your back as D pressed closer, their hands slipping from your face to your waist. the kiss deepened, and for a while, the rest of the world fell away—the music, the mirrors, the studio. it was just you and them, tangled together, desperate and unthinking.

when you finally pulled back, breathless, you looked at them with wide eyes.

“what’s gotten into you?” you asked, half-chuckling.

D smirked, their forehead resting against yours. “i just couldn’t resist you, my sweet swan.”

you rolled your eyes, though there was no heat behind it, and pulled them into another kiss. when you finally broke apart again, D leaned in close, their breath warm against your ear.

“for the record,” they murmured, “i’m a much better performer in bed.”

you groaned, pushing them away playfully. “now you’ve gone and ruined the moment.”

“and yet, you’re still with me,” they said, grinning.

you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slipping your hand into theirs. together, you walked out of the studio, the music still echoing faintly behind you.

[saphronethaleph]

Tibanna Gaslighting

Anakin nodded, slowly, as Palpatine finished telling him about this Darth Plagueis guy.

“That’s… an interesting story, Chancellor,” he said. “Where did you hear it from?”

“...I beg your pardon?” Palpatine replied.

“Well…” Anakin said, waving his hand in a vague sort of way, mostly for emphasis. “I got to thinking about how… you know. You said that this wasn’t a story the Jedi would tell me, and it really got me to realize that you can’t just believe everything you hear without knowing where you hear it from. So, uh… if the Jedi tell me a story about the Jedi making mistakes, that’s something that’s more likely to be believable, that kind of thing.”

He shrugged, awkwardly. “So… where did you hear it from?”

“Someone?” Palpatine replied. “It was a long time ago. You wouldn’t know him, he’s dead now.”

“That’s a shame,” Anakin admitted. “But, still… what kind of person was he?”

“Oh, a businessman,” Palpatine answered. “I worked quite closely with him for a time, though we did eventually have something of a falling out.”

“Right,” Anakin nodded. “So I guess… it could be that this person who told you this was telling the truth. I don’t know him, so I don’t know if he’d be honest about it, and I guess I can’t think of a reason why someone would tell a story about this without telling the truth but that’s kind of the same for a lot of stories, right? And they can’t all be true.”

After a pause, during which Palpatine appeared to be thinking, Anakin had another thought.

“So this businessman,” he said. “What did you have a falling out over? I don’t hear much about what you were like when you were younger, Chancellor.”

“You seem very curious, all of a sudden, Anakin,” Palpatine deflected.

“I guess,” Anakin admitted. “Maybe I’m just kind of trying to think about something to distract me from the ballet.”

“Ballet is cultural,” Palpatine pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m trying to distract myself from it,” Anakin agreed. “I guess what I’m wondering is why someone would tell you a story like that.”

“It-” Palpatine began, then shook his head. “I suppose… you may have a point, Anakin.”

“It’s like with the way the Jedi talk about the Sith,” Anakin went on. “They said the Sith were extinct for nearly a thousand years, until this Darth Maul guy showed up, and then suddenly everyone realized the Sith had been hiding out for a thousand years instead. Just, you know. Not doing anything.”

Anakin chuckled. “Maybe that’s the thing! Because Sith use the Dark Side, right? And that’s all about instant gratification, not about being hidden for hundreds of years until eventually someone gets their revenge on the rest of the galaxy… it’s almost like it’d make more sense for these Sith to just be a new group who’ve called themselves the Sith. Sith is just a name, right? And it’s not like it’s impossible to use the Dark Side otherwise… but I guess the Jedi must have thought of that.”

Palpatine’s expression looked like he’d bitten into some kind of particularly sour fruit, and Anakin frowned.

“Are you okay, Chancellor?” he asked. “Do you not like the ballet either?”

“The ballet is fine,” Palpatine answered. “I do not mind the ballet. I am wondering if my entire life has been a lie.”

“Oh, yeah, I do that sometimes,” Anakin replied.

That evening, in his office, the Chancellor glowered at his statues of the Sages of Dwarti.

Then frowned.

Why had he been doing all of this, anyway?

Power? He had that, and power was a means to an end, anyway.

The destruction of the Jedi? Maybe… but that was a means to an end. Not an end in itself. He wanted to rule the galaxy, and finally get revenge on the Jedi for what they had done to the Sith-

-and there, again, he ran into the problem Anakin had pointed out, perhaps without noticing.

Palpatine didn’t have any clue whether his master Plagueis had actually been… a Sith.

He could have just been a Dark-sider who had taken the name. Palpatine had thought himself an intelligent man, a dangerous man, a man who would never be taken in by trickery… but he had never questioned the idea that Plagueis was an actual Sith.

A Sith of a line of Sith who had lasted a thousand years, each of them intending to pass on their hatred to the next Sith, until some future Sith would actually take their revenge.

And that did not sound very Dark Side now that Palpatine actually thought about it.

How was it possible that a line of Sith could last so many centuries without breaking, without betrayal?

It didn’t seem possible.

And yet… and yet the plan was still working. It would allow him to turn the Republic into a new Sith Empire.

...no, not a Sith Empire. Just an Empire, where he could rule and do whatever it was he wanted. Like…

...he actually had trouble with that bit.

He’d spent his entire life pretending to be a kindly man to gain power, and what would he do with it then? He’d literally just been trying to recruit his newest Sith Apprentice by telling him about how he’d murdered his own Master. Anakin had already killed Tyrannus on Palpatine’s orders!

How long would Palpatine last if he became Emperor, the Jedi slain, and Anakin his apprentice?

Two years? Maybe three? If he killed off Anakin’s wife and avoided Anakin realizing why, that would get him a bit more time.

Or.

He could step down, with nobody any the wiser. The war won, Sheev Palpatine relinquishing his power, rich and honoured and able to do whatever he wished with the remaining several decades he could expect from his life.

It would even give him more time to do the closest thing he had to a hobby… manipulating people.

And, more than anything, it would mean he was not following the rut that a mere jumped-up businessman had created for him, decades ago, with his fanciful tale of a thousand years of Sith all finally – conveniently – coming to their culmination just then, in Palpatine specifically.

Yes.

That was a much better plan.