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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 8 months

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PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly.

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough.

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours.

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters.

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood.

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was.

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross.

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt.

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out.

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all.

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same.

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines.

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head.

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.”

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers.

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door.

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care.

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky.

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself.

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be.

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in.

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene.

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago.

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned.

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?”

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.”

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now.

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing.

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?”

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly.

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself.

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly.

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity.

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity.

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features.

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity.

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script.

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right.

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of.

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth.

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly.

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side.

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch.

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.”

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound.

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction.

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.”

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides.

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant.

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you.

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants.

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes.

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked.

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch.

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily.

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan.

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible.

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock.

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered.

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding.

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words.

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background.

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian.

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure.

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt.

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace.

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear.

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy.

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind.

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity.

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes.

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?”

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.”

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly.

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips.

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light.

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was.

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly. “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.”

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events.

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy rpf #cillian murphy x reader smut

5K notes · View notes

luveline · 7 months

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hello miss jade ily! since you’re feeling the marauders right now, may i request something with any of the boys, pre-relationship and too lovestruck to speak? reader has done something innocuous, or she’s literally just standing there, and he can’t not break and smother her?

hello lovely, thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

modern au

You let yourself in quietly. Remus can tell without raising his eyes from his laptop that it's you. James would shout hello, Sirius would beeline for the downstairs bathroom. You close the door with care and leave your shoes under the stairs; Remus can picture you turning your head to one side gently, listening for signs of life.

"James?" you ask.

"Just me," Remus says.

You come around the doorway, beaming at him like he's the one you were looking for the whole time. "Hey, Remus. Don't suppose you know when James is back? He's going to take me to the garage so they don't rip me off."

"Uh, no, but– but I could go with you?" he suggests. Remus isn't your boyfriend, but he wishes desperately that he was and he thinks that's a boyfriend's duty to perform, right? "I'd be happy to."

Your phone dings. You pull it out with a smile. "Oh, it's James," you say, "he's still coming, but he's late. That's fine, I didn't have an appointment or anything. I'd love for you to come if you want, though, baby."

Remus chokes on nothing, clearing his throat and sitting up to not seem so pathetic. "I'll come." Because baby? Baby?!

"Brilliant. How's you writing?"

"Uh, it's, you know, happening. Slowly."

Remus is admittedly much more collected regularly, but your sudden arrival, your smiling, and now your pet name, you've thrown him for a loop. He's doubly thrown when you sit down on the sofa beside him, no polite space, thigh to thigh and close enough to smell the oils in your hair.

"I'm not looking, I promise," you say.

Writing is a raw process. Knowing someone else's eyes are on it magnifies the flaws, but he realises with certainty that he doesn't care if you see it, flaws and all. "That's fine. I don't mind so long as it's you."

"Lucky me," you say.

You take your phone out. Remus doesn't mean to pry but you're right there, and your phone screen brightness is high. The text thread between you and James is open, your thumbs penning a quick response.

Hey James, are we still meeting at the house? I'm omw. 2:17PM

yeah of course, remus is there so go have a cup of tea ill be there soon 2:30PM

ok 2:31PM

sorry running late !! Promise I'll be there, have remus make you a scone :) 2:40PM

I like him too much to have him act like my serf, you can buy us both big salted pretzels on the way home to say sorry for wasting his time 2:45PM

I'm sure he's just gutted to spend time with you 2:46PM

Nice one, James, Remus thinks incredulously. That's exactly what Remus needs, more evidence that he fancies you. You don't seem to have noticed either way, swinging a leg over your knee and finishing another text to James.

I hope not, I love spending time with him 2:48PM

Remus turns to his computer screen, elated and guilty at once. He was not supposed to see that, surely.

"Your word count is really climbing," you say, tucking your phone away. "A hundred and fifty thousand. I can't imagine writing so much… will you have to cut that down?"

"Yep. Much more chance of being published if I fit their standard count. It'll need at least forty thousand words shaved off."

You shake your head. "I can't imagine putting in all that work and then having to put in more work to get rid of it."

"Think of it like refining, instead," he suggests, his fingertip sliding across the laptop's space bar. "I'm making sure nothing is boring."

"I doubt it's boring if you're the one writing it." You stand to his surprise and stretch, a slice of your waist appearing as you twist away from him, an audible click emitting from your back as you roll your shoulders. "Can I make a cup of tea, please?"

You've had a hundred cups of tea in this house.

"You know you don't have to ask," Remus says.

"But it's always nice to ask first," you say as you leave.

He suspects you were talking more to yourself than him as you occasionally do, and he pays little mind to your movements in the kitchen. He has a lot of work to do and not nearly enough time to do it, and editing isn't as simple as cutting away. It's not obvious what needs to go. Remus has to have a deep think.

He gets distracted. When you return he barely notices, busy rewriting a clunky sentence. It's not until your pinky finger brushes his arm that Remus remembers you're here, emphasis on you, and that he's besotted.

When he looks up, he doesn't suppose he'll ever forget again.

You're at his side neatening a plate of biscuits and toasted scones, the very tip of your tongue peaking between your lips in concentration. It's a simple thing, some might even find it unattractive, but you're totally focused on the plate of biscuits, your lovely eyebrows tightly pinched.

You seem upset, for a moment.

Then you meet his eye and any trace of unhappiness vanishes. You're smiling again, eyes alight with something he can't name. "I got you a couple of biscuits and stuff, hope that wasn't too forward. You never remember to eat when you're writing."

"Oh, sweetheart," he says unbidden to himself, hands paused at his laptop, "that's not too forward."

He sets his laptop aside and stands. There's nothing for it, no hold to bar —Remus steps forward to kiss your cheek and squeeze the top of your arm, the kiss swift and the squeeze less so.

"Don't set up around me," he continues fondly, "we'll go have tea in the kitchen with the window open. You can tell me about your day, please. I should've asked you earlier."

"Don't worry, there's nothing important to share," you say, and to Remus' delight, you've visibly flustered.

His hand slides down the length of your arm to your hand, where he holds your fingers in his palm. "If it's about you, it's important. Mm?"

You stare down at his chest and laugh softly. "Okay."

It's a credit to his self restraint that he doesn't kiss you then and there.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

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mondaymelon · 11 months

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— "𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂...𝗰𝗿𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴?" ♥

:feat~ xiao, kazuha, scaramouche x gn!reader:

⤷ slight angst + comfort n fluff (oops i made kazuha’s part abnormally long) ⤷ They make you cry.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis

At first, XIAO doesn’t understand that his words have cut you.

He was always one with a blunt, yet sharp tongue, never afraid to speak his mind or to criticize your actions on the slightest whim. After all, why should he be hesitant? His power is common knowledge - as an illuminated adepti, there’s few who can rival his dexterity.

But he never expected his words to hurt you. Xiao has never fully understood human emotion. He’s always isolated himself from the foreign concept, determined to separate him and such… frivolities. Emotions are for mortals, and he is not one of man. In his manner of thinking, he’s just helping you improve yourself, so why are you…

“Archons, Xiao. It’s always about my mistakes. My mistakes, over and over and…” Then your wavering voice cuts off as you swallow, hard. What did he do wrong? Why were you acting this way?

That’s when the aloof yaksha notices the crystal teardrops spilling from your eyes, running down your cheeks and staining the skin it trails. The slight hitch in your shallowed breath and the way you stray from his touch, trembling, anxiously wiping at your tears.

“...Love?” He isn’t accustomed to seeing you like this, avoidant of his gaze and so… vulnerable. “Wait, please-”

“Archons, love. Please, look at me.” Xiao takes your wrist in his gloved hand, his grasp cautious yet firm. His voice is pleading, quiet, strained with desperation.

“No, I… I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His voice shakes as he tries to meet your eye.

“Love, you are perfect. I never meant to say otherwise.” Please, believe me.

“I’m sorry. So please…” He detests the way he’s acting, heart racing so shamefully, yet still embraces you tightly, skin cold to the touch.

“Stay by my side.” ♥

KAZUHA’s eloquent wording is one that never ceases to amaze, so it’s only a twinge of misfortune that causes a misunderstanding to form.

As a poet, the way he speaks is quite ornate, a manner in which people may not comprehend. However, that’s never exactly been a problem when it comes to the communication of the two of you. You understand Kazuha, and that translates to his speech as well, so in a way, it’s only natural.

Yet…

“The show was incredible, wasn’t it?” You take Kazuha’s hand, and follow his gentle tug on yours as he leads you out of the crowd, smiling back at you. The white haired male, being the traveler he was, decided to take you for a night out in Liyue Harbor, where the two of you first ate a fine dinner, and just finished viewing a performance from the Liyue Theatre. Your heart still raced from the night’s breathtaking sights and wonders.

“Indeed it was.” He closes his eyes, a sign that he’s content, and you can’t help but widen your grin. “The main casting role, the lady with the flowing dress, was exceptionally talented. Just from the way she glided about the stage… you can tell she’s experienced, and blessed with bountiful potential.”

You nod along, albeit a little awkwardly. There’s nothing out of the ordinary for the two of you to discuss such topics, but for some reason, the way he’s speaking about her just makes your insides want to crawl.

He’s still droning on, eyes sparkling. “...Then, at the final scene, when she began to sing… say, Love, why don’t you try theater? It might suit you well. Maybe one day you’d be on a stage, just like her.”

What the male meant was: try theater out, you’d do well.

But what you heard, instead, was: you should do theater too. then you could be as brilliant as her.

You hated the way it felt like he was comparing the two of you, weighing which one held more worth.

“I know! We’ll be staying here for a while, so why don’t I sign you up for…” His voice trails off as he lets go of your hand, aware of the tears that are starting to form in your wells. “Love, what… what’s wrong?”

“Kazuha… please, stop.”

“...What?” He seems genuinely clueless, but clasps but your hands in his, a worried gaze written all over his face. “No, I…”

“Please stop comparing me to her. I already know I don’t deserve you… it’s just…” Fuck, now you really couldn’t stop the way the droplets started rolling down your cheeks, stray tears falling from your eyes and splattering onto the wooden planks below. All of your discomfort seemed to infuse themselves into the shameful adrenaline that was coursing through your veins, because you had worried if you weren’t good enough for Kazuha. Someone as lackluster as yourself, going out with a handsome young swordsman, intelligent, kind… he was loved by many, and you…

“...Love, please!”

When did he get so close? He’s leaned in, concerned, crimson-eyed gaze trained onto your every movement. “What are you even thinking about, to be breathing so heavily… no, c’mon love, look at me.” And when you do, eyes meeting his, his mouth morphs into a somewhat smile. “There must’ve been a misunderstanding.”

“Because you are most certainly superior to any other person in Teyvat.”

“And of all people, you…”

“I am the one not worthy of your love, so don’t ever say that again.” ♥

SCARAMOUCHE doesn’t care at all, why should he?

He said some stuff that you took too close to heart, so what? If he hurt you, why should he fret over it? You’re strong enough to take it. All he said was one or two harsh words that merely came to mind, so there’s no need for you to be all wounded over it, either.

“Yeah, you’re pathetic.” Scaramouche scoffs at you, one hand on his waist while the free one makes sarcastic motions in the air. “You can’t even get one thing right, can you?”

The “thing” in question, in fact, was making Scaramouche dinner. You added a pinch too much salt, and now the male seemed to act like you’d committed a grave offense upon humanity… but then again, he was always dramatic, so this time shouldn’t be any different, right?

“I… I tried my best…” Your voice trails off as you cringe under his undermining glare.

“Clearly, your ‘best’ wasn’t enough.” His jeering tone is enough to make your heart shatter as you glance up at him, eyes wide. You don’t realize you’ve begun crying until you feel the sensation of tears spilling down your cheeks, falling from your eyes with silent melancholy as you seem to choke on your own words.

“Why are you… why are you crying?” You’re scared to look up at him, whatever expression he’s making, so you keep your head down, pitifully wiping your tears away.

“I’m not.”

“Sure you aren’t.” His voice is airy as he rolls his eyes, frowning at you. What, now you get to act all disheartened? What did he even do to upset you?

“I’m not crying.”

“C’mon, Kuni. It’s okay to say if you’re sad. Here, cheer up, and I’ll give you this flower, okay?”

A voice echoed in his head.

“...Huh?”

And it’s strange, really, how the sight before him mirrors one from long before. The way your eyes hold so much sorrowful desperation, the way you seem so broken inside, and most of all, the way the tears that run down your face seem achingly familiar.

“Shit.” His voice seems small, too small. “Wait, love, I-” His voice cuts off as he sighs, unsure of what to say. The beating of his anxious heart overpowers all noise.

“Love, I was… joking. I don’t mean any of it.”

“You being here is a blessing of itself.”

“Archons, please know how much I love you.” ♥

(a/n) i accidentally made xiao's part the shortest i am a disgrace to humanity

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cutesilyo · 6 months

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the thing i really like about just for once in nerdy prudes must die is that it's best iteration of the musical within a musical trope that has become characteristic of the hatchetfield musicals

like both show-stopping number and deck the halls (of northville high) are catchy songs from in-universe musicals that were very much written to have plots that suck

and show-stopping number was so well-beloved because it is, frankly, a hilarious scene that robert manion put 100% into

but i argue that only just for once is thematically relevant to its musical and fully emblematic of the wants and desires of the character singing it

because what is just for once, as a scene? it's ruth singing a song because she thinks she's got a chance of doing it better. it's ruth singing a song about a character who looks back on the mundane miseries of her lonely life and — at the last second — remembering who she used to be before the pain set in. it's ruth singing her version of cooler than i think i am and reflecting on how she is perceived and wondering what it takes to break away from it. it's ruth singing right after she says, "in my dreams, i'm the star of the show."

of all the losers that max jagerman victimizes, only ruth says who she'd like to become beyond that. where pete can't even admit to liking steph at gunpoint and richie doesn't ever get the chance to verbalize what he wants, ruth gets on the stage in the few minutes of break time and just for once, the spotlight is on her.

and the really crazy thing about just for once is — it has the "i'm not a loser" motif. possibly the most iconic and important motif of the whole musical, it's the motif that starts the opening number. and here it is, in the silly musical within a musical by the silly character who has — until this song — always served as comic relief.

in the climax of the song, just for once is no longer the song of a character from the barbecue monologues. it's ruth's. in those few seconds, it's her lamentation of the life that max jagerman forced on her.

but that's the thing about the "i'm not a loser" motif. the way it functions in the musical is as a harbinger for max's violence. the police at the beginning ask, "what the hell happened here?" and its the motif that answers. pete is the first character that sings the line and is immediately beaten up by max in the next scene. then richie sings it and max kills him in the same song. when ruth has the motif running as the crescendo to just for once, it sounds absolutely incredible... and it should come as no surprise when max appears shortly after.

(as a quick note: you can also hear the motif after max makes the car crash, then max appears two scenes later. you then hear the motif in the cooler than i think i am reprise and max also appears right after the song. it's like max is instantly summoned by any instance of the losers trying to shake off the role he placed on them — of trying to defy him.)

tl;dr: the inclusion of the "i'm not a loser" motif in just for once makes it the big lipped alligator moment that wasn't. like yeah, it accomplishes its goal in being the funny musical within a musical trope! the character acting makes it a funny song, and its a funny character performing it! but it also furthers our understanding of ruth AND of what the "i'm not a loser" really is: it's the characters trying to develop past being nerdy prudes and max doing everything in his power to prevent that.

and it does all that while being a banging musical tribute to stephen sondheim and, especially, his song the ladies who lunch. which in itself is a massive flex on jeff blim's part. what a brilliant song in a brilliant musical.

#npmd #nerdy prudes must die #starkid #hatchetfield #mine #i just love this song okay????#anyway i just want to say #nerdy prudes must die is on youtube!!! go watch it!!!!

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foone · 8 months

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Games are kinda weird as a creative medium because it's one of the few where it's possible to be incredibly incompetent at one of the major parts of it (the programming) and it not be noticeable in the end product.

Like, if you're a musician who can't sing or play your instruments worth a damn, that definitely comes across in the final product, no matter how good you are at lyrics or composing.

Making a movie? It doesn't matter how great the script is, if your performers can't act and your cameraman doesn't know which end points towards the action, your movie is going to be noticeably bad.

But games? There are games that have sold a bunch of copies, developed by one person, with brilliant game design, highly playable, not noticeably buggy, but if you look inside them it'll turn out it's just absolute dogshit. They barely are holding up against the strain of just existing.

The kind of game that when the sequel comes out, they just throw it all out instead of reusing any code, because it's all so terrible that it'd be more work to adapt any of it than to just burn it.

That happens so often. But you would never guess it from just playing it. Like, if you think about "badly programmed games" you get things like "skyrim", which is just... Not exactly right.

Skyrim has lots of bugs but that's because it's trying to do so much. It's simulating a huge world with so much interactivity and so many complex interacting systems, that it's almost inevitable that it'll have weird glitches. It'd take so much playtesting and careful bug fixing to make that game glitchless, and they clearly did not do that. The game is known for glitches, but not crashing (unless modded), suggesting their QA approach was "weird unexpected stuff can happen, but the game must continue working".

Or Pokémon red/blue! That game is so glitchy, with so many bugs, but a lot of that is that it is just stuffing way too much game on a tiny cartridge. Its only failing is that of Icarus: it flew too high, too close to the sun, it did too much.

Skyrim and Pokémon gen1 are examples of amazingly coded games, even if they have their glitches.

But there's games that seem to work just fine that are held together with toothpicks and duct tape, at best. They're immensely fragile, and they only work at all because the crash bugs were fixed, painfully and slowly, far more painfully than they would have been if the program had just been designed correctly in the first place.

Just absolute disasters of game programming, but then those games go on to be critically acclaimed and start entire mini-genres because of how influential they were on certain gaming niches.

But you'd never know! That's the weird thing to me.

#Gaming

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dawndelion-winery · 2 months

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I Met You Once, I Loved You Twice

Celebrity au! Their persona, and then their true self, it seems like you were meant to love them regardless

Ft. Childe, Furina, Kaveh, Scaramouche (Wanderer), Wriothesley

[Idol! Childe, Actress! Furina, Racer! Kaveh, Artist! Scaramouche, Athlete! Wriothesley]

Childe:

You knew him before the fame, before the glitz and glamour; when he was just Ajax

And as horribly sappy as it sounds, you've loved him since day 1

Falling in love with Ajax was like slipping on ice while you're hiking up a snowy mountain

You get a little too caught up in the scenery, a tad bit too comfortable being around him

And suddenly, you fail to notice the patch of ice and slip, tumbling down the cliffside, your affection for him snowballing into something greater

And so you support him through his dreams of becoming an idol, writing to him while he's a trainee, making care packages for him

Anything for your Ajax

And when he finally debuts...

Oh boy, all the fans calling themselves his partner? They could dream on

You called dibs on him before any of them even set eyes on him

Besides, how could they even fall for someone just from watching them perform?

That was answered for you the first time Ajax excitedly insisted you watch him in the MV

You're not exactly proud of your reactions to seeing him come up on screen, but he seemed happy enough about it

Falling in love with the idol Childe was like drowning

Holding your breath, choking and flailing

It's dizzying until you finally succumb, which doesn't take long at all

And once he's converted you into a fan?

He's such a little shit, whipping out the idol persona for a smidge of free fanservice just to get you flustered at the most random times

And he's back to your sweet old Ajax in seconds too, acting like nothing's amiss

Furina:

The world's greatest actress finds that the world is her stage

Ever perfect, ever entertaining, her splendour is unparalleled

It was impossible not to adore such craft, and you easily fell in love with her acting just as one would fall asleep, gently and blissfully without even realising

Immersing yourself in her works, you develop a sort of fanaticism, delving deeper to find her interviews

She's beautiful whether or not she's filming, you find

So much so that you can't help but wonder how much of it is true

And so when you do, by some trick of fate, meet her, you feel compelled to ask

It's a dark, foggy evening, and you're taking a brisk walk along the forest

Who would've thought you'd bump into her then?

And so you strike up conversation, eager to interact with your favourite actress

And when you broach the topic of her facade, you notice she gets a tad bit defensive

So you apologise and back off, meaning well, hoping to see her again

And you do: these late walks become a regular thing, and slowly, you start to know her for who she really was

It's almost like meeting her for the first time all over again, and it very well may have been if you don't count the act as meeting her

Falling for Furina, your friend, was like taking an ice bath

Frigidity seized you almost instantly, and yet, as you stayed longer, the more pleasant it felt, almost soothing in a sharp sort of way

Kaveh:

Not just anyone could race in what was known to be the pinnacle of motorsports

And Kaveh? He was brilliant, the light of Ksharewar, the face of the team

And frankly, a very charming face

Often regarded as one of the prettiest on the grid (if not the prettiest)

He's really raking in the viewers

Imagine people seeing *1* edit of him getting out his his car post race and suddenly they're invested in races

Ofc being a new fan, the gatekeeping you have to put up with is ridiculous

"I bet your favourite driver is Kaveh because he's handsome."

As if he's not one of the most talented to ever grace us with his presence?

He gets so involved with the car's engineering honestly he should just build the car himself too atp

He is speed on the track

And falling for the light of Ksharewar through the television screen is an adrenaline rush in and of itself

So bumping into him in real life was just breathtaking

You sincerely hoped you didn't come off as some crazed fanatic with the way you rambled on about how much you loved seeing the way he pushed the car to its limits and everything

Overall it was a great once in a lifetime experience and you planned to treasure it

Until it was just a once in a lifetime thing and you seemed to bump into him a fair bit ("Hey aren't you that fan that completely went off about the car that time?")

Once you'd started talking to him more frequently, the rush of meeting him started to fade into less of a frenzy, and more of a bubbling excitement

Falling in love with Kaveh was like taking a breath of fresh air and letting the chilly breeze fill your lungs, a crisp clarity creeping through your senses

But from the faint flush of pink on his cheeks, perhaps the opposite was the case on his end

Scaramouche(Wanderer):

You've heard of artists with depression, now what about artists with borderline personality disorder?

The first time you'd met him, you didn't even know it was him

You'd been at an art gallery admiring the works signed off by Kunikuzushi when a stranger stood beside you

"You've been staring at this sculpture for a pretty long time."

"I like it. I don't think I've ever felt such yearning embedded in stone."

The stranger didn't respond, but nodded in acknowledgement and continued to stand beside you

Falling for Kunikuzushi was like falling in love with shadows

It was no more than a feeling, a yearning, a desperation much like what he portrays in his works

Everything you knew about him seemed to drown in sorrow, loneliness, and self destruction, yet having never met him, you were sure this was only one small aspect of his being

Which left you ever curious

Curiouser still was that same stranger with the odd navy blue hair who always seemed to happen to bump into you at these exhibitions

Without fail, he'd prompt you to speak, as though digging for your thoughts on each piece

Not that it bothered you, the stranger felt familiar, and had become a welcome face

Warm was his presence and gentle was his gaze, yet a detached coldness kept you from him

He was beautiful, you noted, like moonlight, with all it melancholic splendour and grace, like the paintings and sculptures you loved so dearly

And so you found yourself falling for a beguiling stranger whose name you knew not

You loved him like the sea loves the shore, always reaching for him, but pulling back in uncertainty

"You're oddly silent today," he notes.

"I was thinking of how much this piece reminds me of us. It's weird, isn't it? How I'm seeing things, drawing links to some stranger."

"Not really. I made it like that for you. We don't have to be strangers."

Wriothesley:

Baseball player Wriothesley who has his fans swooning at his charming grin and chuckle

A real heart stopper (he could beat me with his bat)

Fans adore him regardless of whether they're simps (they are) because he's good at his job

The only people who hate him are fans of the opposing team

The way his arms flex with every swing, in this essay I will-

He's built like a tank and plays like one too

So obviously you'd expect him to be a pretty confident kind of guy

And he is

He's a charmer, a smooth talker, and painfully level headed

So why was this beefy cannon suddenly bashful over your incessant praise?

Just look at him, which of his fans haven't fallen completely smitten?

Falling for the star player was like stepping into a big city for the first time, and being wowed and blinded by the lights and massive skyscrapers

But Wriothesley was a soft person at heart

And oh so very vulnerable to affection

For every compliment you uttered, he'd readily deflect it, but when they just didn't end?

Boy was he at a loss

He did end up treating you to coffee, so that was nice

But he was very obviously avoiding your gaze which he deemed to raw for him to meet

Yet it is that exact raw adoration that he can't quite dismiss

He knows how superficial fawning can be, yet there's an undeniable gratification when it comes from you

So he keeps you at arm's length, letting you in ever so slightly, but never too close despite not pushing you away

Falling in love with Wriothesley was like planting a seed and nurturing it as it grows

The germination takes place out of sight, the results unnoticeable until it finally sprouts as a fragile sapling

Discouraging as it may be, with continued work, it does get easier

And when he's secure enough to trust you entirely...he promised to return all your efforts tenfold

Taglist: @ryuryuryuyurboat @yinyinggie @mx-kamisato @chaosinanutshell @haliyarobin @irethepotato @boundedbyfate @favonius-captain @aqui-soba @tiredsleep @sadlonelybagel @mastering-procrastinating

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soopsiedaisies · 4 months

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concept: some years after the end of the 100 year war the ember island players are invited by iroh and sokka to perform a play during like a,,, meeting of nations. and they come in and are instantly face to face with the avatar and their country’s literal leader, the latter of whom squints at them and goes “ah! butcherers of love amongst dragons! you got my scar on the wrong side by the way” like how do you deal with that. your fire lord admits to thinking you’re no good, but also admits to having watched the play you guys did and wrote about him and his besties in which he died horrifically at the hands of his currently imprisoned sister, because you obviously were wrong for predicting the avatar would lose. and the avatar’s like “i also didn’t die. surprise!” like you’re not 100% aware of that.

and sokka of the southern water tribe, war hero and brilliant strategist, is like “LOVE your stuff dudes” and tries not to get murdered by his sister (a master waterbender) (very deadly) (not whiny and lovelorn at all) who obviously does not agree with him. the blind (female) (small) earthbender is small and female and also highly deadly holy Shit you got that wrong. there was also a fucking kyoshi warrior you didn’t even know of. general iroh was quite on point but there’s a look in his eyes that reminds you far too much of the hardiest of soldiers returning shaken and volatile from the earth kingdom, but he serves you tea. you’re unsure whether you should drink it (and do it anyway, because the fire lord tells you to and one does not simply say No to the fire lord)

and you’re supposed to put on another play for team - fucking - avatar!! conquerors of ozai and harbingers of peace!! for their enjoyment!!! but the fire lord is glaring at you like he’s contemplating throwing you in prison for being kinda bad at acting and horrible at interpreting plays of literary significance, and it’s kinda scary, and what do you DO at that point????

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #i’d die #ember island players #aang #sokka #katara #zuko #toph beifong #suki #general iroh

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okaylikesmomo · 9 months

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Chapter 6: Antifragile

“Sweetie, that hurts.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” Chaewon apologized, letting go of your hand.

“I’ve never seen you this nervous before,” you chuckled softly, placing your hand on her trembling knee. “At least try to enjoy it.”

“I do enjoy it, I- it’s starting!” she screamed before grasping your hand once more, even harder than before.

This time you simply ignored the pain and let it happen, smiling at her excitement. Unfortunately for your ears, her scream wasn’t alone, it was accompanied by four others. This was as new of an experience for you as it was for the other members; You couldn’t help but feel just as excited as the five girls in the room as that first line of the music video played.

I am antifragile.

“Ah Zuha!”

“Eunchae!”

“Kkura wow!”

Hectic was an understatement. Even though there was a lot of energy in the room, it was nothing compared to the level of excitement that could be felt by hundreds of fans waiting for Le Sserafim to take the stage just a short distance away. It was a brilliant idea to release the group's first comeback together with an entire concert; it was surely one way to come out with a bang..

“You girls are acting like it’s your first time seeing the video,” you laughed.

“Hey! Shush,” Yunjin responded, shooting you a playful glare.

“Hey, shush!” Kazuha repeated before the two girls began giggling like crazy, repeating the line over and over.

“Ahh what is wrong with these two,” Sakura whined, unable to contain her smile, with Eunchae sitting in her lap.

“Look,” Chaewon muttered, her eyes never leaving the screen, face full of focus. It almost looked like she was reviewing the video- or perhaps she was hyping herself up for the impending performance.

“Pretty,” you said before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, patting her thigh with your hand. Her grip loosened on your hand for a bit, just until her powerful ‘whoa’ line which had the girls erupt in screams once more. Chaewon took the opportunity to stand up, pulling you along with her.

“Where are we going?” you whispered, following her to the back of the room where a couple of rows of clothing gave you some privacy from the others who were still screaming their lungs out.

“I want to show you something,” she answered, hopping up onto the dresser.

Chaewon slipped a hand up under her skirt and pulled down her safety shorts to her knees before leaning back, spreading her legs as far as the shorts would allow. You lowered yourself just enough to see up her skirt as she stuck her hand up the bottom again. She pulled her white underwear to the side, revealing a sparkle between her legs.

“Is that-”

“Yes.”

“Why?” you gasped, quickly checking over your shoulder to make sure your privacy was still intact before slipping your hand up her skirt as well.

“I’m going to perform with it,” she whispered into your ear as your fingers made contact with her wet skin.

“Won’t that be a bit uncomfortable?” you asked while rubbing your fingers beside her folds, up and down her soft skin.

“It’s going to be my constant reminder,” she moaned as you began to rub your thumb around her clit. “My reminder of what you’re going to do to me.”

“I’m going to do to you?” you replied, lightly tugging on the glass piece inside her. “What might that be?”

“You’ll find out soon,” she answered before pushing your hand away and hopping off the dresser.

“Don’t go,” you protested, trying to slide your hand up her skirt again. “You still have time.”

“Chaewon-ah! We’re about to go out, where are you?!” Sakura shouted from the other side of the room.

“Coming!” she shouted back while smirking at you. “So much for still have time,” she added quietly before leaning forward and kissing you.

“Have fun out there, I’ll be watching,” you cheered, giving her butt a little pat as she rushed over, back to the rest of the girls who were a screaming mess as the video came to an end.

It all happened so quickly. The room was filled with screams and excitement just a moment ago, but now they had vanished, leaving you with nothing but the ringing in your ears as a reminder. You got comfortable on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as the group’s introduction began playing.

There was no denying this group was loaded with charm. Each member had their moment on the screen; Yunjin with her chic expressions, Kazuha with her unrealistic beauty, Sakura had that slightly awkward but so loveable smile, and Eunchae in typical Eunchae fashion was adorable. Then the camera zoomed in on Chaewon, the one who was able to pull it all off: cool demeanor, beautiful makeup, her slow and seductive blink, all topped with her adorably tied up hairstyle.

What really captivated you, more than you already were, was the seduction. The way Chaewon looked into the camera, she nonverbally forced you to look at her. Dripping of confidence, you would have never guessed that the same girl had been sitting next to you trembling from nerves just a minute ago. Then it began, the instrumental to No Celestial starting up, the members all getting into it as if this was their calling in life.

In a way it was. All of the training and hard work was unraveling before your eyes. In a vacuum, it would be impossible to know that these were rookies performing their first comeback; They jumped up with the assurance and certainty of seasoned professionals. You could see that they were enjoying themselves despite a little bit of shakiness here and there and a few minor choreo errors that were completely overshadowed by their enthusiasm - it was obvious to anyone watching that they were genuinely having a good time up there.

The amount of pride you felt as you watched Chaewon address the crowd was overwhelming. She, and the rest of the members, just looked so happy. You were glad that all of their hard work was rewarded with an opportunity to be face to face with fans; fans who were cheering their lungs out. They deserved it, the hardships they faced. Just as you were really feeling the emotions, Good Parts began to play. Before you knew it, the girls reunited with you in the room.

“Why do you look so sad?” Chaewon asked while jumping onto your lap, blocking your view of the screen and the video.

Without speaking, you pulled her into a hug. At first she didn’t move, but eventually she returned the hug twofold. Her body was still slightly warm after the performance, and it brought you great comfort having her in your arms.

“I’m not sad,” you mumbled into her shoulder, giving her butt a little squeeze, knowing what she had between her legs right now. “Excited would be a better word.”

“You two are so adorable,” Eunchae teased, taking a seat next to you.

“Eunchae behave,” Sakura said sternly, taking a seat next to her.

“Wow, Kkura is so cool when she’s bossy,” Yunjin cooed, sipping on some water and fanning herself while Eunchae laughed.

“Zuha, is everything alright?” Sakura asked, ignoring the other two.

“This won’t open for some reason,” she mumbled, fiddling with a little packet.

“Do you need help?” Sakura laughed.

“I got this,” Kazuha mumbled, her face fully focused on the snack.

“Come on,” Chaewon instructed, standing up and pulling you away. “We’ll be right back.”

“Where are-” Eunchae began before Sakura covered up her mouth.

“Don’t be too long, we have to change and head back out,” Sakura said while playfully. It almost seemed like she knew something.

You paused briefly next to Kazuha as you followed Chaewon out of the room. She was holding the packet when you took it from her and ripped it open before returning it to her. She was shocked at first, but she soon gave you a loving smile. You returned her grin and thought how sweet she was as you caught up to Chaewon.

“That was kind of you,” Chaewon commented now that the two of you were alone in the hallway.

“Am I not allowed to be?”

“I’ve told you so many times,” Chaewon huffed. “Zuha is fair game, I expect you to treat her well. Just stop making it so obvious that you want her.”

She was playing playful about it, but part of you suspected there might have been a tinge of jealousy. Or perhaps you were overthinking it.

“Yeah, but I don’t want Zuha right now,” you announced before aggressively pinning Chaewon against the wall. “I want you.”

“Do you?” she moaned as you began peppering her neck with kisses.

Your hand slid up her thigh, up her skirt, and then yanked her safety shorts and underwear down at once, letting the garments fall to the ground. With her neck in your mouth, you grabbed the base of the plug and slowly pulled it out of her pussy.

“Ah,” she moaned softly, reaching behind your back and grabbing your head.

Her pussy was dripping - you could feel little droplets fall onto your wrist as you began rubbing the plug around her intimate parts. You slid it up and down her pussy, forcing her to moan quietly, knowing that at any second someone could walk out of the room and catch you in the act.

An idea popped into your mind as you rubbed the little glass plug around her pussy. With your other hand, you gently squeezed her ass as you moved your mouth deeper into her neck. You slowly slipped the plug towards her ass, spreading her cheeks just enough to give you access.

“What are you-” she began to whisper before suddenly letting out a deafening squeal.

“Chaewon-ah?!” Sakura shouted from behind the door.

“Are you okay?!” Yunjin shouted as well.

“Yeah!” she shouted back. “I slipped, but I’m fine!”

“Slipped,” you whispered while stifling your laughter.

She hit you on the chest, playfully, before pulling up her underwear and fixing her skirt while glaring at you.

“Need to find somewhere more private,” she whispered, taking your hand in hers and squeezing it painfully hard.

As you followed her towards the door, you couldn’t take your eyes off her ass. The first few steps clearly showed some levels of discomfort, but soon she began walking normally. If you didn’t know better, you could have never guessed she had a plug in her ass right now - but you did know better.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she scolded you while walking.

“I’d say sorry, but I noticed you didn’t take it out yet,” you teased back.

“Shut up.”

You obeyed her command, trying your best to play along with her ‘anger’. She was clearly trying to act upset, but you just found it adorable the way she was trying to hide her smile.

“This works,” Chaewon said while peering into one of the empty dressing rooms. “Lock the door behind you.”

“What if I just leave it open?” you asked while locking it. “Add to the excitement?”

“I don’t care, just hurry up and get in here,” Chaewon growled, slamming her lips against yours.

As you two kissed, you moved deeper into the room. While the sloppy and messy kiss took over your mind, Chaewon backpedaled deeper into the room until a dresser eventually came into contact with her lower back.

“Someone’s in a rush,” you joked while yanking her skirt alongside her underwear down to the ground.

“Someone shoved a plug up my ass,” she hissed, stepping out of the clothes before kissing your mouth again. “Now can that someone hurry up and fuck me? I have to go back on stage soon.”

“Then someone needs to hurry up and turn around,” you snapped, giving her ass a hard spank before spinning her by her hips so that she was staring into the mirror of the makeup station.

Your firm cock immediately sprung up in attention as you dropped your own pants and locked eyes. Your hand slipped up her body and wrapped around her neck as you held onto your base with your other hand, fumbling with your cock between her legs until you found her hole.

With her lustful gaze in the mirror, and your cock poised to enter her pussy, you thrust your hips. As your length squeezed into her tight little pussy, your hand around her neck gently pressed down. Her mouth shot open, her eyes squinted, and she paused for a second as your hips slammed into her ass.

“So fucking wet,” you groaned, sliding your hand from her neck onto her shoulder. You brought your other hand up the side of her body, placing it on her other shoulder before pressing down and bending her over deeper. However, you made sure not to push too far - you wanted to see her face in the mirror as you started fucking her.

The initial shock had already worn off, and Chaewon began to pant each time your hips slammed into her cute little ass. Slapping noises filled the room alongside her breaths and your occasional grunt as you exerted as much power as you could. At this point, she was moving her hips back onto your cock as hard as you were thrusting into her.

“Fuck…” she moaned out freely. “Fuck me.”

Her ass was jiggling like crazy as you let go of her shoulders, running your hands down her body until they were on her hips. Now you could clearly see the ripples being made each time your thighs slammed into her. Her tight pussy was making it difficult to pace yourself. All you wanted was to keep fucking her senseless. She knew you were watching her all night, just like all of those other fans out there, but only you knew what she really wanted.

Peeking out from between her ass cheeks each time your cock rammed into her was the sparkle of the plug. You stopped thrusting for just a second and rubbed your thumb against the base of the plug, gently pushing it deeper into her ass.

“Take it out,” she whispered.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, grabbing the plug, worried that it was too much for her.

“No,” she answered, looking back over her shoulder. “Take it out and fuck my ass.”

“You mean it?” you confirmed after getting over the initial shock of her request.

She didn't need to say anything; the look she gave you was plenty for an explanation. She wasn't messing around - nothing facetious about it. This was going to happen, yet you still couldn't believe it. You quickly removed your cock and sank down behind her. You shoved your face between her legs, ripping the plug out of her asshole while licking at her pussy.

“Ah!” she screamed out sharply before quickly transitioning into moans as your mouth pressed against her asshole, soothing the pain. She began to moan softly as your tongue toyed with her tighter hole, teasing it, prodding away.

“You alright?” you asked, standing up behind her, your hands continuously massaging her ass.

“Mhmm,” she whimpered, staring down.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” she moaned quietly.

“Be more specific,” you commanded, giving her left cheek a rough spank before reaching forward and pulling her hair back with a touch of roughness, forcing her to look up.

“Fuck my ass,” Chaewon cried out, grabbing onto the dresser for support, looking up in the mirror directly into your eyes. “Please.”

Luckily your cock, twitching in excitement, was coated in her wetness already. You spat on your hand before rubbing against her asshole, adding more of your saliva to the bit that was already there from when your tongue was exploring. Carefully, you pressed your tip against her entrance until it entered her hole. You took hold of her hips, bracing yourself for what was to come.

Chaewon’s pussy was tight - beautifully tight - but her asshole was a whole different story. You slowly pushed forward, fighting against her body, taking utmost care to go slowly. Each inch forward was a fight against pressure. It felt so wrong yet so right at the same time. Her tight asshole squeezed every ounce of your energy out of your cock.

“Chae,” you gasped, your fingers digging deeper into her hips, your cock halfway into her asshole.

The two of you made eye contact in the mirror and she knew, she knew what you wanted. Her eyes shut tight, face scrunched up in a grimace, her teeth clenched, and she began to push her ass backwards onto your cock.

A slurry of grunts and moans escaped her lips as she pushed back with all her strength. She got most of the way, her asshole getting tighter and tighter by the inch. When she got to what seemed like her limit, you took control again. With a firm grip on her waist, you pushed your hips forward, jamming your cock all the way into her ass.

“Fuck!” she cried in a mix of discomfort and pleasure.

“Your body is so fucking perfect,” you gasped, bending forward and pressing your chest against her back. You brought your hands up her body, wrapping them around her stomach. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she groaned, her asshole convulsing all around your cock. “Give me a second,” she added in her tiny voice.

With her tight asshole squeezing every bit of your shaft, you took the opportunity to slide one hand down from her stomach and between her legs. You began to rub her, gently, working your hardest to make this feel as good for her as it felt for you.

Her pussy was still soaked, instantly coating your fingers. You inserted a single finger into her pussy, which at this point barely felt tight relative to where your cock was at the moment. Back and forth your finger went, easing her body into pleasure and euphoria.

“Fuck me,” she begged quietly. “Fuck me, please.”

Your hips slowly began to pump away at her asshole, carefully with no sudden movements. She felt so fucking good right now. You kept fingering her, almost in an attempt to distract her from any discomfort.

It did feel like her discomfort was starting to vanish, that or your cock was getting used to the tightness of her body. Either way, all you knew was the way she was squeezing your shaft felt divine. You began to pick up the pace, moving your hips in a bit of a rhythm now.

While your cock found a comfortable tempo, alongside your finger, you took the chance to turn her head sideways and kiss her. It was sloppy, definitely lacking form, but you needed as much of her body as you could touch. You repeatedly kissed her mouth, or rather tried to as her body kept shaking each time you slammed into her backside.

The lust for Chaewon took over. The next few minutes were a blur. All you knew was Chaewon’s asshole felt like heaven. Even though you never wanted to stop, you could feel your cock getting ready for the climax. Surely you wouldn’t be able to last much longer, not with how perfect Chaewon’s tight asshole felt.

“I’m getting close!” she cried out, breaking her lips away from yours, her voice three octaves higher than normal. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Her body collapsed down to the dresser and you followed suit, pressing down against her back again with your chest. One arm snaked around her toned midriff. You could feel the flex of her abs each time your cock slammed into her asshole.

She began to squeal, loudly and rapidly. Words could not explain how turned on you were at the sound of her voice. It was too much for you, and you felt yourself mere seconds away from unloading into her asshole. You quickly tried to logic out of the situation; Keep fucking her ass even though you were about to cum? Slow down to try and delay it? Pull out and cover her beautiful ass?

The options flashed in your mind, but you quickly realized it was futile. Your cock began exploding inside her, filling her up with your cum. The added lubricant from your cock made it easier to fuck her tight little asshole as your orgasm took over your entire existence. There was a lot.

Your orgasm kept going, giving you the drive to keep plowing Chaewon’s little asshole. Luckily for you, her high-pitched squeals were a clear indicator of her own impending orgasm. Just as your cock began to burn up from the sensitivity of your post-orgasm state, you felt her pussy clamp down on your fingers.

A single, drawn out “fuck” escaped her lips as her whole body began to shake beneath you. With the arm you had wrapped around her stomach, you squeezed her body gently - subtly reminding her that you were here for her. You ignored the struggle of using your spent cock and you kept pumping away gently at her asshole as she trembled in your grasp: the goal was just to make her feel good.

It took some time for her body’s convulsions to finally subside. At this point, your cock was painfully sensitive, and the tight squeeze of Chaewon’s asshole offered little reprieve from the sensory overload. You stood up straight, taking a good look at Chaewon’s body bent over the dresser.

Slowly, you began to pull back, your cock sliding out of her little asshole. The same body that made it so difficult to enter was now making it difficult to leave, squeezing tightly as you pulled your hips back. It was all worth it, just to hear that satisfying moan Chaewon released as your cock finally freed itself from her embrace.

Immediately afterwards, a glob of your thick white cum spilled out of her asshole. Some of it adhered to her body, leaving a white mess on her pussy, while most of it fell directly onto the floor. You crouched down behind her, reaching up to spread her asscheeks lightly, admiring your mess sliding down the insides of her thighs.

“How’s it feel?” you asked, fully focused on the mess between her legs.

“A lot rougher than the plug,” she giggled, pushing herself up off the dresser, standing up straight. “But fine, better than I expected.”

“Good,” you said, standing up behind her, hugging her from behind. “We should probably get you cleaned up, you still have to go back on stage don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I wish we could just cuddle instead.”

“I do too,” you confessed, looking around the room to find some tissues or wipes. “But there are fans waiting, you wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

“I know,” she agreed, accepting some tissues from you. “They deserve a good show, we honestly owe it to them.”

“Imagine if they saw what we just did,” you chuckled. “That would be a good show.”

“Inappropriate,” Chaewon reprimanded you in an exaggeratedly playful tone.

“By the way, what gave you the idea for the plug?”

“It was Kkura’s idea,” Chaewon confessed. “I… asked her for some advice.”

“Advice?” you cocked an eyebrow. “You claim nothing happened last night, yet-”

“Nothing happened last night,” she said firmly. “I never said anything about this morning.”

“The truth comes out,” you announced dramatically, wrapping your arms around her waist. “So why don’t you tell me what you and Sakura got up to this morning.”

“That’s a secret for you to find out another day,” she teased before turning around. “Who knows, maybe one day we’ll show you.”

—

“I’m exhausted,” Chaewon sighed before falling face first onto the bed.

“Awh sweetie, I’m proud of you,” you admired her, placing your hands on her back and massaging her sore body gently. “I’m sure you’ve seen, but the initial response has been phenomenal.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah you do.”

She sat up and smiled warmly, despite the fatigue being so evident in her eyes.

“You’re right, I do care,” she said, leaning forward and kissing you briefly. “But I’m still exhausted.”

“With how much you guys record beforehand, you’d think things would get easier after the comeback.”

“I wish,” she laughed, standing up and removing her clothes. “It was really just the hours we spent in makeup today that got to me, I nearly fell asleep like three times.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you look amazing even without all that makeup.”

“That’s sweet and all but unfortunately it doesn’t work like that,” she muttered while reaching into her closet to find some more comfortable clothes. “Thanks for waiting, by the way. I’m sorry I ended up being late.”

“It’s fine, I know you’re busy with the comeback stuff,” you reassured her.

“Yeah,” she sighed softly.

“We’re still good for dinner, right?”

Her pouty face as she returned to the bed was all the answer you needed.

“You’re too tired, aren’t you?” you asked with a light laugh.

“I’m sorry, we just had such a long day,” she sighed, joining you on the bed and leaning into your ear. “I’m also still super sore from yesterday.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you responded, giving her butt a gentle rub. “We can just hang out.”

“I have another idea, if you’re open to it,” Chaewon suggested, slipping the shirt on. “How about you take Kazuha instead?”

“Take Kazuha?” you repeated. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why not? You two get along so well,” she continued. “Plus, I think she could really use it.”

“Wow aren’t you such a good leader,” you teased playfully. “Always looking out for your members.”

“What do you say, can you help this leader out?” she asked, climbing on top of your body. “I’ll make it worth your while if you do.”

“Going on a date with Kazuha and getting a reward? Sounds like a good deal.”

“It is a good deal,” she whispered, kissing you again. “Spend the night with her again if she wants, she worked so hard today.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“And what about the surprise?” you asked, kissing her while your hands filled themselves with Chaewon’s toned ass. “When do I get that?”

She slid off your body and lay down in her bed, pulling the sheets up.

“Tomorrow, you can make me all sore again,” she moaned with a wink.

---

A/N:

Honestly this got a tiny bit delayed, but yay here it is. I just gotta say, the support recently for my work has been overwhelming. So many kind messages! Forgive any typos, I tried to proofread if thoroughly but I have a weird gut feeling that I missed some.

Now for the story. For those of you who saw "that post", I just wanna say making this a very Chaewon-heavy chapter was not me being petty, this was just always the plan. Obviously I've teased it, but I'll just say there's no more bait when it comes to Kazuha's chapter (I've already written most of it, and yes it is next).

Please feel free to reach out and leave feedback! I try to read every message/comment/whatever. Thanks again everyone who reads and has been beyond kind to me! <3

#kpop smut #smut #fluff #chaewon #fanfiction #chaewon smut #le sserafim #le sserafim smut #sakura #kazuha #yunjin #eunchae

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odessa-2 · 2 months

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Titbits and analysis 🖖

As promised, some more titbits from the Con yesterday in Melbourne as well as my interpretations. Prior to attending yesterday, I told myself to keep an open mind and attempt to leave any biases behind (even after having seen the funeral pics). Clean slate. To try and view Sam, the event, questions, and subsequent behaviours objectively.

I'm the sort of person who feels energy and is affected by it and in some ways governed by it. The energy of people, both individually and collectively. The energy of a group. I tend to couple this with objective analysis, which forms the basis of my conclusions about people and situations.

I applied this method yesterday in attempting to understand and view Sam, the OL money 💰 machine and everything else. I also just wanted to go there and bask in the audience and enjoy myself....and....I did like it Jamie.

So first thing I noticed off the cuff was how experienced Sam was in handling questions, and the women, and tailoring his behaviour to suit their desires. He was charming, charismatic, approachable, a skilled professional. I saw the veneer. I felt the veneer. I also saw and felt that he is a pretty decent bloke under that veneer. A man with a solid work ethic, who is mild mannered and working with purpose in his life.

I observed that his handler or Convention agent or whatever he is, Steve, was in full control. He managed Sam's performance in a sense. He asked the questions and even set the directions for some answers. Sam is controlled. I didn't like Steve. I didn't get the best vibe off him. Infact, I got a bad vibe off him. I observed that everything was a performance. Scripted to a large degree. The Single Sam narrative was pushed by Steve. Hard. It was a performance. That much was clear to me.

So Sam chose to mention that he was in Austria skiing 2 weeks ago....blah blah...something about singing a Ronan Keating song. So the script tells everyone nice and early that he is NOT with Caitriona ✅️

Later on in the panel, he mentioned that he "was at the theatre in London the week earlier" watching a play. Huh? Getting his timeline confused? Interesting titbit, I thought. Who would he go to the theatre with whilst in London? Who else likes to go to the theatre? Who have we seen him go to the theatre with before? Ding ding ding!!

One of the first things he spoke about (umprompted) and imo was part of his speaking program, was that Caitriona is back home in Scotland doing prep work and will be directing this season. He said that he spoke to her recently and that she is cold and miserable back home. No one seemed to give a shit. The women were there for their Jamie. Sam read the crowd. He understood.

Sam tried to bring Cait into the conversation again saying something like "Where's Claire?....Caitriona isn't here". Again crickets from the audience.

He said that he auditioned with a lot of Claire's, but they couldn't find the right fit and that nobody was as brilliant as Caitriona.

It sounded like he genuinely missed her.

He spoke of his audition with Cait, saying they were very physical and were almost wrestling each other. He said he was sweating all over her and that his sweat was on her. The crowd still only wanted to hear about their Jamie. I think Sam relished in being cheeky in saying that she wore his sweat that day.

Someone asked about "how do you kiss and make out with a costar and then just carry-on. Isn't it awkward"? Sam responded generally initially, saying that there's lots of checking in with the person and apologising afterwards (in a joking fashion). Then that prompted him to start talking about Cait saying that he has also "snotted" all over Cait and exchanged many body fluids with her (in an acting context presumably)and that there's nothing really left to do together that they haven't already done. I was like "whoooaa wtf Sam?". Shooketh that he said that really. The silence from the crowd was palpable. They really didn't want to hear about Cait and Sam and their shared bodily fluids whilst 'acting'. He is THEIR fantasy man. Not Caitriona's. Silence from the audience. Sam already knew that the crowd were Sam onlies but he loved telling this story. Relished in it imo. He loved the double entendre. It was an unrehearsed, unscripted conversation as it resulted from an audience question. I concluded it was an act of defiance on his behalf. That's what it felt like to me.

Steve the convention agent guy, was always bringing it back to Single Sam. "I worry how are you going to get a date" said Steve. With Sam understanding the prompt ...."I worry too" says Sam. Bachelor narrative secured ✅️

Steve spruked the Bachelor narrative again to Sam's thirsty and adoring fans....."Sam you remind me of that old show where everyone has to guess which bachelor is going to come out of the mystery door". And that's when I knew with 100 percent certainty that the bachelor talk was a ruse. It was so contrived and performative. I smiled to myself. The women in the crowd were eating it up.

Another thing that stood out to me was when Sam was searching for the right terminology when talking about Cait. "My......co star" huge pause.

"I love you Claire" is the line he randomly chose to say when explaining his acting.

When asked how he has time to foster friendships and spend time with his family he talked around it. Avoided the question and kept it about his friendships saying that they are strong friendships that endure. He diverged and started talking about how he still has his core friendships that he had when he was bunking and sharing an apartment/house with them in London when he was younger. The veneer was up. Inpenetrable.

At another point in the panel Sam asked "How many Sheila's are there here"? LOL. I found that amusing.

Now this next part captured my attention the most. It had a weird feeling (energy) around it . Sam gave off a weird energy. Almost hostile. Again that's just what I felt.

Someome from the audience named Toni with an "I" was selected to ask a question. I can't remember what the question was but Sam made a really big deal about her being named Toni. "There's always a Tony have you noticed"? Why is there always a Tony"? He said. He didn't want to drop it. He placed a little too much emphasis on it. I was laughing silently but Sam's double entendre didn't go unnoticed by me. Everyone else was clueless or at least that's how it appeared to me. Was that an Easter egg dropped by Sammy?

Asked about what does he do for self care, he seemed to struggle answering that too. He talked in circles about his way points hike and how he's learning how to live in the moment. There's that wall again.

There were many other things discussed of course but I thought I'd focus on the things that shed light on his situation and that resonated with me.

So my closing Analysis? Sam is controlled. He peforms. He caters. He's intelligent and in tune with people and aims to please but is private. Sunday just reaffirmed and solidified my beliefs. Caitriona snatched up that hard working gem of a man quick smart!

#hublander #odessa-2 #melbourne #sam heughan

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yandere-daydreams · 7 months

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Title: Well Directed.

Written for a very lovely, very patient anonymous commisioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Arlecchino x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.0k.

TW: Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Intimidation, Biting/Blood, Unhealthy Relationships, and Slight Dehumanization.

Arlecchino greeted you the way she always did – through touch.

Despite everything, you had to admit Arlecchino’s ability to dampen her footsteps, to muffle her breathing, to somehow disguise the weight of her state and heat of her unnaturally warm body and the very fact of her own existence was undeniably impressive – even more so when she managed to hide herself from someone like you, someone so preoccupied with knowing the exact position of every actor as soon as they stepped onto your stage. Your first hint that she was coming to see you was the feeling of her talons on the dip of your shoulder, drifting upward to the curve of your neck, then the sight of her reflection in the mirror of your vanity, appearing as if she’d always been there, as if your eyes hadn’t been fixed to the door of your dressing room since locked yourself behind it, content to spend your intermission in peaceful seclusion. You’d planned to use what little free time you had to clear your head and prepare yourself properly for the rest of the night, but as always, she was there to make sure your mind would be filled with only thoughts of her. If Arlecchino had it her way, there was a good chance you’d never be able to think about anything else.

When you tried to stand, crumbling under the reflex to put any amount of distance between you and her, Arlecchino’s hand rose to your throat, catching you just under the chin and burying her claws in each corner of your jaw. Immediately, you went still, and she rewarded you with an airy chuckle, a tilted head. “Good puppet,” she praised, loosening her hold on you with the assurance that you’d learned your lesson quickly. “You were brilliant out there. Truly, the rest of the production is paler for having to stand in comparison to you.”

You wished you could’ve preened, could’ve basked her praise the same way you did when one of your performances caught the eye of a particularly flattering columnist, when you overheard one of your costars gushing about how proud they were to be working with someone of your renowned. Instead, all her words – no matter how kind, no matter how adoring – ever seemed to do was send a chill down your spine, to make you regret ever auditioning in the first place. Could her praise be considered sincere, if you knew she wouldn’t remember a single line you delivered a few minutes after the curtains closed? Could you take her compliments as anything but blatant condescension, if you knew the only reason she’d sat through your performance at all was to admire her newest toy?

But, you couldn’t say that out loud, so you only bowed your head, settling onto the stool of your vanity as you attempted to find your voice. “It was only the first act,” you mumbled, eventually. “And my scenes were hardly anything noteworthy. My character doesn’t really find their footing until the climax.”

“I disagree. Try as I might, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” She didn’t have to tell you that. You’d felt stare prying into you every time you were on stage, and if it hadn’t been for the blinding lights, you were sure you would’ve been able to see her in the dead-center of the first row, grinning wildly as she watched you put on a show she’d already attended half a dozen times since opening night. If she actually bothered to pay attention, you were sure she would have the script memorized, by now. “Although, I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t wearing my last gift. What if I lost track of you up there, dear?”

Her last ‘gift’. Your heart skipped a beat at the reminder. It’d been a gaudy thing – a rose-shaped breastpin, crafted with tens of hundreds of pinprick rubies and lined with a frame of pure obsidian. She’d let one of her masked soldiers make the delivery, but her note had been clear enough. You were supposed to wear the awful thing during your next performance, in front of a crowd of hundreds. You’d crushed it under your heel before your anger could turn into mortification. The dread had only taken root as you cleaned up the broken pieces and began to imagine how Arlecchino might react to your ungratefulness. She could weather most things, but such blatant disobedient had never gotten you more than a bruised cheek, rope-burnt wrists, and a few days spent in the guestroom of her manor.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I tried, but the costuming department overruled me.” You let your eyes fall to the ground, playing sheepish. As if you were genuinely apologetic. As if any part of you regretted not being able to wear her claim on you in front of half the population of Fontaine. “You know how it is. Everything has to be approved by the director, lest a misplaced prop lead the audience to the wrong conclusion.”

She hummed, letting her hand fall to the low collar of your top. It was far from the most risqué costume you’d ever worn, but the plunging neckline suddenly left you feeling more exposed than you would’ve liked. “Give me a name.”

You stiffened. “…excuse me?”

“Who made the call? Give me a name and I’ll take care of the rest.” Her pitch-black claws ran over your collarbone, playing with the idea of breaking the skin. You already knew that the ghost of her drifting affection would linger for seconds, minutes, hours after she was gone, when you were left alone with her voice still ringing in your ears. It was more than likely that you’d spend the second act performing under the careful supervision of her phantom touch. “If it’s the director, don’t bite your tongue. The show can go on without that bumbling idiot.”

“No, I—” The threat was clear, direct. She’d made similar promises before – when the man behind the counter of her preferred bakery called you by your name as you hung from her arm, when one of her subordinates seemed just a little too excited to attend one of your shows. In her ideal world, you’d be little more than a ballerina twirling in one of her music boxes; there to smile and dance when she desired to see you and locked away from prying eyes when she did not. You’d do nothing but giggle and laugh and bend to her whims, too happy in her gilded cage to ever throw yourself at the bars. “I’m sorry,” you said, again, and this time you tried to mean it. “I… I lied to you, earlier. I damaged it this morning while trying to put it on, and—” A pause, a laugh. “Archons, I’m so embarrassed. I just couldn’t stand the idea of letting you know I was so thoughtless with one of your presents.”

It was far from your best work. Your speech was too stilted, your tone too dire for the occasion, your body language too stiff to convey much of anything beyond the simple hope that she would believe you. You would’ve been mortified to let anything so visibly improvised make it in front of a real audience, but Arlecchino was far from a critic. Her grin – as unwavering as it was monstrous – softened, her sadism partially sated by your complete, unabashed submission. Her hand fell away from you completely, and you beamed, letting your heart soar at the thought that she’d finally found some scrap of empathy for you.

Of course, your elation was quickly punished. It always caught you off guard – just how fast she was, just how strong she was, just how much she enjoyed reminding you of exactly why she could afford to be so self-indulgent when it came to her ever-growing collection of pretty little things. One moment, you were smiling at her reflection, and the next, the mirror had been shattered into more pieces than you could ever be able to count, anything it might’ve once shown distorted beyond all recognition. An intricate web of hairline fractures stretched outward from the point where her fist connected with the glass, but she regarded the devastation with little more than a slight hum, a sleeve dragged over her bleeding knuckles. “I think it’s my turn to apologize.” The sound of her heels against tile, the feeling of her arms wrapping around your waist. “You know how I get when I’m upset.”

Upset. You could’ve laughed, if you hadn’t forgotten how to use your lungs. You could’ve cried, if you weren’t too scared to move. If your unresponsiveness bothered her, if she noticed you hadn’t blinked since she lashed out, your paralysis wasn’t deemed worthy of her concern. Instead, she only pulled you against her chest, letting her chin rest on the dip of your shoulder. “You’re special, you know. I don’t lose my temper for every little actor who thinks they can get away with being so…” Her claws skirted over your side, threatening to tear through the delicate fabric of your costume. “Unappreciative. That’s a good word for it, isn’t it? You’ve always been the more eloquent one, between the two of us.”

Multiple temptations surfaced in you all at once. Part of you wanted to cry, to beg for her forgiveness, to promise you’d never be so selfish and so stupid again if she’d only let you go unharmed tonight. Another more rebellious faction screamed at you to run, to try in vain to hide yourself away from such an obvious predator, unwilling to acknowledge how many times you’d tried that before and how many times it hadn’t worked. And yet, neither impulse overwhelmed you, in the end. Arlecchino’s training took control and you left you speaking hollowly, the words finding your way to your tongue before your conscious mind could so much as realize that you’d opened your mouth. “Unappreciative, my lord. I’ve been unappreciative.” Then, leaning against her, “What can I do to earn your forgiveness?”

“Good little thing,” she said, by way of an answer. Her grin was the widest it’d ever been. “My perfect little puppet.”

This time, you were able to find a note of joy in her praise, to seek comfort in the fact that her faux-affection meant you wouldn’t be the next thing crushed under her rage. That happiness was only partially dampened by the weight of her lips against your shoulder, then drifting upward, latching onto the tender patch of flesh just below your jugular. Her teeth, like her fingertips, were sharpened to fine points, each able to pierce your skin with all the thought it would’ve taken her to swat a fly out of the air, to pluck a wildflower from its patch. You felt warm blood trickle past her lips and down your collarbone, let a low whimper slip past your grit teeth as she dug that much deeper, as she carelessly tore through everything she touched. When you shifted, attempting to relieve a fraction of the pressure on your throat, of the burning ache just underneath your skin, her hands clamped down around your hips, her hold on you tightening and dragging you that much closer to her chest, that much deeper into her embrace.

By the time she pulled away, there was a dark ring of bruising carved into the side of your neck, emphasized by the bright red stain of her lipstick against your skin, the trail of crimson dripping down your chest and pooling above your collarbone. You weren’t able to stop yourself, cursing as you scrambled for something on your vanity table that you could use to limit the damage, but Arlecchino stopped you, taking up either of your wrists and forcing your arms to your sides. “Trying to hurt my feelings again?” She ran her tongue up the side of your throat, adding a vulgar smear to the mess she’d made of you. “Leave it as it is – I want you wearing my mark for the rest of your performance. And, if someone tries to stop you, tell them I’m the only one you’ll be taking direction from, from now on.”

You were too stunned to respond, too mortified to blink. Somewhere in the distance, a stagehand called five minutes to curtain, and Arlecchino let out a breathy laugh. With no small amount of hesitancy, she detangled herself from you, making her way to the door of the dressing room, the space now too contaminated to be called your own.

As her fingertips grazed the knob, her glanced back to you, her eyes meeting yours in the shattered remains of your mirror. You could’ve sworn you could still see the faint tint of your blood on her teeth as the corner of her lips tugged upward and something buried deep, deep inside of you withered and died.

“I’ll be watching, dearest.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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homunculus-argument · 11 months

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I never learned to sing again after testosterone changed my voice, but I used to sing opera in my teens. Not professionally, of course, but me and my sister got tutoring/singing lessons, and I actually really enjoyed it, mainly because our teacher really loved tutoring and got visibly excited whenever I figured out how to do something with my voice that she wanted me to do.

Anyway, the most important thing that she taught was that when you're on a stage, whatever you're doing, the worst thing you can do is seem like you're not doing it on purpose. If you fuck up a note or skip a whole verse, just keep going - gesture some wordless apology to the accompanist if you must, but otherwise just straight-up carry on with full confidence. The audience most likely won't notice that you fucked up, and those who do will assume that whatever you were trying to do is just, like, your thing, that you do on purpose.

The show must go on and your performance is flawless for as long as you're doing it with confidence. You can practice not fucking that part up again later, but when you're on a stage, you're perfect for as long as you act like you are. You are brilliant and adorable and everyone is looking at you. It's literally worse to do something flawlessly but seeming so unsure about it that the audience starts suspecting whether you did that right, even if you did.

And yes, this is 100% the kind of logic that an opera singer would not only work with, but actively teach, but I've noticed it works well in art and life in general. Nobody can tell you're doing it wrong if they can't tell what the fuck you were trying to do, and if you seem confident enough in whatever you're doing, they can't tell that you don't necessarily actually know, either. This works for most things.

Except for those "it either works or it doesn't work"-things, like coding, baking, and doing math. You can't bullshit yourself into having a successful cake if you fuck up doing the math.

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tyttetardis · 3 months

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Macbeth Q&A 18th Jan 2024 Part 1

Was lucky enough to get a ticket for the Member's Event at the Donmar Warehouse that took place on the 18th...with the price of the patronages I sure never thought I'd have gotten the chance, but luckily, they also let in some non-members 🥹❤️

The brilliant performance of Macbeth was followed by a very quick cleaning of the stage - thought for sure it would've taken them longer to remove the blood than like 5 minutes - followed by a lovely, little Q&A session.

The Q&A was led by Craig Gilbert (Literary manager) who talked to Annie Grace and Alasdair Macrae (Musicians and part of the acting ensemble) as well as Cush Jumbo and David Tennant.

Anyway, just gonna write down some of the stuff they talked about :) sorry if it's a bit messy! Might be spoilery if haven't seen it yet but is going to!

To begin with Craig remarked that he didn't think he'd ever seen that many people staying behind for a Q&A before (While I was just wondering why some people even left!? Stressful!).

David introduced himself with "My real name is David "Thane of Paisely" Tennant - while Cush introduced herself with "I´m Cush Jumbo - there's only one of me".

First question was Craig asking them what it was that brought them to the Donmar to do Macbeth - to which David pretty much just replied that 1. It's the Donmar! 2. It's Macbeth! One of the greatest plays of all time in an amazingly intimate space - and that the theatre is famous for its quality of work. So he found it quite hard to think of a reason not to do it!

Cush said she'd worked there before and loves the theatre, how it's so intimate but also a great workspace. Followed by her saying she said yes because David asked her. She talked about how important it was for this play to do it together with the right actor playing opposite you.

David says Max Webster asked him about a year ago if he wanted to do the play - he gave him the dates - and since there weren't any obstacles in the way, David didn't have any excuse not to do it.

He then said that he had slightly avoided Macbeth - there sorta being the assumption that if you're Scottish and has done some Shakespeare plays before you have to do Macbeth. Which he joked was a bit odd since it's not like every Italian has to play Romeo. Then he mentioned that Macbeth is probably a bit more of a jock than he is - that it seemed more like a part for big, burly actors.

Max had laid out his initial ideas to David, a lot of which are in the final production, and David thought he seemed lovely, bright and clever and inventive plus it being the Donmar Warehouse! To which joked that he had last worked there 20 years ago - when he was 8 years old! "It's just one of those spaces" - friendly and epic at the same time where it's such a pleasure to be on the stage.

When Craig asked his next question concerning the sound of the play someone asked him to speak louder as she couldn't hear them - to which David joked that they've gotten so used to whispering. But also said sorry, and that they would!

Alasdair explained a bit about the process of the binaural sound - bit I find it a bit difficult to decipher it all correctly, sorry. He did say that a interesting part of it is that it allows them a controlled environment where they can put all the musicians (and even the bagpipes!) behind the soundproof box so "Poor David and Cush" doesn't have to shout over all the racket.

Craig asked David and Cush what their reaction was when they heard about the concept of the binaural soundscape - to which David replied that it didn't quite exist when they first came onboard - Cush joking they were tricked into it. Then she talked about her and David going on a workshop with Max to get a feeling of how it would all work - and get a sense of how it would sound to the audience, as this was one of the few times, they got to hear that side of it. Their experience of the play being completely different to the experience the audience has.

Cush said they can hear some of the sound - like she can hear some of the animal sounds and David can hear some of the stuff from the glass box - but most of their cues and information comes from timing with each other. She said they won't be able to ever hear what the audience hears - to which David joked "We're busy".

It felt like mixing medias - as it all went quite against their natural stagecraft instinct - but Cush found that in the long run it made things very interesting - like they don't have to worry about getting something whispered to each other - as the audience will hear it anyway.

David said the odd thing is that they don't really know what the experience truly is like. He mentioned that to the sides of the stage there's a speaker for them where they will get any cues that they need to hear. Like they can hear the witches - but they can't hear where they are "positioned" - so they have to learn how to place themselves to fit with what the audience hears. They don't hear everything, though. And the audio they hear is quite quiet, so it doesn't disturb what comes through the headphones.

He thinks it's been exciting - that it's a bit like a mix between film and theatre. It's happening live - but it's also like post-production is happening between them and the audience as it's going on. They just have to trust that the audience is hearing what they are supposed to for it all to make sense.

Cush said she thinks in 10 - 20 years, as these technologies has developed, doing theatre like this will feel a lot more normal - not that they will do it ALL the time, but that they will be doing it - whereas now it's still like an experiment. What Cush really like about the concept is that if was done in a much bigger theatre - then people in the cheapest seats would be able to have an experience much more similar to those in the most expensive seats - they'd be a lot more immersed into the action.

David then talks about how it feels extremely counterintuitive to not go on stage and speak loud enough that the people in the back row can also hear you. And usually, if they can't hear you, you aren't doing your job right! But then it felt very liberating. He loves it.

Cush then talked about how it felt odd waiting in the wings for a cue you can't hear - where you traditionally wait backstage and you can hear your cues, you can hear the rythm and know when it's your turn - so it was quite disconcerting to hear silence. So it's basically down to them now knowing the show and each other's timings - like if David is standing at a certain point, she knows how long she has before she needs to say/do something. So you have to watch each other more closely and really focus on what the others are doing.

David asked the musicians if they can hear everything inside the box, to which Annie replied that they get everything except some extra bits in the soundscape. But they can hear the actors on stage. Annie said it's actually a bit of a mystery to all of them what the audience actually experiences - how the big pictures actually look like - they just have to trust that it's there "Is it there?!".

Someone asked if they had had any adverse reactions from audiences to having to wear the headphones. Quite a bit of laughter all around :P then David said "There's the odd person" and something about if someone hadn't gotten the memo before turning up...but not sure how he ended the line. Then once again says that yes, there's the odd person who doesn't like it and that's fair enough.

The same audience member then said he could see the advantage of it in a big theatre where the distance is big, but not in a small place like the Donmar - to which David very quickly, rather passionately replied that it's not about projection, it's about being able to do things you wouldn't normally be able to do live - where they can speak so quietly that they can't even hear each other when standing next to each other. So even in such a small place, people wouldn't be able to hear that. It's about creating a different play - which isn't to everyone's taste and that's fair enough. But for a play that's been done a hundred and seven million times he thinks it's very valid to try and find a new way into the play - even if it's not for everyone.

Part 2

#David Tennant #Macbeth #Donmar warehouse #Cush Jumbo #I messed up this recording sooooo bad #I didn't see people pull out their phones to record it so I didn't dare do that either...#and man did I get a shitty recording out of it :(#and the audio ain't great either...Craig was sitting the furthest from me and didn't have a mic so can be a bit difficult to hear at times #Cush was sitting the closest to me (not that close - I was still in second row!) and David was sitting next to her #while I didn't have a perfect frontal view - the angle I was at did mean that I still got a perfect view of David's adorable smiles <3 #and all his other lovely facial expressions as he often looked to Cush when she was talking and replied to her...#which made it FEEL like he was looking in my direction *sigh*#and he looked so good with his comfy cardigan - skin tight jeans - and his glasses!#You know I have seen David quite a few times by now - but I'm pretty sure this was the first time I saw him wearing his own glasses!#I desperately wish I had managed to capture some pictures or a video---because OMG! He was so lovely <3 #Oh didn't know there was a text limit...or that I had written this much...guess I'm continuing in a part 2

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whimsyfinny · 3 months

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Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 1566

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

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Please Read the below first:

Prologue

Chapter 1

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 2

The journey to the bunker was pretty uneventful, with Sam and Charlie chatting amongst themselves in the front of the car whilst both myself and Dean sat miserably next to each other in the back like a couple of criminals who’d been arrested. The chains on my handcuffs jangled as I rubbed my sore knuckles; the skin raw, bruised and red from either my own blood or - most likely - Deans. As I did, I could feel a red hot glare burning into the side of my face from the older Winchester, as though he was in disbelief that I even had the audacity to feel any pain or discomfort right now as dark red scabs formed on his nose and cheek. We pulled up next to the bunker, and I didn’t get much chance to look at the surrounding scenery as the moment we were parked, the golden retriever duo up front hopped out, slammed their doors shut and threw ours open, Sam gently yet firmly grasping my elbow and pulling me to my feet whilst Charlie did the same for Dean. We were marched into the building and we soon arrived in what I assumed to be the kitchen. Sam pushed gently on my shoulder, urging me to take a seat at the table to which I obliged with Dean following suit and taking a seat opposite me. We stared each other down from across the table for a few moments, the atmosphere growing thicker by the second as his brilliant green eyes pierced mine.

“Enough the pair of you!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Look, I’ve got some things to say before we release you both back into the wild. It won’t take long,” she sighed and rubbed her temples. “I wanted to introduce you guys to (Y/n) because I thought you would get along! With your shared interest in hunting, bootcut jeans, rock music and most importantly - pie.”

Dean and I shot each other a quick glance before looking away again. Charlie continued.

“You’ve had one disagreement, and even though I was impressed by the performance it definitely didn’t warrant the carnage. You’re both adults, so act like it and stop bickering like children. You’re going to be living and working together now so you’re both just going to have to suck it up and move on.”

Sam stepped forward; “I agree with Charlie. (Y/n) you have no idea how much of a help you being here is going to be. We’ve been going around in circles for months and we really need a fresh pair of eyes. Plus you get free food and board, if that helps,” he grinned slightly trying to lighten the mood. I humoured him and softened my eyes, raising my eyebrows in acknowledgment to the pros of staying here.

“Right,” he clapped his hands together, “we’re going to remove the tape and you’re both going to be civilised. You promise?”

I gave Dean one final long, hard stare before nodding.

”Good,” Sams soft cool fingers grazed my cheek as he pulled up the corner of the tape, gently peeling it back until it was removed and I could finally take a deep breath. Meanwhile, Charlie approached Dean and in one swift movement ripped the tape from his mouth in under a second.

“FUCK!” He cried out as he tenderly touched his now extra sore swollen lips. I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Right, I’m going to go and get (Y/n)s belongings from the motel room she’s staying in and check her out then I’ll be right back with all her stuff. I’ll see you guys later!” And before I could even protest for her to take me with her, she’d turned on her heel and hightailed it out of the bunker, leaving Sam to undo our cuffs and set us free.

“That bitch,” I sighed, huffing a strand of hair out of my face. Sam knelt before me, that kind look in his eye ever twinkling.

“(Y/n) I promise you that you're safe here. It’s warded to the teeth and full of everything we need to survive. We’ve got you,” he patted my knee before taking my hands in his, using a small key to finally undo the cuffs right before they clattered to the floor. I leant down to pick them up, and by the time I’d sat back up to place them on the kitchen table, he was already beside Dean doing the same for him. His own cuffs removed and rubbing his wrists, he stood, looking from me to Sam a few times before speaking.

“Well I’ve already suffered enough today so I’m going to spend time coming up with a better excuse as to why I look like this,” he gestured to his beaten face and turned to leave, mumbling a quick ‘see ya later’ to Sam before leaving the kitchen. Sam stood awkwardly for a second, before declaring that he was going to get some lunch for everyone and also scurried away, leaving me completely alone in alien territory. I was still sat at the table as I began to look around.

This place was a dump.

How did these grown ass men live in conditions like this? The dirty dishes were piled so high that it was a surprise they hadn’t toppled over yet. Empty beer bottles cluttered the table and countertops, the bin was overflowing with bulging bin bags dumped right next to it without being taken outside and the smell was starting to make me feel a little nauseous. How does Sam expect us all to eat and live together in conditions like this? It was like living with a couple of wild animals. After a few silent moments to myself I released a breath I’d been holding whilst I pondered. I ran my hands through my hair and laughed at myself in disbelief. I’m gonna have to clean the fucking kitchen. Without giving it a second thought and running the risk that I’d change my mind, I scooped my hair into a high ponytail using the bobble on my wrist and pushed up my sleeves, finding a pair of rubber gloves under the sink. Let’s clean this bitch.

In the space of about an hour and a half (a gruelling hour and a half), I’d washed and dried the dishes, putting them away in their respective places, taken out all the trash and lined the bin with a fresh bag, scrubbed and disinfected every surface and had even mopped the floors. The smell of rotting trash was dissipating and the urge to claw off my own skin had gone. I’d propped the mop against the wall and stepped back to admire my hard labour when I heard a door open and close, the entering footsteps heading my way. Sam emerged into the kitchen, a stunned look on his face as he walked to the table slowly, placing about 6 bags of ‘groceries’ on its surface. His mouth opened and closed a few times like he was searching for the right things to say.

“You’re welcome,” I cut in, hoping to help him find his words.

“Yeah, thank you! I’m sorry, I didn't know what to say - you really didn’t have to do this. It’s embarrassing that you were even put in a situation where you felt you had to,” he grimaced a little, only now realising what a horror show it was that they were living in. “But seriously thank you, I really appreciate it,” he smiled and I couldn't help but smile back. Sam was sweet and easy to like - unlike his Neanderthal brother. I felt like I could trust him.

I peeled my gloves off, threw them in the bin and approached the kitchen table where Sam was pulling out a case of beer.

“Here, you deserve one of these,” he said, handing me one. The bottle was nice and cool on my hot fingertips, my warm skin instantly relishing the coldness.

“Thank you,” I smiled before popping the cap and taking a long, well deserved drink. I savoured the moment, genuinely appreciating Sam’s gesture. Although all nice moments comes to an end, and soon Dean was striding into the room bold as brass, seating himself at the table and helping himself to a beer without so much as a hello. It wasn’t until he’d drained half the bottle in one gulp that he realised the kitchen was clean. He grinned and looked at his brother.

“Hey, nice job Sammy! It looks great in here, I owe you one,” he raised his bottle as if making a small toast whilst Sam’s eyes flicked to mine.

“Uh, Dean… this wasn’t me. You need to thank (Y/n) for that,” Deans grin faulted slightly as he looked between the two of us before it returned. I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows in suspicion. His forest green eyes pierced into mine as he almost purred his next sentence.

“Well, Sammy, it looks like we’ve bagged ourselves a maid. Does she cook too?”

I slammed my bottle on the table, much like I did earlier. Only Sam flinched.

“I’m not your fucking maid,” I snarled, resenting that shit-eating grin on the older Winchesters lips. He chuckled, the sound coming deep from within his chest as he rose to his feet.

“Sure thing sweetheart.”

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Taglist: @creative-writing92 @suckitands33

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Up Next:

Chapter 3

#dean x female!reader #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x female!reader #enemies to lovers #Dean Winchester enemies to lovers #eventual smut #slow burn

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mlmxreader · 2 months

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Kill Our Friendship | Legolas x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi can I request “When you've known someone a long time, you just want to kiss them just to see if they're a good kisser. There's nothing wrong with that, right?” With Legolas please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ To perform one small little action will kill a friendship, but maybe that's for the best.

: ̗̀➛ n/a

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You were comfortable as you strolled through the woods with Legolas at your side, all too aware of his hand lingering beside yours, so close that you could almost feel his fingers brush against your own so deftly; it wasn't far now, the small little clearing that sat at the edge of the expansive lake.

There was a small raft waiting for you there, tied to some weeds and some bushes, anchored against the bank. It was made of old wood, but it was sturdy in its frame; it could easily hold you and Legolas without a doubt, and you were excited to show it to him.

After all, you had spent so long crafting it that there was only one person in the world you deemed important enough to see it.

You caved in, linking your fingers with his and swinging your hands back and forth a little bit; it made you smile, especially when he looked at you so softly and so warmly. In his blue eyes was a hidden summertime that never ended, and when he smiled, it seemed as if the seasons were forever stuck there.

Legolas dared to smile, practically skipping along beside you until you tugged him over to the little raft at last. Amongst the expansive lake, it was easy to tell that it went on for miles. The murky dark olive colour calming along with the thick scent of the bushes and trees.

You finally let go of his hand, kneeling down for a moment to untie the raft. Legolas wasn't far behind, helping you to get it onto the water's body; he jumped on it beside you, lying on his back and letting the sun hit his skin.

You lowered yourself down next to him, your temple pressed against his and your hand finding its way to his; fingers interlocking tightly. You could only hum as you smiled, clearing your throat and trying not to show how anxious you really were.

"What do you think?"

Legolas grinned as he closed his eyes. "How did you manage to do this without anyone knowing?"

You shrugged, letting out a quiet laugh. "You aren't the only one who can be so stealthy, you know."

He laughed along for a second before falling into a comfortable silence with you; he rarely got the time to be so close, and he appreciated every single second that he could get.

It was his favourite thing, to be close with you and to actually be there with you whenever it was possible. He loved it, he loved you.

But of course, there was a... certain expectation. Legolas was a Prince, after all, and you were not of royal blood of any kind; but you had been friends for so long, always joined at the hip, that it was impossible to get you away from him and vice versa.

He knew that if he was going to act on his feelings, it would surely bring about the death and ruin of friendship - but when he opened his eyes to see you undressing, it was all too tempting for him to finally admit how he felt.

Your body was the most brilliant thing he had ever seen; every inch of exposed flesh slowly creating a masterpiece until you were left with nothing but your skivvies on. You laid back down, all too aware of his gaze, and awkwardly shifted onto your side; resting your head against your hand and letting your elbow dig into the wood.

"Why are you staying at me like that?"

Legolas shrugged as he met your gaze, swallowing thickly and trying to ignore it all. The racing, heavy pounding of his heart in the cavern of his chest. The little droplets of sweat forming on his palms. The slight shake of his fingers.

"When you've known someone a long time, you just want to kiss them just to see if they're a good kisser. There's nothing wrong with that, right?"

You shook your head, trying not to smile as you swallowed thickly, letting your free hand rest on his chest. "Not at all... I may have wondered myself, here and there..."

His gaze flicked to your mouth for a moment, and he slowly reached out; his thumb just in front of your ear and his fingers desperately clinging behind it as he leaned in slightly. "Shall we find out?"

You nodded, softly whispering "yes" before leaning in yourself; clumsily, Legolas moved to straddle your waist, letting his other hand copy the position of the other as you clung to his shoulders. Finally, he sealed the kiss.

It started out so chaste, but you could not help it; gathering his platinum hair in your hand and tugging it softly. He grinned, kissing you harder and harsher as you eagerly and desperately tried to keep up. But it couldn't last forever, and he pulled away when the need for air started to creep into his chest.

"That was..." he breathed out, nodding. "If it would be alright with you, I'd like to do it again."

You nodded back, trying not to act so fucking eager. "I'd like that, actually."

He smiled, a little relaxed as he pressed his forearms either side of your head and allowed some of the anxious tension to drop from his body. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"Can we kill this friendship?" He asked quietly. "And become something else?"

You shrugged, gently playing with his hair as you nodded slowly. "I would like that, actually. Especially if that something else means you'll keep kissing me like that."

Slowly, a grin spread across his face, and he nodded as he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "I'll kiss you like that as many times as you wish, beloved. All you have to do is ask."

"All I have to do is ask?"

"Yes," he breathed out. "Just ask, and I will happily oblige."

"Alright," you agreed. "Legolas, if you'd be so kind... kiss me again, please?"

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