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siren-sashimi · 10 months

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Hemimetabolism [HC scenario; Marquis Vincent de Gramont x ballerina!reader]

Contents and warnings: female presenting reader, work place pressure (highly competitive work environment) , Reader has self loathing thoughts, instances of stalking, allusions to exploitation, power plays, intimidation, very long outline…

[Based on an anonymous prompt; HCs on their beginnings] Don't forget, you're working in the arts. Talent alone isn't going to save you a safe spot in life. Patronages in ballet aren't rare, you've to dance every part perfectly, smile at the sponsors, no finger shall be moved the wrong way, never badmouth anyone in your company, your mentor knows you dance your part perfectly yet dance it again and again and again and again to perfection, don't fall off the rails, don't show your exhaustion, don't let anyone hear your crying, perform always towards anyone in excellence.

♦ You know you're good, you wouldn't have been invited for a season to Rome. For nothing but the constant demand, constant scheming for the best part, pressure by patrons, by the artistic director, by the instructor, and by company members, be it for the pettiest reasons, leaves your self confidence raw and frail, tiptoeing the line between a the proverbial stiff upper lip and a breakdown. While everyone around you, including yourself doesn't show any of it.

In addition, patronages are the actual stepping stones for someone's career - someone might be influential enough against the director's will, maybe someone's the choreographer's old classmate . Most hope that whoever throws an eye on them isn't this unpleasant of a person, perhaps someone highty-tighty about arts but not about their protegée's body. And if... maybe they're not too violent, their touches not too unbearable.

♦ New play for the season: "Sylvia". Since you're new, you become a dryad. And the costume-department has some lovely ideas creating dresses for each tree a dryad could be. Not overwhelming but you made it as part of well-regarded company, you have a visible part, you can work up and up each season. Still, only a dryad as a guest... You surely hadn't put it all in your performance? What could you've done more? Surely, there was something you missed, to focused on your own steps that you didn't lay your eyes on the actual main characters, how well they master their technique… Maybe the excitement over the invitation into a renominated position had you blinded for everything else. You hadn't been attentive enough, you hadn't been good enough for another role.

♦All company members are asked to attend the season opening party (and of course, training next day starts at 8 am sharp!). An opportunity to garner the favours of sponsors and patrons of the theater, maybe gain some yourself. As ambitious as you feel, you hope a simple dryad will be too uninteresting to make an easy prey.

♦ Tough luck, some guy is extremely interested in picking wall flowers. He seems important enough that people talk to him, a quick chance for you To slip through the cracks. Yet he moves progressively closer to you through the crowd to the point he begins to end conversation with a smile that's straining more and more. Polite save distance isn't safe anymore. You begin to slowly but surely try to move towards the upper bathroom. Are these steps other guests who need to use the facility or...? In increasing panic, you rush past the door and run up even more stairs. Rushing down the dark hallway you almost collide into a large figure. He tells you that you shouldn't be here, why are even here?

♦ The place you planned to become your escape is now guarded by this tall men who seems ready to attack you at any wrong move. "Chidi!" an authoritative voice calls upon the man. The tall man steps away from you, only one step, his gaze still fixed on you. Next to him, behind the door of the balcony area of the building steps another tall man. His clothes are of finest quality as well as way too fancy even for an season opening event at classic arts.

Something in your distressed look, your eyes constantly twitching to the banister you can't see behind you, to check if the creep from downstairs is following you must've told the well-dressed man something. "Rather scared and lost. Leave her be." he tells the one called Chidi. "Um... I am sorry, I didn't want to interrupt." Whatever you could've interrupted anyway "I just wish to go upstairs." "To do what?" Chidi snides in. "I..." you look back "Just a rest, the party got quiet too crowded." Chidi looks unimpressed yet the other shrugs, and waves vaguely behind him. You're allowed to pass.

♦ It is only at the top at the stairwell of the 4th floor, you hear Chidi and the other man again, at least you recognize their voices. These voices arguing with the one of the down-stairs creep. But within minutes the minutes end - all you hear is a dull sound and a wail which quickly ends. What on earth happened? Should you go or not? That didn't sound good although... if that creep won. You retreat into the shadows, deeper into the hallway. At one point, no idea how much time passed, the night is getting too cold, you need at least some slight hours of sleep for the next day. Passing the hallway none, nothing is to be seen. The catering staff is cleaning up the buffet and decorations.

♦ Training starts, one of faunes is already rumoured to have gained himself a sugar daddy, if Orion falters, the faun might become the hunter soon. You are only relieved, your company will stay in their own circles. Even on a night out, you surely won't meet anyone who has any say or money in casting. No consequences, you're not asked to change position so whatever happened at the opening party, you were lucky this time. Only during last rehearsal before the day of first costume fit, your choreographer urges you to actual excellence, you will dance in front of one of the most esteemed patrons. They freed some of their time to pay an extra visit, so shine! A performance during which everyone is nervous, your choreographer's voice harder. Only in the distance, somewhere at the upper balcony all of you can only muster out the dark silhouettes of someone sitting in the chair, other people standing around them.

♦ Next day is first fitting day. Diana is clad in the palest silver, wearing a wreath of stars, on the center a sickle moon. All the dryads wearing bodies in the colour of the stem of their tree, yet the tights are appliqued with the ornaments of these trees, the headwears even have fake leaves. But when you ask for your costume, the seamstress is a bit at loss explaining that yours will need to wait. Here you are, all your fellow dancers transforming into mystic spirits and characters of old tales, whereas all your wear are your regular training attire, colourless, simple. Maybe you had made a big mistake at the party. A detrimental mistake even. ♦ Even the next day your mind is clouded. If these aren't thunder clouds wearing your head down. That is until the seamstress catches you before the changing room. You will be the spirit of a birch tree. Your costume is white except your skirt and sleeves are dyed black on the hems, white tights painting with black marks, gold and green leaves sewn on all over. You're the only dryad with a golden wreath. Maybe you shouldn't feel like a gleeful five year old. You're only a side character, a decorative dancer but the thought how magical you look… your movements feel much livelier. Even back in regular training attire… something magical blooms in you.

♦ This weird giddiness still lingers through all the rehearsals up to the premier. Your entire body is fluttering and floating like a birch's leave in the wind. As if someone saw you and figured your style would come out best in the character of a birch dryad. Dancing like this comes so easy to you, you almost forget that you're just a side character. Of course when you see Sylvia dance, it is as if her body was a petal in the wind, Diana's movement swift, effortless whereas even the lift of her little finger demands all attention on stage, you think that you maybe be a happy tree but in the end you are tree on stage.

♦ For the evening of the dress rehearsal the theater has good news: As little appetizer, the patreons of the theater organized a little meeting with champagne and snacks. They even somehow booked the Villa Borghese. All of your nerves are too tense to actually care much about the idea of party. And what if you meet that creep from last time? At least everyone would be lenient on you excusing yourself early, all of you would understand needing a rest. But when you arrive there, only the entrance area being lit for a get-together, dancers and instructors small talking in pleasantries, the man from last time was nowhere to be seen. In the evening's twilight, slowly drifting away from the crowd you finally have time to actually view some art in Rome, in peace, only far off voices, no crowd of tourists… Admiring the great Titian, and Caravaggio for yourself.

♦Of course, so many Bernini's, so, so many. One you know from previous art references of aestheticized pictures of the Internet. The beautiful Appollon hunting after the despairing Daphne. The physicality, Daphne's agony immediately understandable. Having the time and silence to study the statue you perhaps got you so lost in it, you only resurface after you become aware of another person's presence next to you.

♦ He stands perfectly still, hand in his left pocket. Perhaps that perfect poise and silent movements hid his presence for a while. Otherwise he's hard to overlook. Definitely taller than many men, an aura at ease as only someone untouchable, so powerful is (almost like Diana of stage), and that suit… "Oh, it is you…!" you remember loudly from the last party. Still studying Bernini's work, he lightly tilts his head, giving at best a small hum. Then he turns his head towards you. "So you remembered?" That comment tucks at the corners of your mouth. "You're not easy to forget, Signore. Your style alone…" No reaction from his side. Due the difference in height he of course has to look down to you. Yet… perhaps it's just the natural form of his big eyes, the way eyes in lighter colours pronounce the pupil. It feels like being watched. You quickly try correct and impoliteness. After all he… "You saved me that night. That's hard to forget." "Hmm" he shifts ever so slightly "how so?" Carefully you eye him. "Perhaps I was a bit speculating but the last things I heard were your voices and-" that uncomfortable sound of a body hit, perhaps a cracked nose "he was gone." This man's nose looked intact. "Perhaps there's also thanks due to your… companion, the one in the grey suit." Whatever you said seems to amuse your saviour. He huff, his grin showing his teeth. "Well" he says "It's been a long time since I wasted fists on an cretin like him. It was worth it." What has been worth it? You tense. Perhaps you were too alerted by the nightmare idea of having to crawl at a patron's feet but suddenly you become aware of the man in front of you. Both of you are too far away to hear any other voice from the party. He was practically towering over you, hands large, strong enough to break a nose with one hit… His attire, his hair, his cologne reeked of wealth. Good grief, he was part of the group that could book out the Villa Borghese for a private event.

"Such philistines wouldn't even recognize art if it would scream at them. They only throw money at the idea of titillation. And I've to share my sparse time at the same meetings with these swines." In his monologue your breath became more even. Just a bit intimidating looking bohemian, wasn't he? Suddenly his eyes snap back at you. "Don't you think a thanks is appropriate to the one who saved your skin? I even sullied my hand hitting him" Don't flinch! you remain to yourself, doing your best to overhear your mind screaming at you to run. Have you ever had paid attention how broad his shoulders are? How even these so well cut suits betray a strong physique? If you play any game you can only loose. "Thank you." you decide to reply. Simply, that's all. ♦ A smirk carves into his face. A silent prayer passes through your mind when you see this, a litany begins when he bows down to you. "No, no, that won't do." Large green eyes fixing on yours. Internally you check all the technique you've ingrained in yourself, breathing calm enough, posture not too tense - if only no fear creeps upwards your eyes.

Not too close, but close enough to smell his subtle perfume, refreshing, dark, like a forest, so elegant. "I would say you owe me some damn good performance. Your effort for mine, sounds like a fair exchange, wouldn't you say?".

His smile looks satisfied, less directed to you. He leaves you standing there, leaves you confused. Is your patron - with these words he is, right?- just a chivalrous peacock or a patient wolf?

♦ The premiere is met by roaring applause! The titular Sylvia isn't only loved by Amintas, the audiences adores her too. At the last step, all of you fauns, nymphs, Artemis herself, beholding Sylvia's happy end, all you can think how grandiose the first dancer was. At the thought how good you have to get to reach any glory of hers, your toes ache beyond the exhaustion of the evening.

♦ It's party time announcement! While the faun, lead by Sylvia's dancer are popping open their first champagne, the adrenaline rushing as much as the bubbles in the flutes. Maybe you would've celebrated too but after the curtain fell, tiredness struck heavy on you. You don't know why. You dance's impeccably but only as much as a dryad can… Did you do your best performance. And compared to the greatness of the lead dancers…

Trying to sneak away you bump into something heavy. Trying to figure out whatever this object is you recognize that it was the familiar frame of someone you already had bumped into. Chidi… hadn't that been his name? "Would you be so kind to accept the Marquis' invitation?" he tells you, ignoring you just trudged on his polished leather shoes. "Who…. You mean your…" in what relation did they even stand to each other? And what Marquis? "You mean the… sharply dressed companion of yours?"

"The Marquis yes. So what do you say to dinner?"

"Just dinner?" The way Chidi doesn't bat an eyelash nor moves any muscle makes you wonder if he ever danced too with his composure. Yet offers you a small kindness: "The dining place isn't exactly what I would call discreet. If you please, Miss, the Marquis isn't patient."

♦ With only the most flashy parts of your stage makeup hastily wiped off, and off-stage clothes which look drab and tired even against Chidi's impeccable grey uniform, you're escorted to a louder part of the inner city of Rome. The place is well packed for a Friday, definitely more quaint than chique. Chidi and you are greeted by a quiet yet friendly waiter, led to a room behind a curtain. In it, a door's open to a much more quiet backyard.

The Marquis, it is him, the man from the parties, is dressed in champagne white, more befititng a visit to the opera than this (albeit cozy) place. Leaned against the back of his chair, eyes following one of Rome's cats, balancing on the walls of the backyard. At Chidi's announcement he gives you polite smile.

♦ You're served fried artichokes. (Chidi is relegated to a table behind the curtain, presumably designated to dine on his own.) In spite of the tiredness seeping into your bones, the bewilderment of whatever goes in, the smell so rich, savoury, the sweet bitterness of the artichoke… At your host announcing: "Bon appetit, you worked for it." only your manners save you from wolfing it down. The melange of and the smoky after taste, rich golden taste of oil, turning the bitterness sweet is nothing you've tasted before, a sensation so gladdening it washes over your thrumming nerves. Looking up, you see your host smiling, again. You can't read it. "It's good" you initiate the conversation "it really is. It was kind of you to invite me here. Thank you." "It's nothing chique yet I remember it from my first travel to Rome. Even in better establishments nothing comes close to this."

♦Surprisingly, the conversation flows easily. Your nebulous host introduces himself as Marquis Vincent de Gramont, he's from France (he's fine with English, if you want to drop the Italian you meticulously put together for this season). Although such mentions make you almost drop your fork, he easily smoothes from such grand revelations to talk about your play. Apparently he's a patron of the Opera in Rome, indeed he's very fond of ballet. Asks how you came to balett. Actually the conversation is so lovely, you almost forget your first meeting, his title. But after the dessert plates are taken away (Chestnut tartellette), he stands up and offers you his arm, it all comes back. "Walk with me." Hesitance from… precaution? Nervosity from the attention from such a vibrant man (and what all that could mean…)?

The pause has been too long to appear as courteous. Without looking into Monsieur de Gramont's eyes your threat your hands around his elbow, leaving the now empty restaurant, Chidi following you in some meters of distance. ♦ Outside, Roman night life is as vivid as it can be on a Weekend, although calm enough that you can be unbothered. Vincent walks comfortably whereas you… don't know where you're going. "Monsieur…!" you speak up out of a sudden before suspicion morphs into panicked fear "why…" The deep orange light of the street life cuts a sharp profile of the Marquis' face, even in the dark his eyes are clear enough about to flit… in the profile you see one eye slowly, almost lazily slide towards the direction of the tense figure on his arm. "What is it?" "Why are you doing… why are you so nice to me?" Now he pulls his arm out of your hold, stands up before you, looking down to you. So, so many people pass loudly talking, laughing, arguing over the cobbled streets, the two of you could as well stand in the silent. Next to you only the silent, immovable marble, Daphne's face contorted in metamorphosis and despair.

"Why can't I be nice to you?" "May I be frank?" "I doubt anything you say make me even quiver. But if you need, I'll permit it."

"None in a position such as yours…" (if there's anyone else who could ever be in a higher position, if there was anyone ever like this man, you just know it by the richness of his clothes, by the day he still moves as if he was invisible for those who shouldn't see him) "Any patronage, be it art for art's sake, isn't out benevolence. They demand at least a good piece of art in exchange. At least…" you stress "And you… well, see where you got us. What you wear, what you make possible. In all frankness, if your ever were to ever ask anything of me, there's no chance I could refuse. You probably know it by instinct. And I'm afraid your words make such a probability become fact." "Please don't take it as an accusation of your character, this world I move in works on unspoken rules." you add quickly. Have you gone too far? Probably he would only need to lift his pinkie of the left hand and you could forget even having a silent role in a local theater production.

♦ Indeed he huffs, shakes his head. "Well, I wasn't wrong about you. Indeed I want to bring you to a hotel room, if you would be so kind to follow me." Once again for this evening he offers you his arm. In your eyes it has the same outlines of a noose. By the unspoken rules of the world to literally tip toe in… you have to tie it around your neck. For a while you two (Chidi somewhere behind) walk in silence, your stomach churning. The food was too good to turn sour in your mouth. Your thoughts are racing. Sure, he's handsome, and could move heaven and earth with no effort, he reeks of money. But what would you need to do for him? Men this handsome and rich are the least suspected (if anything could ever reach such a man). For some patrons already having a dancer on their whim was an ideal board of powerplay… sex just one that gratified ego and sexual urges. Maybe a slither of hope is that the Marquis' this rich that you would be a quick past time. "You know the story of the nymph Echo?" His questions tears you out of the current of your racing thoughts.

♦ Quickly you roam through your mind. "Wasn't that the story with Narcissus?" "Indeed. And?" "Um… she… was cursed to repeat the last words that could be spoken to her. Narcissus wouldn't have her any way, he… I don't know if I remember it correctly, either he thought of her as stupid as she only repeated his words or he already was in love with his own reflection. "Do you know what happened to her." "I only know that he drowned himself." You two stepped into the hallway of a baroque hotel, only by passing you noticed a small plaque naming it "il Continentale". While recounting this story, the Marquis lead you up a spiral staircase. Why wouldn't he take an elevator? The far rings of elevators were to be heard in the lobby. "Echo", the Marquis continued "was so humiliated, she retreated into a cave, didn't eat, didn't drink, he bones turned to stone. But nymphs are, in a way, immortal. He voice remained. "The arm you held pulled you down a carpet laid out hallway. "You know the other way Echo died?" She would die once again? You could only shake our head. Room numbers, there were so few rooms, they passed into a blur. 21, 22… there, there it was a bight door. Even the pristine white paint couldn't elevate how heavy the wood must be. "The god Pan was in love with her, she didn't. In fury of her refusal of him he tore her apart, threw all he parts between the mountains. There they ghost around, still resounding from the rock faces. Now you two stood facing the door. No taste in mouth, no feeling in any of your usually so sharp limbs. Your palms felt under the rich material of your patron how hard the Marquis' arm muscles were. He has told you all this like he talked about the weather forecast. Hadn't looked at you but opened the door. You sprung to run the other way. In the hallway, a forecast shadow, in the middle of it all stood Chidi. "Come on in." the Marquis called you. "we don't have all night." If Echo's last remains was only her voice, you dearly, dearly wished it would be the thing that would be heard of you too. But in the end all there was left was memory, she's died violently anyway. ♦ The room was excessive. In the way Baroque is excessively luxurious, heavily, suffocating though. Like a cat finding quick comfort, the Marquis seated himself into an armchair of the room, facing you. His face hardly readable, although you would guess it was… relaxed? Unbothered? What should you do know. Chidi hasn't followed… "You know what's your problem?" Monsieur de Gramont asked you. You're still standing, close by the door. Over your silence he continues. "You're selling yourself short." Have you even offered yourself to him yet? "You don't know your worth yet, and lesser men, like that rancid trash who followed you… well, even he knows about your worth and wants to exploit it." "You don't?" It slips out quietly. Suddenly the Marquis' face drops, he jumps up, and struts over to quick like a leopard falling over it's prey. He does this again. Again he hulks over you, green eyes drilling into you, lighting up too brightly. The silent look itself is a command to your to respond whereas your body, your instinct screams to barge through this heavy oak-wood door somehow, somehow dash past Chidi, somewhere, anywhere away from this transfixing gaze. "Would you like me to?"

♦ His cologne is so clear, even in panic you notice how tasteful it his. You two are so close, the warmth of his breath brushes over your lips. It is almost too hot, it melts your frozen body as if someone threw boiling water on ice in winter. The paralysis cracks a little - enough for you to drop you gaze. ♦ A clack of shoes. Carefully you eye the Marquis who'd taken a step back. "There, you did it again." He shakes his head "You're probably clever enough to notice by know but I wouldn't need to waste any time or money on a dinner and a chat "You think that all this" a broad hand waves over the golden glittering, fresco overpainted room "is for fornication. Pardon me, my dear, but if for such a brachial purpose, I wouldn't need time to satisfy such needs." So why creep me out like this? You wanted to scream although there was this little observative, sharp part in you. This part in your picking up in clues, listening to the little bits dropped in conversations that could offer positions, roles, opportunities… Where was this conversation going. "My life is unpleasant enough. I would like to enjoy at least something beautiful. Both of us can agree that out exchange is created for mutual exchange. In simple terms: You will be granted my protection from any unsuited… let's call them supporters, and I demand your excellency. But" Vincent raises a finger "you have to deliver myself excellency. Understood."

Entirely flabbergasted you can only nod. "Excellent. So we have an agreement. If you would be so kind to not look like a deer in the headlights anymore." ♦ Through the confusion all your relief bursts through with all the fear Monsieur has indeed helped build up. And if you can judge by all the years of pressure induced in your training, he knew exactly what he said. Every single, every single damn word was cleverly laid out. "So that's all?! And what is this" grand gesture over this excess of a room "then?! Why tell me about the gruesome of murdered women-" "Echo" "starving or ripped to shreds, these stories are still scary."

As an answer there was this cryptic smile on his lips. The Marquis stepped forward, reach past you for the door handle. In the often so repeated gesture, his hand waved over an room with stucco at every corner, covered in gold leaf, walls painted with scenes of luscious forests, too tame, too bright to resemble any real forest, in-between branches half-dressed characters, from myths your partially knew or believed to know, dancing, holding the other down, laughing, vases full of flowers smelling in their own beauty, a window open to the deep blue night. "This" Vincent says "this is a little thanks for your splendid work tonight. I choose the right tree-spirit for you, my dear dryad. A taste of my upcoming thanks. And the stories…" For a moment he might have looked at you, yet his thoughts were somewhere else "…just the coincidences what role you play, that I meet you at the statue of Daphne's. Romanticism is a blinding understanding of the world yet… I think if you give a thought about all these nymphs… I think you might draw an revealing thesis for yourself." With a nod he opens the door. "Good night, my dear. Breakfast is ordered for you. Recover well. I will see you on stage tomorrow evening."

Notes: Gosh, I really wanted the statue of Apollon and Daphne featured so re-wrote everything to take place in Rome, I don't even know if the Roman Ballet is this good that Reader develops complexes.

While writing Chidi interactions, I was also shortly inspired by the idea how reader is a protegée for Vincent purely for art for art's sake. Chidi has to watch the Marquis at all time, so naturally he has to accompany the Marquis at his leisure views as well. And Chidi falls for her. Could be cute, Chidi using the few minutes his boss doesn't inflict trouble on himself trying to be sweet for the reader, complimenting her, and wanting to learn more about classic ballet to talk to them a bit more. Make of that dark menacing guard dog pining, blushing and fumbling for words to start a conversation.

#Marquis de Gramont x reader #Lily note pad #long post

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verxca · 9 months

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Widowmaker X Fem!Reader

New Recruit Pt. 4 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Summary: As your hatred for Talon grows larger, Moira catches on. She sends you out on a special mission ₊ ⊹

Warnings: Extreme violence, blood ₊ ⊹

Your stay at Talon headquarters was beginning to annoy you more and more with every passing day. They are keeping you here for far longer than you had initially expected. If they are hoping to garner your trust, why lock you up for weeks at a time? Your visits with Moira also became more frequent, though the tests are a bit more tame than what they had been like earlier on. Training was still everyday too, the guards quickly picked up on your skill with a weapon in hand, starting to understand why they had recruited you in the first place.

You were in Moira’s office, she was bandaging up your arm after giving you some ‘necessary treatment’. It hurt, a lot. She tightened the bandage around your bicep, for a moment it felt like she was cutting off all circulation to your upper arm. You let out a sharp sigh, before she went to go sit back down in her chair, scribbling something down on her notepad.

“So, Y/N. Me and the council have an important update for you.” She said, still looking down at her notes. You didn’t bother to respond.

“You are going to be sent out on a mission, with company of course. The training instructor mentioned to me how you are improving in skill, so we mind as well start to use some of it.”

You didn’t know how to feel after hearing her statement. You knew it was coming, but you had become somewhat use to your daily routine. Wake up, shower, eat lunch, train, eat dinner, shower, and sleep. Some variations to it, yes, but that was the main outline. The other half of you was exited, though. I mean, it was a big step up from what you had been doing before. And, was most importantly a new chance to escape.

“We know you have experience with missions before, but for the sake of your benefit and some timing issues, it’s nothing much for now. Though, in the future, we have some higher stake outings planned for you already.” She said, this time looking at you dead in the eye.

“You will be sent out tomorrow night, sorry for such quick notice” You think that was the first time you had ever heard the doctor apologize, let alone try to sound sympathetic towards you.

The next day had gone by very fast, it seemed like just an hour ago you were sitting in that office with Moira. But now, you were walking through a large forest, snow crunching beneath your feet whenever you took a step further. Supposedly, there was a laboratory in the middle of here, filled with old equipment that Talon needed. Widowmaker was here again, but so was another man to accompany you both. You three walked in an orderly fashion, trying to minimize the time it takes to actually get there.

The third member was named Reaper. He wore black body armour, a black cape, and completed his look off with a white mask, reminiscent of a skeleton. From the few times he actually spoke, his voice sounded very deep and raspy. He acted like he didn’t want to be on this mission even though you knew he had agreed to come. He led your triangle of three, hiking in a somewhat angrily manner. Widow on the other hand walked very gracefully, like a ballet dancer. She was so elegant with every move she made, from running, to shooting, to tackling someone to the floor. Your train of thought quickly got interrupted when she shot a cold gaze towards your direction. You quickly looked away, embarrassed.

“Don’t try running away, we won’t hesitate to kill you in an instant. Direct orders” Reaper said seemingly out of nowhere, turning his back to face you.

“Wasn’t planning on it” You said, which was clearly a lie. You just wanted to get on his good side.

In truth, the night before this mission, and even during the day, you had been pacing around in your room thinking of the perfect escape plan. ‘I could run away when they aren’t looking, or hide someplace and leave later’. But, right before you got onto the ship that brought you here, Moira gave you a look that clearly screamed; ‘Try anything, and you’re dead.’ That scared you enough to at least play along with it for now. Widowmaker let out a sigh, and kept walking.

“Gabriel, tu peux être un vrai con parfois.” She said in a narcissistic sounding tone.

Reaper looked back at her for a second, but kept his composure and kept walking, this time with his fists clenched. A couple questions arose with that phrase alone, first being, well, you didn’t speak French. But second, the fact that she called him Gabriel. You had a moment of realization there, that even under a persona, a real person still exists. Underneath Reaper, there is Gabriel. Underneath Widowmaker, who knows who she once was. In your case, you start to worry about what you will become. How Talon can bend and break people so easily, cover up their true identities with false ones to feed in to their ideals, to get want they want. A cold gust of wind makes you shiver.

Before you knew it, the old lab was now in sight. It was a bit smaller than you had initially envisioned it, but not too far off. Some of the windows and doors were borded up with wood, it had turned a dark shade of grey, and the walls had even started to crack on the outside. A growing feeling of unease began to settle in your stomach, with every step you took further become more and more hesitant. A large chain fence stretched around the entire perimeter, it had a gate, but it was locked. Luckily, someone had cut a convenient hole into the fence, allowing people to crawl through. Reaper went first, ducking down, moving one foot at a time. Then followed Widow, again with her graceful movement. And finally you.

“Just in and out. This shouldn’t take long” She said, breaking the window in one blow with her gun. Shards of sharp glass scattered across the snow, now indistinguishable from each other. You and Reaper quickly followed after her, hopping over the sill.

The inside was far more ominous that the exterior. Trash, boxes, and an array of equipment littered the empty rooms and long, narrow hallways. Even a mere crunch of glass from under your boot could make you uneasy, you are grateful that they sent some helping hands with the task, or else you’d be petrified in an environment like this. The lights overhead flickered, you were just surprised that this place even has some sort of power source left what so ever.

“What are we looking for exactly?” You asked reluctantly, immediately wanting to take back your question after.

“You’ll know when you see it.” Reaper replied, this time not bothering to face back your direction.

Tension started to grow in the air, you still didn’t exactly know where or what they were leading you to. While walking, something caught your attention from the corner of your eye. It was a seemingly normal door, but red paint was splattered across it, spelling ‘KEEP OUT!!’ in all capital letters. You would’ve passed it off, since it did somewhat fit in with the environment. But, the paint was fresh, some of the red still dripping down the ‘P’. You reached for the handle, curiousity and naivety taking control of your actions. But, your heart almost skipped a beat when you saw what was waiting behind there for you.

“AARRGH—!” A strange man screamed while launching himself towards your direction. He tackled you to the floor, causing you to land uncomfortably on your side. You fought him off as best as you could, but it didn’t take you long to realize that blood was cooling through your t-shirt and pouring onto the white tiles, staining them red. ‘Did he stab me…?’

Nor did it take long for the other two to realize what had happened, quickly running over and shooting the man in his head. He fell limp beside you, his blood now also pouring everywhere. You couldn’t care less who pulled the trigger, you were just so shocked since everything had just happened so quickly. You shakily reached your hand towards your chest, trying to apply pressure. Widowmaker rushed over to you, as Reaper went to go look for bandages in another room.

“Lift up your shirt for me.” You did, exposing your stomach and bra to her. She was now just inches away, examining the wound on your abdomen. It hurt, more than any of those tests Moira conducted.

“Your wound is not that deep, you will be ok. I know it hurts, just breathe.” Her kind words were a huge contrast to her usual cold personality. But, she was still managing to soothe you. Reaper came back with some bandages that he had found down the hall, and Widow started carefully patching your wound. You titled you head back in pain, bitting onto your knuckle to avoid moaning. She looked up and you, examining your every move. She couldn’t stay focused. Reaper seemed to be talking with another lady through his ear piece, explaining the situation, clearly annoyed with a lot of things currently passing.

“Woah woah woah! What did she just say to her?” The voice on the other line asked.

“That dosent matter, Sombra. She is fine. We will be delayed a couple minutes.”

“Ya terminé aquí, Adios”

You looked back down at Widowmaker, and felt somehow at ease. With everything going on in your life, she calmed you down the most. Especially in tense situations like these. You hadn’t even realized until now that she was blushing. It took your still disoriented mind a minute to realize the many meanings that the action could imply. The pain had calmed down a bit, but you were still too shell shocked to fully process anything happening.

“I guess there were people in here, huh…” You blurted out, not even thinking before you spoke. Widow just looked up at you with a smile that seemed so genuine, you blushed along side her.

#verxca ❀˖°#widowmaker #widowmaker x reader #widowmaker x you #overwatch

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m-jelly · 2 years

Note

Oh oh! How about a ballet dancer levi & reader!! (i feel like levi has nice posture for ballet;) so basically both of them first met in a ballet company, from friends to lover and they would always perform together in pairs on stage!!

I don't much about ballet, but I'll give it a shot!

@kenkopanda-art <3

Moving bodies

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Genre and rags: Modern AU, fluff, romance, falling in love, ballet dancers, cute.

Concept: You and Levi both auditioned for roles in a ballet show. You both get the roles and discover the role is lovers. You and Levi have met before, but it was in training and there was some romantic tension. Now you're working together, you both get closer to each other and things begin to bloom between the two of you.

Tag list: @levisbrat25 @ladycheesington @skittlelover69 @li-anne @nyxiieluna @strawberrybunny123 @galactict3a @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6

You stretched your back and moaned when the joints clicked satisfyingly. You released a long sigh and relaxed your body for a moment before bending over with your bum in the air. You smiled at your muscles stretching. A blush burned your cheeks when you heard Levi say your name right behind you.

Levi had spotted you and knew you were working together for the show. He'd shamefully stared at you before he saw the team coming in to train you both up. He watched you stand up and appear flustered for a moment before you talked to him like normal. He wanted you to be flustered by him more. He knew you'd been friends for a while, but his heart wanted more.

You smiled a little and looked around at the team as you chatted with Levi about a few casual things before addressing you being together. "So, are you in this show?"

"I'm the male lead."

You blushed. "Oh, I'm the female lead." You thought of the dance and knew how intimate and romantic it was. "We're going to be working a lot closer with each other, huh?"

Levi nodded and thought that his time to finally get closer to you was this moment. Everything had lined up for your both and he was going to take the lead.

Levi smiled softly. "I'm looking forward to it."

Your dance instructor clapped their hands together. "Okay! Let's get moving!"

Your bodies moved together to the song, your touches on each other longing and your gazes meaningful. You both practised for hours and days, but it was beginning to become draining on how demanding your instructor was.

You stretched your leg high as you balanced on your toes. You winced in pain and buckled. "Ah!"

Levi cried out your name and caught you as you fell. "Are you okay?"

You whimpered. "My foot."

He scooped you up like a bride. "I've got you."

Your instructor screamed your name. "I should have known you'd mess this up! You're weak! You're too heavy! Who the hell picked you!? I didn't!"

Levi glared at him. "Tch shut the fuck up! She's one of the best!" He stormed past the old woman. "Besides, she's perfect just the way she is." He carried you to the changing room and sat you on the bench. "Is it your toes or ankle?"

You blushed as he undid your shoe. "Ankle." You welled up. "Please ignore my toes."

Levi slipped your shoes off and saw some blood. "What..." He unwrapped a bandage to see your toes had bled. "How long has this been going on?"

You rubbed your tears. "A few days now."

He sighed. "This isn't good."

"I'm sorry, I've let you down."

He shook his head. "No, no you haven't. I've let you down. I'm supposed to protect you and I failed you."

You smiled softly. "Levi."

He stood up and rubbed your cheek. "Wait here. I'll help you with your feet."

"Thanks." You felt your heart flutter in your chest as Levi left you. You patted your handon your cheeks as you fought your feelings. You cared for this man, but you were scared he wouldn't love you back.

Levi sat in front of you and started washing your feet. "We should take a break from practice."

"But."

He looked up at you. "I'm fucked as well. It'll do us both good." He blushed a little as he patted your feet dry. "Besides, it gives me a chance to take you on a date."

You smiled a little. "You want to date me?"

He nodded shyly and focused on your feet and avoided your gaze. "Y-Yes."

You hummed a laugh. "Well, I want to date you too."

Levi flicked his gaze up to you and smiled. "You mean it?"

"I do."

He smiled brightly making your heart skip a beat. "Wonderful." He returned to your feet and put medical things on before wrapping them up. "There, all better." He stood up. "It'll do you good to have a few days rest."

You stood up and hummed. "Well, I need someone to make sure I rest." You walked up to Levi. "Would you?"

Levi blushed at the thought of staying at your place. "I'd love to, but we'll go to my place. I have all the medical things there for you."

"It's a date."

He nodded and felt his life coming together. "Yes."

"I want to thank you for looking after me."

"Oh?"

You nodded and cupped the side of his face and felt how soft his skin was. You leaned closer and brushed your lips against his. Levi responded to your action by sliding his loving hands over your waist and up your back. He tugged you close causing your lips to press against each other.

The kiss was delicate and fragile at first, but when you both started to lean into your feelings for each other did it truly spark something in you both. You pushed your fingers into his undercut and tilted your head just a little and kissed Levi a little deeper.

Levi pulled back and panted. He squeezed you tightly as if this moment would fade away if he didn't. "I'm...in love with you."

You blushed at hearing those words. "Me too." You gasped. "W-With you, that is. I'm in love with you!"

Levi chuckled. "I knew what you meant."

You pressed your face against Levi and groaned. "I'm embarrassed."

He massaged his fingers in your hair. "You are so sweet." He released you and smiled. "Come on, let's go home and get you healed up."

You stayed over at Levi's and got closer. You cooked for each other, he tended to your feet and gave you all the kisses and cuddles that you and he desired. When you returned to work, you had a new instructor and it was far more gentle to dance.

Soon you and Levi were performing the whole piece for a week. You both loved every second of it because it was a chance to dance how you felt. Your last day was emotional because your feet were beginning to hurt again. You were touched by the gifts the crew gave you at the end, along with those who had been watching.

Levi walked into your dressing room to see you wiping off your makeup. "You were incredible."

You turned to Levi and smiled. "I couldn't have done it without you. You were magnificent."

He strode over to you and sat on your dressing table. "The more I look at you the more I can't believe I'm with you. Are you really all mine?"

You nodded softly. "I am." You leaned up and kissed him. "I want to work together."

"Well, I've told the staff I refuse to work with anyone but you. So, you're my partner in ballet and personally for life."

You placed your hand on his thigh. "I want that as well. You and me."

He smiled. "Always."

#levi ackerman #levi #aot levi #snk levi #fanfic #aot fanfiction #levi fanfiction #levi x you #levi x y/n #aot x you #captain levi #levi aot #levi x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi attack on titan #jelly fanfics #levi heichou

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emmys-writing · 3 years

Text

Ballerina

Pairing- Hotchner x Reid

Warnings- bottom spencer, explicit content, dom hotch, sir kink, small cock spencer, this is unedited, hotch is kind of a dick but not really, short spencer, ballerina spence, jack is in ballet <3, degradation

When the class of 6 year olds finally was rounded up and cleared out of the studio by stressed and exhausted parents, Spencer sighed in relief. The last kid was picked up 20 minutes late and of course it was inconvenient but Spencer loved these kids. They always had bright happy smiles on their faces and cute clumsy wobbles as they tried to balance on the bar the way Spencer did. Spencer smiled softly and hummed to himself, grabbing the loose pieces of garbage that occasionally littered the floor. It wasn’t until he heard a throat being cleared that he jumped with a small yelp and looked towards the door where the noise came from.

Aaron Hotchner, Jack's father who rarely showed up to their rehearsals, stood there with his arms crossed and his normal stern facial expression on. As much as Spencer wanted to remain professional, he couldn’t help but notice how handsome the older gentleman was. He wore a gray suit that although slightly unfitted, still fit the broad and muscled shoulders and Spencer hated to admit it but this man was definitely a weakness of his. He was arrogant at times and not one for joking around, if he did show up he didn’t stay to chat either. He just grabbed Jack and left.

“Sorry Mr. Hotchner, I didn't see you there!” Spencer blushed and connected his own hands behind his back in a shy manner. Aaron just nodded.

“I’m here to pick up jack” Straight to the point.

“O-Oh… Jessica actually already picked him up. I’m sorry sir, i would’ve phoned you if i knew you planned on picking him up” He explained, walking closer and flashing an apologetic smile. Normally if this was any other parent he would roll his eyes at the bad planning but Mr Hotchner was different. Spencer saw this as an opportunity to get to know the man who he’s been ogling for more than a year.

“You look tired, do you want to stay for a coffee? I already have some brewing and I have lots of sugar and cream” The younger one offered. Aaron surprisingly took him up on that offer as well.

It had been a long case and he just got off the jet, coming straight to the ballet studio afterwards. So what if he found his son's instructor a bit attractive? coffee wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. It’s not like he would end up bending him over and- no. He mentally smacked himself for being so perverted towards the man in front of him. He was small, maybe 5’6 or 5’7 at most, had a slender frame as well as the most adorable smile and soft looking hair that he would love to reach out and touch. Aaron took a step towards the stack of plastic chairs and took one, placing it down on the ground. He took a seat while Spencer made his way towards the coffee pot.

“I take it black” Hotch told him and watched the ballerina as he smiled at him and poured the bitter liquid in the plain white mug. Hotch took the opportunity to admire the young body when Spencer was turned around. Hotch knew it was wrong, the boy was just so sexy without even trying. The thin black tights hugged his thighs just right and the little skirt he wore flared out around his small waist, accentuating the round of his ass. Hotch felt the front of his pants tightening, his chest tightened and he felt himself getting warm. Spencer turned back around forcing hotch to immediately struggle to tear his eyes away. Spencer noticed though. He saw the lustful glances and tent in his pants, it gave him an amazing opportunity. After Spencer handed Aaron the cup he looked up at him with the same lust filled eyes.

“Do you mind if I work on some of my stretches?” Spencer asked while internally smirking.

“No, go ahead” He took a slow sip from the cup and leaned back in the small, plastic chair.

Spencer went to the bar and lifted his leg up, he did it a few more times before huffing and looking over at the other presence in the room.

“I need a little bit of help, could you?” He blushed and looked down at his ballet shoes. Hotch couldn’t say no, he knew that Spencer would feel the bulge but he was hoping to play it off as just having a big dick, which technically wasn't a lie either. Aaron got up from the small plastic chair and stood behind Spencer, he lightly placed his hands on the younger man's bony hips and bit his lip gently. Spencer was perfect in every way. Spencer lifted his leg up once more but not without pushing his behind against Hotch's groin. Hotch struggled to keep in a groan but successfully was able to, this didn't stop the other man though. He continued to push up against him and made small groaning noises as he stretched despite not actually needing to make noise. The thing that finally broke hotch was when Spencer bent over and the thin tights truly lived up to their name. The tights were slightly see through in the lighting and position he was in, this caused hotch to groan and place a hand over his crotch through his dress pants, cupping it lightly in hopes he could conceal it even just a little bit. He couldn't. Spencer turned around at the noise and smiled cheekily.

“Something wrong Mr. Hotchner?” Spencer leaned against the wall and looked up at him.

“Nope, just keep doing what you were doing”

“Oh really? Because I think that I...” He trailed off while reaching out and placing his hand over Hotchs, feeling his erection go slightly stiffer at the contact. “...Am making you hard”

Hotch didn't know how to respond to that but he kept his straight and tall, intimidating posture to make sure Spencer knew he had no control over him.

“Am I making you hard sir?” Spencer asked innocently and looked up with big brown eyes. That was all it took for Hotch to grab Spencer's waist and push him into the wall further. Spencer giggled and tangled his fingers in the taller man's hair.

“You're such a little slut you know that?” Hotch chuckled darkly as Spencer nodded in response. Something in the older man's demeanor changed and he was no longer the stern father who made minimal small talk. He was now the Sexy, dominating, strong man who had his son's ballet teacher pressed against the studio wall and degrading him. They both loved it.

“Answer me” Hotch said harshly and used one hand to grab hold of Spencer's jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Y-Yes sir, i'm a little slut” He whimpered.

“Good girl” He smirked and Spencer swore that he melted at the nickname. Hotch looked down between their bodies and furrowed his brows, Spencer didn't have a visible erection and it confused him slightly. Surely if he wanted this he would be hard, and especially noticeable if he's in tights?

“Spencer, are you sure you want this?” He asked, concerned.

“I- yes why?” Spencer looked up at him confused.

“Well- I erm… You are not visibly hard so I wanna make sure you don't feel pressured.” Spencer blushed furiously in embarrassment and gulped.

“I'm just on the smaller side…” He whispered but it was loud enough for Hotch to catch. He groaned softly and reached down to Spencer's hips, flipping him to face towards the mirrored walls.

“Is that so baby?”

“Yes sir…” Spencer surprised himself when he felt his face get warmer than before because he was pretty sure it was almost impossible. Hotch placed his hand under Spencer's chin, forcing him to look at himself in the mirror. It was embarrassing how easily he fell apart. Aaron kissed and sucked and nipped at Spencer's pale neck, leaving behind dark marks that would definitely be difficult to cover up before his next class. Aaron brought his hands down to Spencer's ass and grabbed the thin fabric of tights and underwear before ripping a hole in the back of it, the tights were easily ripped up the front as well though leaving the man's small, pretty pink cock and hole on display for the other man.

“Oh, so cute and small, darling. Like a little clit” Spencer whined and leaned forward to place his forehead on the mirror but quickly corrected by Aaron who laid a harsh and loud, echoing slap to his bare behind.

“Don't hide, I want to have you watch me make you fall apart. I'm going to break you into nothing but a whimpering and whiny mess” Spencer just nodded, he was at a loss for words and had no idea how to reply. Hotch brought one hand to Spencer's mouth, Spencer gladly took the long and thick fingers into his mouth, sucking for a good amount of time before pulling off and looking into Hotch's eyes through the mirror.

“I-I have a small bottle of lube in my bag” He didn't have any shame at this point, all he wanted was to have Aarons cock filling his ass. Aaron went to the side and looked through the dance bag, smirking at the spare pair of clothes and thongs to reduce the panty lines when wearing tights. It wasn't long before he found the bottle and quickly went back to Spencer who eagerly pushed his ass out.

“Patience, you may be a slut but you can wait” he chastised and chuckled darkly before spitting on his hole before placing a generous amount of lube. Hotch added two fingers immediately and Spencer cried out at the burn he felt, it was a good burn though… It became a mix of pain and pleasure so it wasnt long before Spencer began fucking himself onto the older mans fingers. Soon enough he had four fingers fucking into him but it didnt last long because Hotch pulled them out and placed the tip of his cock at his entrance.

“Beg.”

“Sir please!” He cried, tears almost forming in his eyes from desperation. Hotch seemed to take pity on poor Spencer luckily. The tip of Hotch's cock was pushed into the desperate and greedy hole before slowly sinking in more until he bottomed out.

“Such a good hole for me aren't you? My little slut, little cockslut…” Hotch groaned and gripped Spencer's hips tightly.

“Yes sir, i'm your little cockslut!” He whimpered and threw his head back. A few slow thrusts were made, slowly building up in pace and roughness until Spencer was a whimpering and moaning mess beneath the older gentleman. Hotch reached forward and grabbed ahold of Spencer's little cocklet, rubbing at the tip and watching Spencer's facial reactions through the mirror.

“S-Sir im gonna-”

“No.” He whined and looked up at Hotch, clawing at the bar in front of him.

“Such a cute little cocklet huh? Do you like it when I rub it like a clit?”

“Yes sir, p-please i-i need to”

“Shh.. it's okay. Just a little bit longer okay? Hold on for me”

Another few minutes go by of Hotch jack hammering into Spencer before he looks into Spencer's eyes through the mirror and he gives him verbal confirmation to cum.

“Cum with me” is all it took for Spencer to let go and cum all over the mirror, clenching his hole around the hard cock inside of him to milk him as well. He felt hotch's cum fill him up to the brim and when he pulled out, the bit of remaining cum spilled out of him and down his thighs.

When both of them catch their breaths and steady themselves, Hotch grabs a thong from Spencer's bag and cleans up the cum falling down his thighs but leaves the cum inside of him.

“I’ll see you next class” Hotch smirked and slapped Spencer's ass before grabbing his cup of coffee, downing the rest of it and walking out the door.

#hotchreid #hotchreid smut #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #aaron hotchner smut #heid #hotchxreid

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starryeyes2000 · 2 years

Text

The Road Back: Chapter 7

Waiting

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 | Beginning of the Story

Status: In Progress

Pairings: Christopher Pike x Fem!OC

Rating: Mature

Word Length: 2.6k

Summary: Once the physical injuries from Talos healed, Chris moved on. Then he met someone special but each time the moment was right to become lovers he pulled back, unwilling to trust himself. Unsure if the attraction and his feelings were real. Then he realized or rather admitted the Talos incident was more than kidnapping, imprisonment, and mind-control. It was a violation of the deepest and most intimate kind. And that perhaps there was no way back.

ooooo

Waiting

The next morning, Aalin skipped breakfast and the mess halls going directly to the science lab and continuing her translation of the records left by an ancient civilization on the second planet in the NV-0809 system. Throughout the day she worked alone. By late afternoon, given Spock’s curiosity with studying a people who may have been one of the early colonizers in this sector and his lack of a check-in on the project, she assumed a problem must have arisen, one important enough to require the full attention of the Vulcan but not serious enough to alert the rest of the crew.

The evening came and went with no contact from Chris. She spent it in her quarters preparing for her upcoming self-defense test, passing it was one of the requirements for keeping her temporary commission. Her instructor, John, had assured, “It’ll be a piece of cake. There’s only one component.”

Of course that component was throwing and pinning for a minimum of twenty seconds Enterprise’s six-foot-six security chief, a man with the physique and strength of a Nordic warrior reincarnated from Valhalla. Odin was the crew’s nickname for Commander Isak Bengsston. And his size and strength intimidated the hell out of her.

Isak personally designed a training course after assessing her slight closer to petite than tall frame, and non-existent skill level. He had boomed in his Australian accent, “If I huffed and puffed, I could blow you away. That’ll be an advantage for you. No one will expect you to hold your own. Use it.” He had then turned to his subordinate and said, “Teach her a combination of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Krav Maga. Formal throws and pins with basic street fighting.”

The ‘street fighting’ reference had elicited a nervous chuckle from Aalin. After all, she had failed kindergarten ballet when she was five and forced into lessons; the teacher informing her disappointed parents Aalin lacked coordination. Rigid assessments at that age tend to stick in your psyche. Feeling like that five-year old in a class of adults, she practiced more in her quarters than the gym.

Catching her breath after the door chimed, she called, “Come.”

Matt, the ship’s head nurse, strode in. “I hear you are avoiding the mess halls.” He plopped a tray on a table then rubbed his chin. “Though I don’t much blame you. But there’s hope on the horizon, everyone’s attention is starting to turn to whether Ensign Roberts will bag the Sengali twins when they go into heat.”

Aalin’s response was a strangled snort-like giggle as she tried not to laugh. “I assume you made that up.”

He cocked his head to the side and favored her with a long, assessing gaze. Medics can’t stop being medics. Then he drawled, “I made up the twins part … they’re only litter mates. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured.

He stared at her. “You’re not … upset about what happened last night?”

She started to correct with a nothing happened last night statement. Then reminded herself, Discussing Chris’ private life with a member of his crew is unfair to Chris and the crewman, and even more so with Matt since he and Chris are friends. “Why would I be?”

Matt noted her genuinely puzzled expression. After a long talk with his husband last night, doubts about Team Christopher’s plans harangued Matt and, after relaying his concerns to the CMO, then Phil throughout the day. Isak had reminded Talos wasn’t the only reason Chris might proceed with caution and pushing him before ready might harm rather than aid his budding relationship with Aalin.

In typical blunt fashion Matt prompted, “Your night with the Captain was interrupted.”

“I don’t understand what you are asking … oh.” She smiled. “No. I am not unhappy nor upset. I get the rhythms of the Captain’s life. Last night’s torpedo problem was no different than you treating a medical emergency in Sickbay rather than spending the evening with Isak.”

You passed the test, Matt congratulated in his head, pleased with her response. Which will be welcome news at the next Team Christopher meeting. Well done. Not that you realized you were being tested. “When’s your self-defense certification?”

“In a couple of days.”

He then offered, “Want a workout partner?”

Aalin’s acceptance was immediate, a vigorous nod which encompassed her entire body. Her speech was rapid. “Yes … please … John says I’m ready … but it doesn’t feel like it … I don’t know if I will ever be good at this …”

Matt placed his hands on her shoulders and held her gaze. “Stop. Breath … That’s better. OK. Have you ever known me to hold back? To pretty the truth?”

She shook her head.

“Alright then. Show me what you can do. Isak and I spar regularly.” He grinned. “Wait, that sounds wrong doesn’t it. I meant in the gym. Well, between the sheets too, but that’s immaterial to this conversation.” He paused gauging her reaction to his deliberate rambling banter. Her shoulders were erect but relaxing, her stance more at ease. Good.

Matt continued, “I’ll give you an honest assessment whether you stand a chance. With no varnish. And keep in mind, Isak will handicap the test, rather than using all his strength and skill. He won’t go easy on you, but he will mimic only an above average opponent.”

Thank heaven for small mercies, Aalin thought as she got into position for the first required movement. Practicing with Matt was a tonic. His straightforward conclusion delivered as, “Not bad, you’ll do OK,” boosted her confidence.

Freshly showered, she went to the small mess hall on deck three, colloquially known as ‘the command deck’ which housed the senior officers but was open to all. At this late hour this particular mess hall tended to be empty, and she and Chris had fallen into the habit of meeting there each night. Neither was aware everyone else on board now purposefully avoided the room at the appointed time.

They had a ritual. She usually arrived first and took the same table near the viewport. Chris joined her with two mugs of tea. Aalin asked about his day. They both relaxed into the moment which felt, briefly, as if they were the only two beings in the galaxy.

While waiting, she thought back to her first self-defense training session. She had started to skip meeting Chris that night (neither referred to their standing arrangement as a date, though their shipmates did), but decided avoidance was futile as the Captain received a daily report of all injuries on board. Chris was already there and jumped to his feet when she entered. In three strides he was across the room. Standing in front of her, forehead creased and mouth in a straight grim line, his gazed focused on the black, blue, and purple bruise surrounding her left eye.

“What happened?” he demanded impatiently.

“While attempting to learn how to roll when I fall, my shoulder missed the matt. My cheek didn’t,” Aalin said dryly. “I assume the incident was already relayed to you.”

“Yes. By your instructor and Isak. Phil assured me you didn’t break any bones. And that you somehow, miraculously, managed to avoid concussing your skull.”

Head throbbing Aalin snapped, “Then my participation in this conversation is superfluous.” Immediately she added, tone softened, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m still getting used to having a commanding officer. It’s like being back in boarding school and dreading when they called my parents.”

Chris replied with a sigh, “As was my pouncing the moment you walked into the room. Uncalled for that is. May I?”

She nodded. His fingertips gently explored the injured area; the touch was soothing. Aalin resisted covering his hand with hers to keep him from pulling away.

“Does it hurt much?” he asked hand now back at his side.

“It’s still a bit achy.”

“I understand if you want to skip tonight,” Chris said, sternly dismissing his stray thoughts about tucking her into bed.

“No, I want to stay,” she replied quietly.

He settled her in a chair and sat opposite observing her slight frown, slouched posture, and fidgeting hands. Chris quickly surmised the reason for her low spirits, and it tugged at his heart. “No one expects you to become a martial arts expert. This is about being able to protect yourself and others until help arrives.”

“OK. Yeah. That is what John and Nhan keeping reminding me. It’s just …” her voice trailed off.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“I can manage the academic subjects and their exams. But … This sounds silly. Everyone in my family is athletic but me. For heaven’s sake, one of my brothers plays soccer professionally. They all played sports in school … my siblings that is … and my parents … I didn’t … They tried to teach me … it never went well …” her voice drifted off.

“I fail to understand how that is relevant.” For reasons unfathomable to Chris, his statement sparked a brief smile from her. “What?”

“You sound like Spock.”

“Oh. Meaning the logic presented?”

She shook her head, faint smile morphing to a grin. “No. The way you phrased it.” Aalin then added, “Though of course your logic is always impeccable.”

“Now you’re just humoring your Captain,” he teased back.

Her grin turned enigmatic. “Perhaps.”

“No one on Enterprise has ever failed a self-defense certification,” Chris said. He didn’t add nor recertification seeing no need to discourage her with future requirements.

“I haven’t spent half my adult life training for Starfleet,” she pointed out.

“No. But I believe you can do this. Have faith in yourself.”

Chris’ encouragement had helped. The next lesson went better. Then the next and the next.

She checked the time. An hour had passed with no sign of nor communication from Chris. She assumed whatever kept Spock from the science lab today also needed the Captain’s attention and returned to her quarters.

ooooo

Christopher Pike did not procrastinate. However unpleasant the task, regardless of the dread it invoked, he tackled it head on and expeditiously. As with a horse never ridden, he looked the situation straight in the eye, masterfully in the eye, and took charge.

He began the day intending to walk his relationship with Aalin back from the brink of becoming lovers. Having spent a long sleepless night weighing numerous ramifications, Chris determined any other path was unfair to her. For a multitude of reasons. Good reasons he had reassured himself. Very good reasons. “Most importantly, she deserves to be loved by one with no doubts his feelings are true. My desire for her may be planted by others in order to manipulate us both. I can’t risk hurting her with that cruelty,” he had said aloud wielding the physical weight of words as a scalpel against his sense of profound loss. The choice left him hollow. His body craved her touch. His psyche craved her affection. He wanted to cherish her unreservedly and demonstratively.

But the day had other plans.

A myriad of unrelated problems, none serious but all important, consumed his time pushing aside less urgent duties and all personal activities. The first item superseded was checking on Aalin after hearing via the grapevine about the silence that ensued when she entered the mess hall last night. Another was their nightly chat. Finally able to retreat to his quarters at 2:00am, Chris put off until tomorrow the conversation about their relationship.

ooooo

The next day mirrored the previous. Aalin again skipped the crowded mess halls. She again worked alone in the lab. A brief message from Spock directed her to focus on translating the historical writings. Again the day passed without seeing Chris. A rarity, she admitted. The grapevine noted all the senior officers were unusually busy.

That evening in her quarters, after braving the mess hall long enough to grab a portable dinner, Aalin reread the latest letters from home. At this distance even via subspace, messages were relayed through multiple long-distance communication buoys and arrived three months after initial transmission. As a mid-level officer her personal message allowance was limited. She missed her confidants. And her nieces and nephews.

After that first trying martial arts lesson, Chris did more than encourage her with words. He offered to work with her for extra practice. A couple of days later she had met him in the gym on the command deck for their first tutoring session on how to fall properly.

“Ready?”

“Sure.”

He started to put his hands on her waist then hesitated. “If you permit me, I think demonstrating how the move should feel will help.

“OK.”

Stepping closer he rested a hand at the top of each hip then nudged her right hip back. He moved one hand to the small of her back, assessing. It slipped around to her waist coaxing her left side forward slightly. “Your core is now in alignment, concentrating your center of gravity, rendering it tighter, stronger. Feel the difference?”

She nodded.

His fingertips trailed up her spine, straightening her posture. One hand clasped her left elbow while the other moved to her right shoulder and leveled it. “Your shoulders and hips should form a rectangle. Get used to how that feels. Remember it.”

Aalin realized she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled.

Still cradling her elbow, his hand gently pulled her right shoulder forward. “Once you know the fall is coming, align and then use the momentum to orient your descent. Being right-handed, try to fall on your left shoulder. Moving the other shoulder will help set this up.”

His hand slid from the elbow to her palm. Unknowingly he caressed it. “If you can’t roll onto your shoulder, slap the ground with your left hand, this will dissipate some of the energy of the fall. But don’t use the hand as a brace, that will break it, your wrist, or your arm.”

Bracing his legs apart to keep them both steady, Chris placed his arms around her waist for support, clasping his hands behind her back. He started dipping her towards the ground. Her head followed the trajectory. “It’s all one smooth motion, roll onto the mat with your left shoulder, and like a somersault, follow through to your hip and then …” He paused.

She turned back to him putting their lips only centimeters apart. “And then?” she asked in a whisper.

“Computer, lock. Authorization Omega-Delta-C23S1,” Chris quietly ordered. With one arm supporting her back, he reached up and cupped her cheek, searched her eyes. Her lips parted slightly; she draped her arms around his neck and nodded permission.

Their lips brushed. Straightening, Aalin’s hands slid down his shoulders and came to rest on his upper back. She laid her head over his heart, listening to its rapid thumping. He kissed the side of her neck while his thumb stroked her cheek.

He tilted her chin up and their lips met again; the kiss began soft; comfortable and cozy like a fire on a cold day. It stepped up to affectionate. As it lingered, they pressed their bodies closer and closer seeking any and all contact with the other. The warmth in their bodies intensified like an yellow-orange flame gone blue. Their movements spoke familiarity, as if they’d been kissing for decades.

Hands began roaming, caressing, fondling the other and the kiss deepened. Chris pulled back just before it morphed into a physical expression of a more intimate act. Aalin leaned against him as she caught her breath. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and sighed.

That was their second kiss. And their last one-on-one self-defense tutoring session.

Their third kiss was two nights ago, four months later.

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 | Beginning of the Story

Story Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

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handy-dandy-monster-candy · 3 years

Text

Jayson, part One

Rating: SFW Length: 1690 Pairing: Male Croc Lizardman x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

It’s Latin night at the local community centre, and you’re not sure if the earth is shaking or if it’s just your nerves. It’s your turn to dance with Jayson tonight, the handsome crocodilian lizardman who’s been the centre of attention since your dance classes began. He’s experienced at all sorts of dances, more agile than you’d expect for someone almost eight feet tall, and he’s been sweeping the little old ladies right off their feet—sometimes literally.

You’d initially joined the yoga classes held at the centre, but the time slots didn’t line up with the dance classes, so you never saw head or tail of the lizardman before the night poor old Mr. Grims slipped a disc doing an advanced pose at the end of the session. You decided to stick around with him until the ambulance came, keeping him company until he was loaded up and carted away from the centre towards the hospital a few blocks away.

That’s when Jayson approached you, coffee held in a delicate pincer grip in one hand and speakers held in the other, to ask you what had happened. He had deep green scales and brilliant golden-green eyes, with a body that looked like he could bench you in his sleep. He had a ready smile when he introduced himself to you, and the sympathy in his voice when he learned of Mr. Grim’s accident sounded sincere.

It was no surprise that you gravitated to the event hall after yoga let out that night, and what you saw made you wonder why you’d never considered dancing before. People of all ages and species crowded into the event hall, swing dancing at all skill levels and laughing throughout. It looked fun, and of course Jayson was at the centre of it all, bopping and weaving through the dancers and calling out encouragement and playful critiques. He was one of the instructors, you realised, and on impulse, you signed up for the next week’s class.

Flexibility, you quickly learned after Mrs. MacDougall bent you backwards over her knee, was invaluable in Jayson’s dance class. You thanked your lucky stars that you had decided to take yoga first, or you think you would have ended up in Mr. Grim’s place. Each week, you dance to a different genre, though Jayson always finds a way to put a spin on it. Last week you learned the choreography that Jayson and his fellow instructor Lindsa put together to Doja Cat’s Boss Bitch, which starred some impressive ballet on Lindsa’s behalf. They each pick a different dancer to give special instruction to each week, and this time, it’s your turn to be what feels like the sole focus of the big reptilian man you’ve developed a weak-kneed crush on. When the trumpets start blaring in Ilegales’ song Como Un Trueno, you almost jump out of your skin, and judging by the way Jayson laughs, he’d noticed.

“Alright, from the top!” Jayson calls, his gravelly voice warm and rough with amusement. “Loosen up, Ilario. Greta, sweetheart, go easy on him.”

“He’d better keep up!” Mrs. MacDougall says instead, earning herself a rare laugh from Lindsa on the other side of the room. You watch with sympathy as she drags the aforementioned man out onto the dance floor, looking more like a prisoner gamely meeting his end at the gallows than a willing dance partner.

“Ready?” Jayson asks you, and you wonder how you ever took your eyes off the charismatic reptile.

“As I’ll ever be,” you say, smiling cheerfully up at Jayson and taking his proffered hand.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Jason laughs, his feet starting to move along with the serpentine motions of his hips.

“I can’t help it,” you reply around a laugh of your own, following his lead and allowing him to dance you around the room. “I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jayson eyes you incredulously. “You?”

“Yes, me! Everyone’s looking at us.”

“I’m an instructor,” Jayson preens, his pride in his position making you smile again. “They have to look at me.”

“Well, yeah,” you say, concentrating very hard on not stepping on the larger man’s feet. “You’re hard to look away from.”

Jayson grins at this slip. “Am I?”

You curse your distracted tongue, but you don’t regret having this conversation. Yet. “Oh, definitely,” you shoot back, and the smug gleam in Jayson’s eyes makes you want to swat him and kiss him all at once. “You’re so big, how could I miss you?”

“Larger than life, baby,” Jayson replies, picking up the pace and twirling you like a top around him. You’re a little dizzy by the time he urges you into another set of moves, pliable with disorientation and the thrill of letting such a big man take control of your body and manhandle you however he likes. “Just let it happen,” he says in your ear, and he clears a space in the hall for you two to take centre stage.

His hands on your waist are the only warning you get before you’re airborne, your body weaving over his shoulders and between his legs in a way that makes your head spin. You somehow manage to make your feet keep moving when they find their way to the floor again, though it isn’t long before you’re twirled and spun and tossed this way and that. The feel of his muscles through his clothing is a sensation that you’ll not soon forget, and his hands feel like brands wherever they touch, hot and huge and capable. You’ve never trusted someone this implicitly with your safety, and the thrill is enough to leave you breathless.

The song ends in a sharp crescendo of brass and with your body dipped between Jayson’s muscular thighs. Your heart is pounding so hard that you barely hear the applause from the other dancers, your chest heaving and your eyes locked on Jayson’s handsome face. “You okay down there?” he asks, and you want to swat him all over again.

“Thinking I should have worn anything but sweatpants,” you quip back, drawing his eyes down to your erection between you. He straightens and manages to discreetly shield you with his bulk as you rearrange yourself. Jayson seamlessly draws attention to himself and critiques dancers nearby, moving to adjust positions and laughingly reminding others to be more careful of their partners’ feet.

You move away to hide, hydrate, and watch Jayson work the room, so you miss the way that Lindsa weaves toward you until she’s leaning against the wall beside you, asking, “You and Jay-Sun, huh?”

You nearly jump out of your skin. As it is, the water in your mouth goes the completely wrong direction, and you have to accept her help pounding it out of your lungs. “Me and what?” you choke out, eyes watering.

“Oh, don’t jerk me around,” Lindsa says with a sharp smirk, tawny eyes gleaming. She’s unnaturally beautiful even for a harpy, with sandy yellow feathers that match her hair and wide, egg-bearing hips. She’s canny and clever, and though she’s a good and patient teacher, there’s a ruthlessness about her that makes you feel as though you’d be hunted before you’d be courted.

You frown. “I guess,” you say with a shrug. “I like him. What of it?”

“He’ll want to date you,” Lindsa replies without ceremony, idly preening her wing feathers and watching you with unblinking eyes. “I happen to like the guy. Hurt him, and I’ll read your entrails for filth.”

This exchange leaves you entirely flabbergasted—so much so that you spend the rest of class distracted by your thoughts. Jayson notices, and his personality turns up to 11. You find it hard not to smile at his antics and his peacocking amuses you, though you catch Lindsa eyeing you both more often than not for the rest of the session. At the end of the class, Jayson makes a beeline for you and you struggle not to flee under his almost predatory gaze, standing your ground and smiling up at him.

“What’s going on?” he asks without preamble, resting a hand on the wall high above your head. “You’ve been out of your head since we first danced. Did Lindsa get hold of you?”

Your smile falls, and you feel more than a little exposed. Were you that easy to read? “Am I that obvious?” you ask, laughing nervously.

“Hardly,” says Jayson, grinning widely and displaying all his sharp teeth. “More like she’s about as subtle as a brick to the head. She threaten you?”

You nod, speechless.

Jayson snorts and shouts, “Lindsa!” over his shoulder, earning himself a cool look from the intimidating harpy. “Stay out of my love life!”

“I will when you make good decisions,” Lindsa drawls back, and you frown. Are you not a good choice?

Jayson shakes his head, dismissing her and turning his attention back to you. “Don’t listen to the old bird.”

“I’ll turn you into a handbag, Sunny,” Lindsa says without lifting her eyes from the gym bag she’s packing. “And a new pair of boots.”

“As if any part of me could handle those thighs,” Jayson scoffs, waving his hand and smiling down at you. “Like I said, don’t listen to her. She’s just protective of me because I’m younger. Are you free this weekend?”

“Um, yeah,” you say, caught off guard by the banter between the pair and looking between them with something like wariness. Was this going to be an issue?

Jayson notices your unease and leans in close enough that you can look into his eyes and smell his cologne, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s really not a big deal. She does this to everyone I wanna date. Just ignore it and focus on me. Can you do that for me?”

The way he seems to have eyes only for you brings you out of the mire of your thoughts, and you find yourself smiling up at Jayson all over again. “Yeah,” you say. “I can.”

Jayson grins, and you’re surprised to find that lizardmen can have dimples. “Perfect.”

#exophilia #mlm exophilia #gay exophilia #monster romance #monster boyfriend #lizardman boyfriend #lizardman #Jayson #My work

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blahkugo · 4 years

Text

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment.

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot!

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time.

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood.

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth.

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus.

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!”

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies.

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips.

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart.

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought.

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and— Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly.

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here.

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner.

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later.

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress.

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self.

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous.

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood.

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else.

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm.

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin.

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.”

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera.

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow.

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales.

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless.

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder.

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer.

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell.

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?”

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least.

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.”

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.”

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.”

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?”

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even.

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck.

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you.

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before.

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong.

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.” He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move.

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss.

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.”

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip.

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.” The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you.

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks.

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip.

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly.

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd.

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more.

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you.

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge.

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs.

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?”

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat.

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control.

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs.

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it.

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him.

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt.

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member.

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole.

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat.

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much.

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself.

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness.

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction.

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper.

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips.

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close.

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you.

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with.

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?”

---------------

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@mindninjax @rat-suki @bakatenshii @yukiimanic @theygottheircages @lookslikeleese

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qianoir · 3 years

Text

IT3D 2 - Galaga vs. ET

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: college students!WayV x Chinese fem!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: non-idol au, college au

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ (Do not interact if you are under 18)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy cursing (censored), mentions of sex, nudity, love octogon, foreign humor, overbearing parents

♡ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @eggbutnotyolk @d1nne @fanficbitchwhowriteskpop @staysstrays

Preview < 1 < 2 < 3

Your stomach started to churn during the lesson so you pulled out a handful of white rabbit candy from the front pocket of your bag. There was more candy than school supplies in your bag so you generously handed a few each to Xiaojun and Kun, whose empty tummies thanked you greatly. The professor soon closed the lecture and the three of you headed out together.

"I don't suppose either of you guys have dance next?" You ask the two boys with a slight laugh.

Both shook their heads. Kun pulled out his schedule, "I have biology." Xiaojun was searching for something or someone behind you as he spoke, "My next class isn't until 2. I'm gonna go try to find one of my other friends. I'll see you guys later?" Kun and you farewelled Xiaojun’s take off.

"Come on, I'll walk you to the dance studio." Kun offered his arm, which you accepted. "You know where dance class is, but you aren't in it?" Kun shook his head, "One of my friends takes dance, as well. He got so lost this morning, I had to help him find the hall."

"Wow I wish I had a friend like you four hours ago.." You told him, remembering Xuejiao and her useless a.ss. Kun smiled, "He should still be in there. He has like 3 dance classes mixed in his schedule." You took note of this and unlinked your arm from Kun's as he delivered you to the dance hall. "Thank you for walking me."

"No problem. I'll catch you around. Good luck!" Kun waved good-bye as you walked into the studio. Immediately, you were hit with shocking sound waves and saw a few very skilled dancers performing some contemporary urban routine. You walked along the far wall to the back corner of the room to put your stuff down then unpacked your dance clothes and walked into the dressing rooms.

Dressing rooms in China are usually very strictly organized to separate genders. The room you walked into did not clearly decipher what gender it was made for, so you could only hope you chose the correct one. You turned a corner housing unoccupied lockers and.. a man fully clothed in ballet attire.. thankfully. The beautiful Asian man looked up from fixing his tights.

"I'm so sorry I thought this was the women's dressing room!" You stuttered, blushing in uncomfy embarrassment.

The man chuckled at you and stood up straight. "You're fine. Everything on this campus is co-ed." He said with a small eye roll. "Oh.. that's a little.. discomforting.." You said, dragging your eyes to the floor to avoid staring at the beautiful man's beautiful body.

He pointed to your dance clothes. "You're taking ballet?" You nodded. "So am I. The class is about to start.. you should get ready quickly." He walked past you, out into the studio.

The strange encounter gave you chills. You wondered if he was the friend Kun mentioned. After all, he was the fourth Asian guy you had seen today. Am I just like a magnet for cute Asian boys?

Taking his advice, you quickly got dressed and slipped out into the dance room where the instructor was already giving his new term speech. You tried to attract as little attention as possible as you walked to sit in an empty space on the floor, which was a little further ahead from the boy you previously met.

"So enough about myself, let's go around the room and have each of you introduce yourself and tell us about your dance background. Starting with blondie over there." The instructor points to a pretty girl with dyed blonde hair.

"Hi, I'm Hyo Yeon Kim, I'm from Incheon, South Korea and I have been dancing mainly hip hop since I was seven years old."

The class claps and this continues for every student. Then it's his turn. He sits up straight and waves around the room as he introduces himself.

"Hi, I'm Sicheng Dong. I'm from Wenzhou, China and I have specialized in traditional Chinese dance since I was 10 years old."

So Sicheng is his name..

Suddenly, the studio door bursts open with a petite Asian boy panting like he just ran the Great Wall.

"S.. sorry.. I'm late.. I slept through the alarms.. I never set." The boy fixes his dance clothes which were thrown carelessly over his body.

"That's ok, son. Come in and introduce yourself and tell us about your dance history." The instructor motions for him to join the group. The boy suddenly has so much energy and brightly greets us, waving his hand high in the air.

"Hi everyone!! My name is Chittaphon “Ten" Leechaiyapornkul! I'm from Bangkok, Thailand and I have been dancing since the womb!!" Everyone laughs at his personality, except Sicheng, who just rolls his eyes, but still smiles at the bubbly boy. Ten takes a seat on the floor next to Sicheng who offers him a hi-five. I guess all the Asians keep it tight here, huh?

"We're almost done, you there, go ahead." The instructor points to you and you straighten your spine before speaking.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I'm from Hong Kong and I have been dancing contemporary ballet since I was eight years old."

"Very good, Y/N. I think you will fit in nicely with our ballet class." The instructor nods at you before addressing the whole class, "Right, so we will continue to get into actual dancing in the next class. Thank you all for showing up, even if not on time." Everyone turns to Ten who just smiles cheekily in return. "Class dismissed."

You pick yourself up from the floor and decide to wait until everyone has changed to change yourself, since the idea of co-ed dressing rooms still doesn't sit well in your mind. While you wait in the corner, Ten and Sicheng walk towards you.

“Y/N, right?" Ten asks. "Yes, that's me." You smile. "We should hang out sometime! We have a whole clique of native Chinese friends you could be a part of."

"Actually I think I may have already met some of them. Do you know Dejun Xiao and Kun Qian?"

Ten nods enthusiastically. "Wow small world! I'll add you to a group chat with all of us. Give me your phone!" Ten takes your phone from your hands and starts typing your number on his own. The device is suddenly buzzing with new message notifications as it is returned to your hands.

"I can't be late to my next class- we can meet up later! See you, Y/N!!” Ten rushes out of the studio, leaving you and Sicheng alone in the corner.

"Sorry if he scared you. He can be a bit hyper." Sicheng says with a small grin. You wave him off, "It's fine. You should go change now."

"Are you waiting for me to change so you can be alone in the dressing room?" You stay silent. "If you've been taking dance classes since you were eight, you should learn that going out of your comfort zone is essential." Sicheng teases, but offers another option, "There is a better place to change if you're that uncomfortable with it, come on."

Sicheng leads you into the dressing room where you are met with various colors of boobs and a.ss cracks. You just look up and let Sicheng guide the rest of the way. You hear him giggle at your flushed face. You arrive at a spatial closet that is filled with hi-tech film equipment. "This is one of the theatre storage closets. Xiaojun and I hang out here a lot."

Sicheng looks around the room while you stand there, bag in hand and ready to change. His eyes land on you awaiting awkwardly in front of him and he realizes, "Oh sorry! I'll leave you to change." Sicheng apologizes and rushes out of the closet. You laugh at the quirkiness of the cute boy and start getting dressed up again.

Walking out of the storage closet, you see Sicheng waiting in the empty dressing room. He holds up your schedule as he notices you coming out. "You dropped this and I couldn't help but see you're free for a couple of hours. I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch with me and the rest of the guys in the group chat Ten added you to? My treat." He says, handing back your schedule.

You stuff the paper back into your bag, "I would love to."

"Awesome. Let's go."

The two of you walked around the campus and met up with five other Asian guys by the sculpted fountains, three of them being Xiaojun, Kun, and Ten. Xiaojun and Kun noticed you immediately. "Hey nice to see you again. I see you've met Winwin and Ten." You look at Xiaojun confused. "Winwin?"

"That's my nickname." Sicheng blushes. "You can call me 'Win.' It sounds manlier." He puffs his chest a little.

“Y/N, this is Lucas and Hendery. Hendery is from Macau and Lucas is from Hong Kong, like you!" Kun introduced you and Lucas gave you a hi-five, "Waaah what's up, little Hong Konger!?" You laugh as his hi-five pulls you into a bro-hug, where your face painfully smacks into his hard chest. "It's been a while since I've met someone from my hometown. What are you doing in America?" Lucas asked you.

"My parents wanted me to attend an Ivy League to become the best doctor in Hong Kong, so here I am with painful irony." You answered. "Cool, cool. I'm studying animal biology. I love animals, especially puppies."

"You are a puppy!" Ten calls out and everyone agrees. "We actually have a dog and two cats hidden in our dorm, but don't tell the DA." Lucas puts a finger to his lips.

"GUYS LOOK WHAT I JUST SCORED! THEY'RE GIVING OUT FREE CONDOMS!!"

The annoying, orange-haired, Taiwanese kid from your chem class ran to all of you with like 20 unopened condoms in his hands. All of the guys facepalmed and you just rolled your eyes at more of his immature behavior. Yangyang’s eyes fell on you and hid all of the condoms behind his back as he screeched, "What the hell guys!? Why did you invite a chick to hang out with us?? We can't have a girl knowing our manly secrets!"

"B!tch, you and I both know those aren't going to fit your 5’8” a.ss." You motioned to the golden X-tra large rubbers hiding behind his back. The guys except Yangyang laughed when his face started turning red, proving the accuracy of your assumptions.

"You two know each other?" Asked Xiaojun. "We have a.. history." Yangyang narrowed his eyes at you, stuffing the condoms into his backpack without breaking visual contact. "Get over yourself. We only met this morning." You scoffed. The young boy stuck his tongue out at me like he had done once before.

"Let's go eat. I'm starving." Hendery groans.

The group walks to the dining hall where different restaurants are catered to the students and staff. It was decided to eat at a Hawaiian rooftop grill. You sat near the edge with a great view of Manhattan. Winwin sat on your right with Lucas and Kun next to him. Xiaojun sat across from you with Hendery and Yangyang on his side, and Ten at the front of the long table. You looked over the menu placed in your hands.

"Get whatever you want, ok?" Win told you and you complied with thanks. The guys ordered a bunch of food for the table as well as for themselves; you ordered a simple ahi tuna poke bowl.

Upon the food’s arrival, Kun starts a conversation. "How is everyone's first day going?"

"My professor hit my wrist with a ruler because I said Galaga sucked." Yangyang answered. "You had it coming. You think ET: The Video Game should have made a comeback." Xiaojun attacked.

"None of you fools gave ET a chance." Yangyang crossed his arms and looked away.

"My calc professor ate an egg and bacon biscuit from Tim Hortons, then fell asleep." Win said as he stuffed his cheeks with macaroni salad.

"Did he ever wake up?" You wheezed and asked him.

"No."

"Hendery what's on your neck?"

"He got that good-good on the first day- my man!" Yangyang said with his cheeks full.

"Some kid in my aerophysics class launched a bottle rocket into my neck. It really hurts." Hendery replied, rubbing the sore area.

"D.amn."

...

"This dude in my psych class kinda packing no homo." Everyone groaned at Xiaojun’s comment, Ten just smiled and beamed him up.

Everyone finished eating and you offered to pay for yourself, but Winwin wouldn't allow it. You all walked back to the fountains you had met up. Yangyang, Hendery, and Kun left for their next class together. "What do you have next?" Win asked you. "I have biology." You replied.

"Oh you're with us!" You looked over at Lucas and Ten. Turning back to Winwin, "I'll see you later. Maybe we could have a movie night sometime this week, just you and me?" He proposed. "Sure. That sounds fun. Also thank you for buying me lunch, it was yummy." Win smiled at you. "No problem. I'll text you tonight." You nodded and parted ways with the lovely boy who walked with Xiaojun- the other lovely boy.

You walked off with the three Chinese boys, not looking forward to biology, but glad to spend the hour with your cool new friends.

To be continued…

*DA = dorm advisor

𝘲𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘳

#wayv x reader #kun x reader #ten x reader #winwin x reader #lucas x reader #xiaojun x reader #hendery x reader #yangyang x reader #wayv imagines #wayv fluff #wayv angst #wayv smut #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #nct smut

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

Text

Day 5: “Thanks for lending me your jacket.” - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia

A/N: Okay I understand Christmas is over but I still had to finish the 12 days of Christmas challenge and I skipped over day five and never came back till today! Here is day five written for my fellow Santi lover @itspdameronthings.

Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Single Mom Reader

Warning: 18 + for language, single mom, kids

My Masterlist

Day 5: "Thanks for lending me your jacket." - Santiago 'Pope' Garcia

The door to the ballet studio slams open, and Frankie hustles inside with his four-year-old daughter Mia in tow. The other moms all smile at him as he shuffles her off to the other children, and she gets in line and starts warm-ups. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and readjusts his hat falling down into the seat next to you.

"What did I miss?" he asks, and you laugh.

"Well, Minnie's mom was talking about how she caught her husband sleeping with the nanny. But, she isn't going to say anything because he had her sign a prenup, and she would get nothing. Oh, and Peter's mom has been talking nonstop about her upcoming surgery. Apparently, you lean toward him conspiratorially, "she is getting some new," you gesture across your chest, and he laughs.

You and Frankie had met six months ago when you both enrolled your daughters in dance class. Being the only single parents and the only ones whose daily life wouldn't be on an episode of Wives of Orange County, you, two, had bonded instantly. You had even been out on a date, but it quickly became apparent you were just meant to be friends. Your daughters had connected instantly and become best friends. Mia and Harper were inseparable.

"What about Tina's mom? Did she get the nose job?" he asks, looking around the room, and you laugh.

"I think so; it's their nanny again," you point over at the strict-looking woman reading a magazine in the corner, and he nods smiling.

"So," he claps a hand over your leg, "Are we still on for the tree lighting thing this weekend? The kids perform at seven, so I thought we could all meet up for dinner at the Brewery down the street like five-fifteen or so."

"Yeah, that sounds great! Harper is so excited about dancing for a crowd, she is turning out to be quite the diva."

"I know what you mean; Mia is the same way! I was wondering...would you mind if Mia's godfather joins us on Saturday? He's in town from Columbia for the holiday and is going to be staying with us. I've been talking about you, and he says he wants to meet his replacement."

"His replacement?"

"Oh, he is fully convinced that I've replaced him with you as my best friend," he chuckles.

You laugh, and both of you get glares from the other dance moms. "That's fine with me. What's he like?"

"Well...how do you describe Pope, well his name is Santiago, but I've been calling him Pope since the Delta Force days. He is loyal, hardworking, and a complete and total slut. I bet you fifty bucks he will flirt with you the whole night."

You snort, "With me?"

"Come on, you're gorgeous. Honestly, you are just his type."

"Yeah, all except for one little issue," you point towards your daughter, who smiles at your brightly as she tries to do a pirouette.

"Oh, that won't deter him at all; he loves Mia. I'm sure Harper will have him wrapped around her finger too by the end of the night." He smiles at you, and you nod.

"Okay, I guess I will have to meet this friend of yours and see if he's worthy of the title." Frankie looks at you, quizzically, "Oh sorry, the title of the best friend, it has to be earned." He laughs, and you both hush as the teacher looks at you both sternly, causing you to erupt in a fit of giggles, Frankie digging his elbow into your side as he covers his smile with his hand.

The week passes quickly, and it's the weekend before you know it. The Brewery's parking lot is packed, and a light dusting of snow lies upon the ground. You pull Harper from her car seat, and she babbles away at you about everything. The change in temperature from the outside to the inside is stifling, and you loosen your scarf, cursing under your breath about forgetting your coat. The red dress beneath it shimmers in the light, complete with black leggings tucked into your black boots.

"HARPER!" a shrill voice screams from across the room. Your daughter takes off across the room and into the arms of Mia, who is jumping up and down. You smile at the two and make your way over to the table, hugging Frankie.

"Where is this so-called best friend of yours?" you tease, moving into the booth across from him.

"Oh, Pope went to the restroom; he should be back in a few minutes. Why? Excited to meet him?" he teases, and you smile.

"No, just curious, I wonder if-" the words die against your lips as you watch the most beautiful man come towards your table. With salt and pepper curls, clean-shaven, soft juicy lips, and the darkest expressive brown eyes that twinkle in amusement wrapped up in a dark tan wrapping.

"Holy shit," you whisper under your breath, but of course, Harper hears.

"Mommy! Swear jar!" she sings, grinning at you, and you glare at her before watching the man slide in the empty chair across from you.

"So this is the famous Y/N that Frankie won't stop talking about. I must say his words do not do you justice; you're stunning," he holds a hand out to shake, and when you touch, the electricity crackles, and you quickly withdraw your hand.

His smile fades, and he just watches you. You could get lost in the depth of his eyes, and Frankie coughs loudly to break the tension. You look away and turn to Harper, figuring out what she wants for dinner. The waiter comes a few minutes later, and you all order. The girls get Mac N cheese and chicken nuggets, knowing them they will end up sharing all the food.

"Uhm, I will take the jalapeno cream cheeseburger with the black bean patty, please, and the House Amber on draft please," the waiter takes your orders and walks off.

You try really hard not to openly stare at Santiago, but he doesn't take notice, never taking his eyes off you. "So, tell me about yourself," you take a sip of your beer and finally look at him, his lips turned up into a wide grin. You spend most of the dinner conversing with Santiago while Frankie keeps the two girls occupied. You don't miss the not so subtle wink he sends your way as you almost choke on your beer.

"Are you okay?" Frankie comes around and pats you hard on the back. "You're flirting," he teases quietly next to your ear, and you hiss at him to shut up, glaring. “You owe me fifty bucks,” he laughs.

He grins triumphantly as he retakes his seat and checks his watch. "Okay, everybody, we got to get going over to the tree lighting. Girls, finish up and get your coats on. "I'll get the bill tonight."

"Frankie! I can pay for myself-"

"I insist," he says, putting a hand to his chest, "come on, girls. Ah, don't look at me like that; you can get the next one." Harper hugs you before grabbing Frankie's outstretched hand and going to pay.

"Are you two dating?" Santiago asks bluntly. "Or fucking?"

You laugh, "Uhm, no, Frankie really just is my best friend. We tried going on a date once, and it was like dating my brother."

He chuckles, "yes, I can imagine that would be awkward. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, are you single?"

"Why do you want to know," you rise and grab your purse, and he stands to offer his hand. You look at it and then back up to see the small smile on his face. Taking his hand, he intertwines your fingers and leads you outside. You look and see Frankie and the girls already halfway to the tree lighting, and you grin at Frankie's not so subtle matchmaking skills.

"Looks like they left without us," Santiago laughs, tugging your hand into the crook of his elbow and taking off at a more leisurely pace. You shiver as light snowflakes begin to fall. Cascading the area into a winter wonderland. He stops walking and shrugs out of his thick overcoat, and hands it to you.

"I can't take your coat," you try to refuse, but he grabs your arm and puts it on you like you would your daughter. "I…" the argument dies on your lips as he gives you a playful glare. "Thanks for lending me your jacket."

"Now, you're just going to have to keep me warm." You laugh together, and he retakes your hand and intertwines your fingers. "So about what I said earlier? Are you seeing anyone?"

"Would I be holding hands and flirting with you all night if I was? Do you think I'm that type of woman?" He quickly throws his hands up and shakes his head no.

"No, no, that's not...I just, shit, I am fucking this up, aren't I?"

"No," you chuckle, "But I'm having fun watching you try. Frankie told me you were a huge flirt, and I should watch out for you. I like what I have seen so far, and you are incredibly handsome with a nice butt. So yes, I am single. Now, what are you going to do about it."

You both arrive at the tree lighting and look for Frankie, who waves you over near the doorway to the community center. He smiles at you, both seeing your hands intertwined and raising one eyebrow. "The girls are with their instructor there going to go on in about ten minutes. Also, remember that Frankie is the perfect name for a boy."

Santiago punches him in the arm, and Frankie laughs. "Shut up, Frankie," you scoff. "I'm going to go get some hot chocolate inside. Do you want anything?"

"I'll come with you," Santi follows close, still holding your hand as you wait inside for hot cocoa and cookies. "You asked me what am I am going to do about it?"

You nod, looking at him, "Yeah, and did you decide?" You take a step forward as the line moves.

"Yes, right about now," he dips you, and you give a little yelp as he plants his lips onto yours. His lips are warm and soft, and you melt into the kiss as the small crowd cheers around you. When he brings you back up, you feel lightheaded and swoon a little, but he catches you laughing. "Sorry, the moment was just too perfect," he points up, and you smile at the mistletoe hanging overhead.

"Well, wouldn't want to waste perfectly good mistletoe," you kiss him again, and he responds. Running his hands over your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening it.

"Excuse me? Are you still in line for hot chocolate?" An older man taps Santi's shoulder, and you break away giggling, burying your face in his neck.

"No, sir, I think we're going to skip the hot chocolate; I got something sweeter right here."

The older man blushes before moving around you, and you both burst out laughing before he kisses you again. The emcee from outside begins the program, and you shout, running and dragging Santi behind you. Frankie looks at you both and just shakes his head laughing. "What's so funny?" you ask.

"Nothing, I just never realized that red was your color, Pope," he teases, and you look at Santi, shocked before you laugh and quickly grab a wipe from your purse and wipe it off. You wipe off your own lipstick, and both men watch, amused.

"What now?" you huff.

"Why are you wiping off your own lipstick?" Frankie questions smiling.

"Oh, I am kissing him a lot more before this night is over. The last thing I need is the Spanish Inquisition from my daughter about why the nice man from the restaurant is wearing my lipstick." Santiago's lips turn up into a smile before he kisses you again, and you pull back smiling at Frankie, who has his mouth agape.

"I am really looking forward to kissing you more, but can I also take you out for dinner tomorrow night? Maybe Frankie can watch Harper?" Frankie nods, agreeing with the plan.

You kiss him again as the ballet music starts, "I would really love that."

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @lunarthoughts @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @chicken-ona-stick @josepedropascal @letoartreiides @revolution-starter

#santiago pope garcia #Santiago pope garcia x reader #Female reader #single mom reader #triple frontier #Oscar Isaac #Autumn Writes

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missdutch21md · 3 years

Text

Music of the Night|5

A/N: Dear Readers!! Surprise! I was able to change up the format a bit and post this next installment sooner than I originally planned! It’s not as long as originally planned, but this works out better in my opinion :)

Soul 💖

Summary:The time is 1856. Location: Paris, France at the Opera Populaire. Taehyung is living his life when who should stumble into his life than the most beautiful singer he has ever heard? She was the missing instrument to his orchestra. She would complete the score for his… Music of the Night.

Pairing: Opera Ghost! Taehyung x Singer! Ballet Dancer! MC

Universe: Phantom of the Opera AU

Word Count: 761

Genre: Fluff 🥰, Mature 🔞

Characters: rich! Seokjin, rich! Yoongi, dance instructor! hoseok, officer! Jimin, stagehand! Jungkook, chorus girl! BlackPink

⚠️Warnings⚠️: mentions of religion (reader prays), stalking, slight yandere themes

Please keep in mind this is a work of FICTION this in no way reflects on any BTS members or Taehyung as a person. This is simply a story for the imagination.

Go B a c k | Turn P a g e | M. L i s t

Taehyung held back his laughter as much as he could as he watched his little pupil stare defiantly into the air as she demanded that she see him. He couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread in his chest at the sight of her. He had tried to make her understand, he wasn’t like other men.

He frowned a little, she didn’t think he was a man. She thought he was a deity. He sighed in awe of her raw innocence despite how old she was. Perhaps it was her Catholic upbringing and her uncanny luck with having next to no encounters with the evils of the world. Taehyung had been grateful for that. He had thanked his lucky stars and The Lord and God above that no real harm had ever come to her.

Sure, she had her share of tragedy, she was an orphan now, and at such a young age. He learned this just the day before when he heard the stage hand asking a chorus girl what had brought the new girl into their midst. His heart had ached for her, but he knew that she wouldn’t know another moment of sadness as long as he was in her life. He would make sure of it from now on.

He forced himself to not let his mind wander so much to just savor these moments that he shared with her and called her back to get into position to resume her training. Taehyung saw how she was just about running out of energy to continue with her lessons. Hoseok hyung had probably pushed the girls much harder today. After a few more exercises Taehyung dismissed the young woman to go up to bed. He moved to a different part of the small chapel so that he could speak softly into her ear.

He saw the moment she sharply took in her breath, surprised by how closed he seemed he watched the rise and fall of her chest as though he were entranced. If only she knew, he mused. She huffed and told him her thoughts candidly, he smiled glad that she truly wanted to see him for her own reasons. Not because she wanted to gossip to the chorus girls about how he looked.

Taehyung was infamous in the Opera House, having many names given to him by the patrons and those who worked in the theater. Opera Ghost, Phantom of the Opera, OG, Genius, Maniac, Psycho, the list went on. He was pleased to hear that she didn’t listen to those rumors of heinous deeds that sure he had committed, but she didn’t let that cloud or obscure her image of him.

Taehyung finally agreed, he’d see her one day when the time was right and when she was completely under his spell, though he kept this part form her.

She had urged him to promise her that this would happen and he couldn’t help to comply with her demand. His smile was wide and boxy as he watched her happily jump up and fly up the stairs faster than he thought possible considering how tired and overworked she looked only a few minutes before. Taehyung heard her quick little gasp and heard her clamber back down into the chapel to only kneel at the little alter to say her evening prayers.

Taehyung was glad that she was a verbal prayer. A trait that even the most pious followers of her faith lost along with their childhood. He stifled his giggles at her little plea to The Lord to forgive her for almost forgetting to say her evening prayers. She talked about him. His chest puffed with pride as he heard her voice sound reverent when it came to him.

He listened to her gentle voice as she prayed, Taehyung readied himself to quietly follow her as she made her way to her shared bed with Jennie. He knew it wasn’t likely for anything to be amiss, but he felt it was his responsibility to watch over her. He was her teacher, and his vow to keep her safe was not one that he took lightly.

He watched the little ballerina dancer softly and quietly pad up to the back room to slowly remove her pointe shoes and rubbed her feet to soothe them and slowly undressed into her night shift to rest. Once her head hit the pillow, Taehyung only stayed a brief moment to check the surroundings and make sure she was sleeping soundly before he returned to his dwelling in the belly of the opera house.

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Secrets Part 2

Harry Potter AU

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Link to Chapter 1

Rating M- trigger warning

Credit: Song at the beginning: The Suffering by Coheed and Cambria

______

Is there a word or right to say Even in this old-fashioned way? Go make your move, girl, I'm not coming home

Would things have changed if I could've stayed? Would you have loved me either way? Dressed to the blues, day to day, with my collar up

Decision sits, so make it quick A breath inhaled from an air so sick I cursed the day I had learned of the web you spun

If it was up to me I would've figured you out Way before the year clocked out Oh, I hope you're waiting

If it was up to me I would've never walked out So until the sun burns out Oh, I hope you're waiting

Arriving back at James and Lily’s, you ignored the looks of worry that was on your friend’s faces. You walked to the refrigerator in search of a drink. Maybe all of you could go to bed and no one would remember what happened.

“So are we going to talk about what happened?”

James asked. Sirius nodded.

“Yeah, I am curious myself. Why my brother? He’s a scary dude. Well, not really scary, more like a punk but here we are.”

You turned and gave him a frown.

“Yeah, here we are.”

You muttered as Remus stood up.

“I deserve some information. Regulus Black is pissed at me. I hope voodoo dolls don't work because I will be seriously fucked!”

You had to admit. Remus was the right one here. The poor guy was the one hell of a night!

“Fine, Regulus and I have been dating for a while. He didn’t want to tell anyone because of the little shop of horrors that he was born into. I got sick of the secrecy and wanted an actual relationship. We had some words. I told him to man up and act more like Sirius.”

Both Sirius and James winced.

“Ouch.”

Sirius said, sitting down.

“I’m surprised he didn’t come over and threaten to kill me over that.”

James stood just glaring at you. Lily, meanwhile, was soothingly telling him to choose his words appropriately.

“Go ahead.”

You said, defeated. James motioned to Sirius.

“I thought that you two had something going on!”

Both Sirius and yourself looked at each other before saying “gross” at the same time. Sirius held a hand up.

“She’s like my sister!”

You nodded.

“What he said. Look, James, I love Regulus. I have for a long time but you don’t have to worry about it because he will never talk to me again now. I hope you are happy.”

You turned and walked from the room without another word. The alcohol was beginning to wear off and you were starting to feel a lot less cocky now. You wanted nothing more than to go to your room and cry.

The next few months were a repeat of that night. You tried to pretend that the pain of losing Regulus wasn’t there. Every day you went to your job as a ballet instructor with hopes that some magical event would cause you to stop “feeling.” If you could be a hollow shell that had no feelings, you would be ecstatic.

Your evenings were spent being a zombie in your bedroom. Every night you promised that you weren’t going to pull out the photo of Regulus that you kept hidden in your drawer but you always did. You would stroke your finger over his well-sculpted face and sob.

James, Sirius, and Remus were on “suicide watch.” One of them always seemed to be hovering over you. When you started crying Remus would shove chocolate at you. Sirius would give you a hug and James would run to get Lily. Lily was the one that seemed to be the most helpful. She didn’t fuss when you sobbed. She would sit and stroke your hair. Instead of trying to cheer you up or change your feelings...she listened.

“We didn’t date long, Lily but we went through so much. Everything went downhill after I had a miscarriage.”

Lily’s mouth dropped. That was the last thing that she had expected to hear! You were the responsible one.

“You were pregnant?”

“I didn’t get far.”

You said. The memory itself was too painful to think about. Lily’s hand wrapped around yours.

“How did Regulus react?”

You sighed, now you had to face the memory…

You sat on the bed in a fit of tears as Regulus paced the room. Neither of you had said a word to each other since the doctor told you that you were no longer pregnant.

“It's for the best.”

Regulus said, finally. You looked up totally heartbroken. This was the coldest thing that he had said to you in the history of your relationship.

“How can you say that?”

You snapped. Regulus brushed his messy curls away from his face before kneeling in front of you.

“Y/n, we do not need a baby. We are both 18 years old. Our families don't even know about us and this war...it just isn’t smart. Things happen for a reason. Please accept it and move on. This will be just a way that we can be injured. I promise, we’ll have a family someday...just not today”

Lily sighed as you told her the story. She knew that James had no idea about this. If he had, her husband would have gone after Regulus. James would have never accepted the fact that Regulus was so callous with your feelings.

The next afternoon, you stood at the market. Your attention was on a magazine article that Rita Skeeter put out blasting some poor soul.

“I need a certain kind of spice. I don’t understand why you are making me come with you. I know that you can read.”

Your eyes widened hearing Walburga Black’s voice. Looking up, your heart instantly ached the moment that you saw Regulus and Walburga across the room. Regulus looked miserable as his mother fussed about anything that displeased her.

My love…

You thought, trying to resist the urge to go to him. The poor thing looked exhausted. He stood looking a bit more disheveled than you had ever seen.

“Regulus, isn’t that James Potter’s sister? She is extremely beautiful.”

You didn’t dare lookup. The last thing that you wanted was to lock eyes with either of them.

“Mother, you don’t like her family.”

“Shut up. She is one of the few pureblood girls that aren’t taken.”

You couldn't help but wonder if they thought that you were deaf. After a few moments of listening to their mid-level banter, you turned to go the other direction. The less that you had to hear Regulus’ gentle voice the better you would be.

“Y/n Potter, excuse me.”

You muttered “hell” under your breath before turning to face Walburga who had walked over to you. Regulus stood behind his mother looking beyond humiliated.

“Mrs. Black, hello.”

You said, uncomfortably. Walburga grinned.

“You’re looking well. I have heard that you are a ballerina now. My husband took me to the show that you are in. You did well.”

You nodded ignoring the way that Regulus was looking at you. Clearly, he had no idea that your career was moving so far forward.

“Thank you. I’m glad that you enjoyed the show.”

Walburga remembered the reason for her conversation in the first place.

“This is my son, Regulus. I believe the two of you were in the same year at school.”

You finally looked up and met your ex’s uncomfortable gaze. He muttered I’m sorry” under his breath.

“Yes, we knew each other at school...somewhat.”

Regulus put his head down. What you didn’t know was the guilty from the break up was eating him alive. Since that night at the bar, Regulus had been one miserable son of a bitch. All he wanted to do was sit around and do nothing but his mother made sure that wasn’t happening. She didn’t care that he was having nightmares of you dating Remus Lupin. Dating, screwing and marrying him...anything that you could possibly do with Lupin.

Lupin would never be able to love you or care for you as you deserved. Regulus knew that he could. He had the money to give you anything that you wanted. Lupin would probably just keep you barefoot and pregnant. Regulus would have been fine with no children, however, he knew that would never be accepted. He had to have an heir.

Now here you stood looking more lovely than ever. Everything about you made the man in Regulus go crazy! Regulus wanted nothing more than to reach over and kiss your hand. He could woo you easily and make up for all of the wrongs that he had done in the relationship.

Walburga’s voice pulled Regulus from his thoughts.

“I’m having a party next week. My husband and I would love to have you come. We would be inclined to give a large donation to the ballet that you work for.”

You stood, fighting the urge to laugh. When Walburga made a comment about Regulus and yourself knowing each other it took all you had not to say,

“Yeah, we know each other but I also am best friends with your eldest son...you know the one that you forgot about?”

Walburga didn’t give you a chance to reply before putting a golden envelope in your hands.

“The party starts at 7 pm this Thursday. We can’t wait to see you.”

She turned and wrapped her hand around the lapel of the dark coat that Regulus was wearing. You stood with your mouth open in confusion as she tugged her youngest son along with her.

“What the hell just happened?”

______

@brokencasbutt67-writer

@authoressskr

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@hankypranky

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@deanwherescas

@mycuddlycorner

@shaylybaby2032

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adulttrio-imagines · 4 years

Text

Yandere!Illumi x Reader Pt 2

Part 1 here

A/N: Standard Illumi warnings and more apply here.

Prompt: “I would give up everything for the chance to see your laugh again.”

It is difficult to recount the weeks that happened after the incident. As if the switch in your brain was flipped off, and the single light bulb illuminating the empty crevices of your mind was unscrewed and tossed out. You remember floating in and out of an endless sea of fog, drifting aimlessly as you wandered around the shattered remnants of your brain, slowly piecing whatever fragments you could scavenge from the brief moments the fog would clear.

It should be scary. You remember thinking, as you stared blankly into your hands, numbly repeating the simple motion of opening and closing them, counting each broken finger that curled into the palm of your hand, the bloodied crescent moons they leave on your skin greeting you when you forget and apply too much force.

But it isn’t.

Some days you forcefully push the fog clouding your mind away, and you awaken chained to the bottom of the ocean, anchored and weighed down as you push yourself through the freezing depths, dumbly dragging your feet through coarse sand and shards of glass as everything gathers around you in shapeless masses, their slurred voices reaching you in meaningless bubbles.

You kiss the high ridges of your knuckles, falling back into the fog, and the taste of iron that never comes from the warmth that fills your mouth feels alien.

This body can’t be yours it can’t it can’t- On the days where your captor was home, Illumi would sit you in front of the single gilded mirror in the shared room, humming the same empty tune on repeat as your mind slowly flipped itself inside out and melted whatever remnants of intelligent thought you had left. Some days you would look into the mirror too, and the gaunt hollowed out face that stares back at you is not yours so you settle for staring at the corner of the dressing table and count the number of grains on the wood instead before you mind snaps in two again and Illumi cracks your bones for misbehaving

Nimble fingers that resembled pale spiders deftly braid the long sheets of hair you once so prized into simple braids as he plainly recounts his day to you; it’s his imitation of normalcy and version of an extended olive branch. You know better than to do anything but placidly agree to his statements and nod your approval of his actions as he describes to you in detail the way the human neck bends before it snap, or the angle one slashes another’s chest to minimize spilled blood.

Now days, you just slip into the corners of your mind when the violence overwhelms and you need to numb yourself from everything. The ocean does plenty to tune him out, and it’s easier to interact with the formless blobs that croon contained poison.

It’s not that he loves his brutality, but that Illumi is violence personified, as if inhumanity itself had its essence filtered into a form capable of striking others with such ruthless acts, from the way he so callously strikes out at you for no reason or to the casual manner he stated his gory deeds as if he were just describing the weather.

He reminds you of your old dance instructor, you think, as Illumi snakes his arms up your dress. He too too seemed to struggle acting human, with his rigid movements and mechanical mannerisms, although the void that was Illumi somehow decided to thrown all pretenses out of the window and revel in his emptiness instead.

You don’t flinch, even when he slowly trails the inside of your neck with kisses, you barely breathe when he tilts your face up and forces you to look into his horribly empty eyes twisted into such unconcealed malice, and you never pull back when he forces his mouth against yours, stealing every single life-giving breath away from your lungs as his hands trace the name he forceful carved into your chest.

It’s faster, quicker and less painful letting him do as he pleases, easier to let it all go than to fight and find yourself strangled and thrown around like a rag doll.

Your body moves on its own, pressing yourself against him as you link your fingers behind his neck, and murmur sweet praises into his kisses.

It’s not difficult, you think, cording your fingers through his hair (you’re careful not to pull them too hard, the slap you received from him last time still rattled your jaw when you chewed). A healthy dose of practice, consistency and fear did wonders to remove every bit of resistance from the human psyche, as you have so learned.

While your tongue twists to form unfamiliar words of comfort, you release the reigns of consciousness and drifted back down into the fog, letting it envelop your being and shelter you from the horrors above.

It’s better than being fully aware and spending one more fucking second with that monster

.....

The fog lifts itself in fractions.

It’s a snowy afternoon, and you’re performing your ballet stretches for Illumi’s amusement. He hasn’t out rightly demanded a performance since the incident, but your basic forms placate his unspoken wishes.

You close your eyes, breathe, and fall back into the shades of grey.

You’re both in the sun room, his hands trailing the blades of your shoulders as he continues to hum the same eight notes on repeat. It’s impossible to stop your eyes from watering as the familiar tune from your childhood floods the empty room, and you let the fog cover your last thoughts right as the first warning bells before his imminent punishment sound.

It’s night time, and the branches are dangerously close to snapping from the weight of snow piles upon them. He’s towering over you, nails digging into your wrist as he pins you to the bed, roughly nipping at your collarbones and pressing his naked form against yours. You became all too aware of the force behind his touch, and the clamminess from his skin as he pushes himself into you. Everything ignites in flames and it’s just unbearably hot, and nothing about this feels right, so you squirm and writhe desperately for any escape from him.

Illumi simply backhands you across the face as a response, dead eyes blinking down at your exposed body, paying no heed to your continuous struggles. He simply adjusts himself, forcing his weight into holding you down as he carves words of his ownership over you into the flat of your abdomen with sharpened nails, humming the same tune on repeat.

Your screams sound especially empty as you drown yourself back into dark murky waters for what felt like a seamless eternity.

In those times, the faintest whispers of the past get dredged up by the waves, intermingling with your present day horrors, and you see flashes of a monstrous beast emerging from the depths of your mind, relentlessly hunting for whatever semblance of sustenance it could find, and this time, not even the fog in your head could save you from it when it finally wore you down and swallowed you whole.

The next time you emerged from the fog, your head is pressed hard against the marble floor of an unfamiliar room.

You force your eyes forward, and see Illumi kneeling before a man with the frame of a giant and eyes of a lion, who’s mouth is twisted into a snarl that spits words of venom capable of melting flesh to the bone. You can’t hear anything he’s saying from all the cotton in your head, but each muted syllable feels like a punch to the gut.

You blink.

A ringing slap sounds, and like a broken marionette Illumi falls to the ground, nursing a bloodied lip, blank eyes boring holes into yours. You close your eyes, allowing the fog in your head to creep back in and silencing your thoughts. .....

“Why do we suffer?” You asked him once, tending to the slashes carved into the high cheekbones that support his face. He is sitting cross legged across you, cocking his head to the side as he lazily shrugs in response.

“Because we deserve it.” .....

Cruelty is a given.

Mercy cannot be free. But even in the hollowness of this God forsaken household where demons abide and immorality abounds, do you continue to repeat the motions of your dance as you jumped around empty halls filled with unheard screams, slowly and surely losing pieces of your own humanity

......

“I am going to be honest with you,” Zeno says on the first morning you’ve seen him in months, “I thought you were dead.”

You lower your gaze to the board, absent minded lay pushing a knight forward, “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m not disappointed.” He stops, and takes your rook with a sweep of his pawn, “just surprised.”

“I’m just full of them.” You chuckle, push your queen forward and he returns the gesture with his king. He gives you an unreadable look, and shakes his head.

Even your laughter is beginning to sound like his The quietness of the library is a comfort to the oppressing silence from the rest of the house, its strong scent of aged leather and cinnamon a stark contrast to the pristine sterility that marked Illumi’s wing of the house. You mimic Zeno’s motion, taking a sip of tea and sigh at the strange familiarity of the situation.

“What would you ask for, if you win?” He asks, balancing his chin on one hand while twirling his mustache with another. Between his wild white hair and eyes that shone like the sky, he looks absolutely nothing like his grandchild.

You turn your attention back to the board, barely evading his queen. “My freedom, of course.”

He eyes you with what you deem as pity, your stomach churns and an unknown beast inside you rages and presses on.

“You’re expecting too much from me. I have no control over that boy.”

“You’re his grandfather.” Ignoring the cold pit that sinks in your stomach, you can only shake your head in disbelief.

He smiles, and moves his knight forward, cornering your king.

“True. But I am not the head of the house.”

A pensive silence falls between the both of you, and you throw yourself back into the chair, staring forlornly into the scenes of death carved into the gold ornate ceiling.

“Will they return my body to my family when I finally die?” You asks in a whisper so low that no one but him could hear it. Zeno follows your gaze and the sigh he releases sounds too old, even for him. “They don’t exist here. And neither do you.” .....

“Oh, hello? I wasn’t aware Illu kept little birds in his room.”

You look up from your book, and come face to face with a stranger dressed in colorful clothes, perching precariously on the windowsill you had so surely locked hours ago. Eyeing his delicate swinging earrings and wild ginger hair fills you with an unknown hunger so strong that your mouth waters and sends you into a trembling fit. He is, after all, the first living person you’ve seen in months who isn’t a Zoldyck or a butler, and stands as a break in the endless monotony you’ve resided in.

“Can you not speak? I don’t bite,” he smirks, helping himself into the room as he peels back perfectly shaped cupid bow lips to show off a nice collection of canines, “hard.”

He saunters around purposefully, curiously examining the array of perfumes that line the dressing table with the controlled presence of a predator. From your seat, you note the ease at which he walks, born of confidence that nothing in this house bore a threat to his existence, and each light step he takes sends a pulse through your being. Turning back to your book, you frown upon noticing its edges were torn from the force it’s taken you to stop shaking.

“Sorry,” you apologize half-heartedly, “I wasn’t aware clowns could actually talk.” The strange man laughs, and it’s a strange light combination of charm and malice. Like poisoned cherry blossoms, you supposed.

“You’re thinking of mimes, my dear. Besides,” he leans dangerously close over you, tilting your face upwards as he conjures an ace of hearts somewhere behind your ear and places it delicately on your lap, “I’m a magician.”

You twirl the card in your fingers, and toss it to the floor, unamused. “Can you make me disappear then, Mr Magician?”

He picks the card up and it seemingly disappears into his armband. “For the right price, but I’m a good friend of Illu’s and you don’t have anything I particularly want.” You almost laugh from the absurdity of the statement.

“He doesn’t have friends.” No, Illumi’s head was far, far too empty to have the closest semblance of a relationship with any living thing.

The man smiles, baring his teeth, but it’s more of a threat from your angle.

“Well, if you see him, pass him this card, he’ll know what to do.” A joker unknowingly appears in your lap, and he hops onto the windowsill again. In a panic, you realize your last connection to the outside world was leaving, and the thought of it was so unbearable the next sentence flies out before you could stop yourself.

“Can I be your friend too, Mr Magician?”

He freezes, and looks with you with death in his eyes, eyeing your limp arm, and his voice is cold when he tells you this:

“Sorry little bird, but I don’t like broken toys.” .....

You’re not too sure how long you stood staring towards the outside world after the man left.

But you do remember falling on your knees, tears piling down your cheeks like torrents, the shattering pain or cool hardness of the floor nothing compared to the explosion erupting from the very core of your being as you struggle helplessly to maintain steady breathing.

You’re broken.

“I’m not.” Was this scar always there?

You’re broken. “I’m not.” How long have you been on fire? You’re broken.

Two words. Two simple words was all it took to blow away the safe haven of fog you created in the confines of your mind to cope with the monstrosity of your situation, and those words, spoken so cruelly, threw all your pretense, and left you exposed to the real horror of being set aflame.

You wrap yourself in fine linen sheets, still on fire, still burning, and scream until your throat is aflame and splotches of red dye the white sheets. ......

“I would give up everything for the chance to see you laugh again.”

The laughter that echoes the room sounds hollow and spiteful, and you slap his hands away as you glare at the shadow before you.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Illumi.” You bite out each wretched syllable of his name with so, so much hate that he blinks, the gears in his head whirring to a boil before he chooses to ignore the hostility in your voice.

“If you really love me,” you push yourself to shaking feet, voice far stronger than your legs. It leaves a bitter taste and you want to tear your tongue out and toss it into the nearest fire to forget everything,

“let me go.”

He blinks again, and you can almost hear the cogs in his brain rattle as they jolt to life and begin to slowly turn. “You’re my wife, do I not mean anything to you?”

“Oh Illumi,” you press yourself against his chest, the name he carved so lovingly into your skin tingling. The thumping of his heart is irregularly slow, even at your proximity does his heartbeat feel nonexistent, and if you weren’t any wiser you would have assumed he were a corpse (you’re not wrong). The coldness of his skin is freezing when your skin brushes past, and he tilts his head to the side, unable to comprehend the rage and disgust pooling at the top of your tongue, eyes huge and empty, like dead fish, as he continued to wrap himself in layers of denial and lies. The laughter that escapes you is impossible to stop, for how can a man so deadly be so, so stupid?

You cup his cheek, brushing errand strands from his face, “how can anyone ever love you?”

An explosion of poison consumes you, and your dinner from last night reacquaints itself with your mouth before you empty it all out onto the floor. Something fragile cracks, and the pain washes over you immediately. Your wrist is shattered, and you can tell from the splintered bones that jut against your skin that it isn’t a clean break, that bastard.

He sends a swift kick to your knees, the force of which destroys your knee caps (you know deep down that you’ll never walk again after this).

“You are my wife. You will love me.” He forces you up by your hair, not caring that the force nearly breaks you neck “nothing will change that.”

You spit at his face.

“I didn’t choose to be your wife.” This budding anger, this itch of rage, which grew and grew over these months, exploded into a torrent as you screamed each word out, dripping with poison, acid burning the flimsy thread that held your peace until your throat is raw and you can’t muster the strength to shout anymore. Somewhere along the way, you wondered if that really was your voice and when it became full with this much hate?

Broken toy.

“I didn’t choose any of this.” You heaved out, “I didn’t want any of this.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the steady pressure he applies blocks off your oxygen intake as he easily lifts you off the ground by the neck, slamming you against the wall as you helplessly kicked at him. He gently brushes your hair away from your face, and leans in close enough for you to stare at every single scar that lined his porcelains skin.

“I love you so, so much. And I will help you see it too.” The sharp prick and a wave of panic washes over you, stomach twisting as your crushed ribs forced the air air out of your very lungs, eyeing the offending yellow capped needle Illumi inserts another at the base of your collarbones, right above his name.

Everything turns black. .....

Illumi isn’t often enamored by the sights the world has to offer the way other people are. To him, the flashes of color mean just that: simple, meaningless forms.

But you, in your simple, meandering way and silly little dances made his heart pound in a way he never thought would ever be possible.

It was just simply irresistible.

You dance across the room, full of grace and delicate steps. The warmth of your hand grazes his cheek as you slowly dip down to plant a kiss on his forehead, smiling down at him with so much love that he feels drunk of it.

Illumi smiles, humming the same eight notes of the song as you begin to repeat the motions of your dance once again.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #illumi #yandere #hisoka #illumi x reader #zeno zoldyck #illumi becomes a worse bean

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

Text

the closest i’ve been to a bar was at ballet class

summary: just some smut building up to 🎟🩰(that’s a ticket and ballet slippers in case you aren’t reading this on mobile)

pairings: reader x natasha romanoff, reader x steve rogers, reader x carol danvers, reader x ...someone 👀

word count: a little under 12,000

warnings: everything. as usual, all kinds of sex in here. i can’t remember all of it. some is pretty rough so avoid if that is not your thing.

a/n: so...i may have added a fourth and bc i’m a jerk, i’m not yet tagging who... but i’ve been thirsting for this character so hard lately and idk why! i’m done tho, i swear! no more. none.

a/n2: so, obviously there is no show here and they have yet to find out about each other but i started writing that but this all happened first and it would have been like a billion words. so part 3 will be coming!

a/n3: part 1

Your ballet instructor was Natasha’s number one enemy. It had started almost instantly. As with her experiences in ballet, she felt that your instructor was someone who simply needed to be watched. She said ballet instructors were hardly ever completely honest, they always had ulterior motives.

You highly doubted your instructor—a 38-year-old woman with an amazing husband and three adorable children—was up to no good. But you couldn’t take another lecture!

Natasha liked to remind you that she had been at this for a long time. Sure, she was paranoid, sometimes. But other times, she was very much correct and that was enough for her. She just wished you would put your guard up sometimes.

So she claimed, anyway. And she was convincing, but at the end of the day, she was glad you weren’t jaded and cynical. It meant she got to take care of you. It meant that she got to protect you in all the ways she knew how—threats, murder maybe.

She was waiting for you at your apartment around noon after practice was over. Her eyes sought out any signs of stress. You knew you looked tired—a big show was coming up, that same show you knew was going to conclude this whole sneaking around thing you had going on. You also knew there was a huge bruise on your shin and arm that she would be furious about when she undressed you.

"Hungry?" she inquired. No 'hello', no 'I missed you', but Natasha liked to save that for when you were falling asleep. She really thought you wouldn't remember how sappy she'd gotten in the morning. You let her pretend because the alternative was no sappiness.

"Starving. Are we going somewhere?"

"Let’s stay in, I’ll make something."

You opened your apartment for her and she waltzed right in. She directed you to change as she headed for the kitchen.

You didn’t have the energy to try to hide the bruises. It was better to get it out of the way. Besides, were you going to say no when she wanted to fuck you?

You chose a tiny bra top and a pair of tiny shorts. Maybe your ass would distract her.

She was at the counter, waiting to see what you came out in. A box of pasta in front of her, a few jars and a saucepan off to her side. It wasn’t anything too crazy but you were okay with that, and at least she wouldn’t get to tease you in that restaurant she loved taking you to.

Concept: picture that scene from a movie where the rich, white man has his favorite restaurant that he takes his billions of too-young, way-out-of-his-league dates to and the staff is used to not mentioning any of the terrible things they see to his wife. Now, take that vision and place it on Natasha. Subtract all the dates and the wife and that Natasha was out of your league, and that had you sitting at her usual table of her favorite overpriced, noisy, terribly lit restaurant at least once a week. At least you were starting to make friends with all of the hostesses and most of the servers. But they weren't naive, they knew when Natasha was, in a sense, in a mood, and they knew when to be succinct but still helpful. That was what made part of The Incident possible—

"What is that bruise?" she demanded, startling you out of your thoughts.

You contemplated the innocent act for a moment, but you'd rather be dismissive. It was just quicker. "Nat, I'm fine—"

"Did you get that in class?"

"No."

"Where, then?"

You sighed. "When I was leaving class. I fell walking down the stairs."

"Because you’re so tired!"

"I am not that tired," you protested.

"Y/N—"

You sauntered over to her, sliding in between her and the counter. "I guess I am a little tired but only because I’ve had some trouble falling asleep lately."

She already knew where you were going, but she would never refuse one of your challenges. You weren’t in charge, she was, and you wouldn’t know that if she was too soft with you. She sighed, "why is that?"

"Because you haven’t fucked me in so long."

She rolled her eyes.

"When you tire me out, I sleep like a baby. Without you...I have to tire myself out and that can take forever."

She sighed, knowing she was not going to get you on a different path. "Forever, huh?"

You nodded. "I mean...I can think about you when I do it. Your mouth, your fingers... But it’s not the same."

"And how often, exactly, do you think about me?"

It was the closest she was ever going to get to asking where she stood with you. She knew there were others but she wanted to hear that she was special compared to the rest. She was, so special you couldn’t put it into words. But that didn't mean Steve and Carol weren't special in their way as well. You figured they were going to have a hard time wrapping their mind around that when they found out about this. A competition? Sure, they could understand that.

"Very often," you promised. "I missed you."

You craved them exactly as you had gotten used to having them in your life. The mornings had you longing to be with Natasha, staying in bed late while you thought about how she wasn’t going to be walking you to class or waiting for you after. Nights were reserved for Steve when you realized how empty your bed felt and wanted to have one of your under-the-covers conversations with him—a trend started in the winters when he would unintentionally wake you up because he was trying to slip out of bed, it was your way of keeping him there for just a little longer. Then there were weekends, random mid-days, and every Thursday night that Carol had you set aside just for her so she could take you to Maria's for dinner.

Natasha's hands settled on your hips. "I missed you, too. But that doesn’t mean I don't want to hit your damn teacher."

"Why waste time?"

"I’m nearly retired," she countered. "I have the time."

"No, you really don’t." You slowly removed your shirt and then shimmied out of your shorts before kicking them away. "All of your time needs to be spent on me, not worrying about my teacher."

Natasha always looked at you like she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful regardless of how little time elapsed from the last, but there was something different this time. For the first time since she’d met you, your skin was an unpainted canvas. Steve and Carol had been gone as well and that meant there were no bruises anywhere because there was no one else.

Natasha liked marking you up because Steve did—not that she knew that, but it was a possessive outlet for them both. Steve’s marks were always bigger, bigger fingers, bigger love bites, she’d known instantly that he was a man—random, inconsistent. Hers were smaller, healed quicker, but no doubt sent the message that you were fucking a woman. Something she wanted to be known to whoever else was sharing your bed.

She lifted you onto the counter, leaving your hips hanging over the edge as she dropped to her knees. Immediately, her mouth was set to your inner thigh where she nipped at your skin and kissed after. She never once took her eyes off you as she switched legs..

You wouldn’t beg, even after the eighth time she made that switch. You knew she had her plans and not even you could change them. That didn’t mean you weren’t dripping and squirming, cursing her for being so thorough, however.

She shoved your legs apart wide as she stood, dipping down to run her tongue through you slowly, just once.

You shuddered when she caught your clit. "Natasha—"

"Hush." She eyed your pussy, then the rest of you. "You are delicious, baby. I can’t believe I had to go so long without tasting you." She chose your hip bones to mark up next but finally, slid two fingers inside you. She didn’t move them, she just wanted to fill you up a little.

You clenched around them several intentional times and she didn’t bat an eye. She was trying to drive you crazy; she hadn’t said it but the second you tried to take, if you rolled your hips, if you grabbed her arm and attempted to rush her, she would make you wait longer.

She trailed up to your breasts, small kisses scattered without pattern before she started to bite and suck until your skin was numbly tingling. You knew her game was over when she pressed her lips to yours.

You wasted no time, opening your mouth for her tongue and moaning out of the sheerest need. There was just something about Natasha’s lips that could always get you weak. They were beautiful to look at but they felt even better gliding across your skin, kissing, sucking.

She was the one who pulled away, turning down to look at her fingers still inside you. "You are soaking my hand."

Now you grabbed her forearm, pulling her fingers in deeper. "Fuck me, please."

She acted as if she was thinking about it, arched her eyebrow and curled her fingers once, twice, and then yanked them away from you.

Your eyes widened up at her. What the hell?

"Go sit at the table while I finish making the pasta."

Your mouth dropped a little. "Um...?"

"Hurry up," she ordered.

She was serious, dead serious. You slid off the counter, leaning down to reach for your clothes.

"I didn’t tell you to get dressed," she pointed out. With her hands on your arms, she stood you back up and turned you around. You went to move away but she grabbed your ass and leaned down to kiss your cheek, then gently urged you forward. "Sit down, stop pouting. Be a good girl or else I won’t be fucking you, understood?"

No, hell no, not understood. At all! But you didn’t say any of that as you moved for the table. No, no, no way in hell.

Steve teased, even Carol had her tendencies to make you wait, but Natasha was different. After that first time in the studio, she had never again made you wait for something that you wanted. She gave and gave until you shamelessly flaunted how spoiled you were to anyone who would listen—mostly the ballerinas from class. It was that Natasha didn’t need to be as in control as them, it was that it didn’t need to be some power struggle.

Maybe she was trying something different, but that meant that you could do that, too. Instead of sitting in a chair like a boring mouse, you turned to her and sat on the table instead.

She was pouring the box of pasta in the pot, but she turned up to arch an eyebrow at you.

You lifted one leg, then the other, setting the arches of your feet on the edge of the table. You were obscenely spread for her and she acted as if that wasn’t unnatural.

You brought your hand down to your pussy, two fingers slowly tracing circles around your clit. You watched her watching you the entire time, there was never a break in her resolve. But you were too far now to just quit, besides that was more than likely was her feigned indifference was trying for.

She didn’t stop making the pasta either, but that was how you knew you were winning. She was trying to speed dinner along because she was going to remind you that she was in charge.

It was so cute that they believed that. You worried that she may not let you finish that night, so even if you wanted to give her that little bit of obedience you could manage, you weren't convinced it was in your best interest.

Your hand began to move frantically as you cried out her name because you were just mean like that. Your eyes closed and your head fell back as you took in two of your fingers. Your hips rose to grind against the heel of your palm, around that time you were almost certain you’d heard something clatter in the kitchen.

Your finish was little more than a show, an end you’d drawn yourself to many times in their absence but one that you played up. It felt as good as it could have but you needed them, nothing else could suffice. That didn't mean you weren't acting like it was the best orgasm you'd ever had.

You came down quickly and did so without a word or even another glance at her. You climbed off the table, sat in a chair, and looked at her once more.

She looked down at the counter in front of her and shook her head. Yep, you were in major trouble, but you deemed it well worth it.

After an uneventful meal, she took you to the bedroom where she edged you ruthlessly. She was trying to get you to apologize for misbehaving, but you refused. Well, until she told you that she wasn't going to give you the presents she brought you back from Paris. (Later, you opened a new pair of thigh-high boots and a diamond choker with a dangling charm of cursive letters spelling out angel.)

And finally, when you gave in and apologized, she herself was worked up beyond comprehension and set your cunt over her face so she could eat you out until you were crying and delirious. Thankfully, she didn’t stop even though you begged her to, not until she was satisfied.

That was the first night Natasha stayed over. She kept her arms wrapped around your bare torso to keep you pinned to her as tightly as possible. You felt her running her hands through your hair until you fell asleep, enjoying the sound of her breathing in the quiet room.

In the morning, you woke first. You were able to watch her sleep for a while, surprised by how peaceful she looked. And you were caught off by how good she looked in your bed, her red hair fanned out over your pink pillowcases, the sunlight filtering through the blinds and layering her in gold light.

Her arms were slack around you, her right falling away as you sat up. You situated yourself on her side, crossing your top leg over her hip. You took her hand in yours, guiding two of her fingers to your already wet pussy.

You teased your clit for several minutes, careful not to wake her just yet. When you were ready, you slid down on two of her long fingers. Still, she was not woken by you.

You rolled your hips desperately, moaning every time your clit swept against her palm. You felt her fingers curl on their own and moaned louder, an attempt to get her conscious.

When her eyes shot open, they focused on you instantly. You continued to fuck yourself on her fingers, setting your head on the pillow next to hers and staring in her eyes.

"Fuck," she whispered. Then she was up and urging you onto your back. She spread your legs wide and slotted herself between them. She started slow, hands groping your breasts as she dragged her pussy against yours.

She was deliciously slick, you could feel her cunt dripping onto yours. Wet sounds filled the room, along with the small, desperate noises that spilled from your open mouth.

When she knew she was close, she used your thigh as leverage, moving quicker. It was a breath-taking scene when Natasha got lost in pleasure. She shut her eyes, tilted her head back and her red curls lined her back, her breasts bounced hard because that was how she was fucking you. She didn’t stop until you were both screaming each other's name and coming.

She collapsed on top of you, mouth lazily seeking out yours. "That’s the best way I’ve ever been woken up."

You smiled.

"Turn over, let me see your gorgeous ass."

You waited until she stepped off the bed to roll over, eagerly sticking your ass out for her. She had never asked you to do this so you were excited to see where she would take it.

You heard her get back on the bed and then felt her hands gripping your ass hard.

"You have such a beautiful ass."

You smirked, glancing back at her.

She set her body flat against your back and you titled your head just so you could kiss her. She began grinding her cunt against your ass, nipping at your lips as she moaned. One of her hands slithered down between your pussy and the mattress, her fingers circling your sensitive flesh skillfully.

Her soaking pussy brushed over your ass desperately, you could feel her soaking you all the way down the back of your thigh. She got herself off on your skin, never once easing up on your clit even though you’d finished and were terribly oversensitive to her touch. Instead, once again, she stopped only when she wanted to.

And if you thought that would be the end, you didn’t know her very well. She sat up and brought you with her. She took your hips in her hands and situated you over one of her thighs, her front pressed to your back once again. "Come on my thigh, baby, don’t stop until I tell you to."

You leaned over, using your elbows to keep your balance. You rode her thigh hard, making sure to give her quite the show of your ass. When you were reaching your end, you grabbed one of her hands and set it over your ass. She took the cue immediately, grabbing you, digging her fingers in.

When you finished, she shoved you flat onto the mattress. You were only half aware of what she was doing behind you, still floating from your orgasm. You snapped right out of that when you felt her lips against your ass. She kissed you several times before you felt her tongue against your hole.

You startled, hands fisting in the sheets. You were definitely surprised, you guys had never even approached this topic. But just as soon as you had felt her, she was gone. She turned you back over, kissed up your body, stopping only to worship your breasts. When she reached your mouth, she gave you an out-of-place chaste kiss and sat up. "Seriously, we need to get out of bed or I'm never going to stop fucking you."

When Carol opened her apartment door for you, things quickly changed. She gripped your arm and walked you to the couch where she forcefully sat you down. One thing was clear: she was in no mood to hear you speak.

"Stay." She headed to the kitchen where you heard cupboards being opened and slammed shut, the fridge a few times. Mostly, she was just walking around.

Perhaps you should have been scared, but you were just wet. So fucking wet.

She came back with a beer, glanced at you, then began pacing. "You’re..." she trailed off and shook her head before taking a long drink from the bottle in her hand. "I mean, I can’t even..."

It was definitely a mistake to laugh.

Her eyes widened and she turned to you, a clear warning, but one that you would not heed. "Just try to make me understand," she finally settled on. "What possessed you?"

"Well, you were gone for quite a while."

"So, you missed me?"

"Of course."

"So, you decide to be a brat?"

Was that supposed to make you regret acting out? It was a somewhat humiliating thing for her to call you but you didn’t dislike it. "Well, you weren’t paying enough attention to me."

Again, that sharp look that you were sure was supposed to make you backtrack. "I only pay attention to good girls, girls who behave."

You hummed, standing. "I suppose I should go home, then."

"Sit down," she growled.

Instead, you tossed your purse on the couch and slowly removed your jacket. Nat had left you covered in marks but she was secure enough in her place with you that she didn’t need to do so in a way that would inconvenience you. She understood you were a ballerina so she left your neck, shoulders, and chest mostly untouched. Your breasts, stomach, and thighs were another story, but you were still in a tiny ass skirt that allowed Carol to finger you in the car before you’d arrived at another little gathering Maria was having—who had more parties, her or Tony Stark? She was giving him a run for his money.

Which was where you’d started acting out. Carol had picked you up around noon and you were as sweet as could be. But around 3, you were suddenly hit with the realization that you wanted to be fucking her more than anything else. It started with a text about how you had taken off your underwear. She was having none of it, she told you this was not happening. You let her know that the scrap of lace was in her purse.

You sent a picture 30 minutes later. She warned you to stop. You sent a video showing her just how wet you were for her, then told her all the things you wanted her to do to you. All the things you had missed while she was away.

In total, you sent her 27 texts, 2 videos, and 7 pictures. You’d received 4 responses, but the final one was completely out of place. Show me your ass. You obliged but then nothing. She said nothing, she requested nothing further.

Did you feel as though you'd gone too far? Not exactly. Carol was definitely into the most public shit, making possible for the second part of The Incident. You still blushed thinking about that day.

She rolled her eyes at your display of disobedience, bringing the bottle to her lips once more. "Strip."

You didn’t need to be told twice. First, it was the shirt, and you paid no mind at all to what Natasha had left you with, but you noticed Carol's lingering gaze. Next, you pushed your skirt down and stepped out of her pumps you’d borrowed. You loved wearing heels when you were out with Carol, she was taller than you without and sometimes it brought you to her level or made you just a tad taller.

She made her way closer to you, setting her bottle on the coffee table off to her side. Abruptly, she grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you closer to her. "If you wanted me to get rough with, princess, all you had to do was ask."

You didn’t have time to respond before she was kissing you, greedy and demanding. But just as you reached up to touch her face, she yanked back and turned you around with her hands on your shoulders. She grabbed your hair once more and forced you down toward the table.

You were on your knees, bent over the edge, your breasts flat against the freezing glass. Your cheek was pressed so hard against the solid surface you almost couldn’t open your mouth to speak. "Carol—"

"Silence."

It was a while before you heard her move, she got down behind you and kept one hand on your head as the next began to feel through your folds.

She slipped one finger inside you, pulled back, then added another. She curled up against that spot that always made you buck your hips wildly, even though now you were digging into the sharp wooden border of the table she’d bent you over.

"You know how to drive, right, princess?"

You paused for a moment, confused.

"Answer me."

"Um, yes?"

"You know that when you reach a traffic light, green means go and red means stop, don’t you?"

"Yeah..."

"So, right now, bent over this table, your soaking cunt filled with my fingers, you are...?"

She was speaking slowly as if you were a child that could barely comprehend this conversation. Never mind that you were definitely getting lost and her fingers were turning your brain to mush. It was another humiliation tactic and you felt yourself blushing. She’d never been quite so...formal. "Green?"

"Are you asking or telling? Green means that you are still my desperate little whore that needs to be fucked hard."

"I’m green," you assured.

"And if at any point you feel like you need me to slow down or you are beginning to get worried or uncomfortable, if you need any verbal communication, you’re yellow. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And you understand if you need me to stop, if I’m hurting you or you don’t like what’s going on, you can tell me you are red and you know I won’t get mad at you?"

"Yes."

"One more time, what are you?"

"Green."

She pulled her fingers from inside you. "Arms on the table."

You hurriedly obeyed, gripping the edges hard. Carol never really spoke to you like this, it was all spoiling you in attention and affection. This was something else, something you hadn’t anticipated when you started this game.

She brought her hand down on the right side of your ass, your hips stuttered forward and your gasp and the echo of the smack filled the room. Your cheeks burned and your eyes filled with tears. It didn’t hurt, she was experimenting, but you knew it would eventually.

"And what are you now, princess?"

You swallowed, willing your voice to stay even. "Green."

She finally let go of your hair and you tilted your head a little just to get the pressure off your cheekbone. She repeated the slap on the opposite side with just a bit more pressure.

You shuddered and blurted out the same color. Your skin was stinging but you felt yourself growing wetter, your slick running down your thighs now.

She had you in this cycle until she found enough force that it was barely manageable. Tears were running down your cheeks, landing on the table and she had to hold you up on your knees because you no longer could.

She hummed. "These marks are going to be pretty in the morning."

You realized then where this came from. Had you come to her with the same attitude but without all of those marks Nat left you covered in, you probably never would have pushed Carol to this point. They had both officially found their ways to be just the slightest bit possessive.

"You sorry?"

You snorted. "No...are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You should have fucked me at the party if you really wanted me to stop sending you pictures and videos."

She rolled her eyes. "Stay here. I'm not joking."

You smirked as she stormed off to her bedroom. You knew what she would be coming back with. She returned naked, save for her strap. A smooth red dildo hung between her legs, one of the larger ones she owned.

You went to stand up but she clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Crawl over here."

You lifted your eyebrows—crawl? Hadn't she just called you ‘princess’? But you could be a ‘whore’ since she called you that, too. On hands and knees, you made your way to her.

She reached down to grab your hair, pulling you up to stand on your knees. She said nothing else as she used her other hand to press the tip of the dildo against your lips until you opened your mouth. A struggle that ended with the sounds of you choking on the piece of silicone down your throat.

The rest of the night was spent on the couch. She made you ride her strap until you physically couldn't continue, which ended up being a bit after two in the morning. She didn't tease or edge, she allowed you to come as many times as you wanted to, in fact, she ordered it—unstated, but the threat that would come from not playing her game was clear.

She didn't help, however, she stayed still underneath you and didn't say a word. She just watched you, watched as you pathetically attempted to get her to break. You would kiss her, take her fingers and suck on them, place her hands over your breasts. A few times, you even got up, turning your back to her before sinking back down on the dildo, knowing that she would love the sight of your battered ass.

Steve understood your love of ballet.

Sure, Natasha knew what you were talking about and related to you somewhat, but she also had her opinions about ballet and sometimes she was a little closed off about your dancing. And hell, Carol would support you doing anything. Tap, softball, book club, Broadway, murder, she just wanted you to be happy.

With Steve, well, he sort of understood interests that left you a little battered and bruised. His new obsession (TM) was patching you up through those unanticipated injuries and wrapping your feet before you practiced at home to prevent injuries. It was a careful 20-minute process where he was utterly focused on making sure you were completely protected. And either he paid tremendous attention to you—his skills at quickly prepping your feet was enviable—or he had a thing for ballerinas. You were okay not knowing.

When he called you and told you he was coming over, you noticed something in his voice. It was different, not that usual sweet and doting tone, but you'd heard it before. Steve was always confident and assertive, but this was...something else. Something more. When he told you that you needed to get dressed in nothing more than a leotard, you wanted to be a brat and flat out refuse, maybe just tease, but you didn’t. You had enough sense to know that it wouldn’t get you the results you wanted.

You also had reason to be nervous. Carol had left you some nice marks. They didn’t really hurt anymore, but they were there. There was also no false illusion about what they were. Steve would know and you just weren’t sure how he would feel about them. Most of your ass was covered with what you were wearing but there were still the especially dark areas that could be seen through your one-piece, and there were a few bruises that extended the cut of your outfit. Not to mention, there was no way to hide what Natasha left on your upper thighs.

But you just decided to act like it wasn’t an issue. He was the one who said he couldn’t be your boyfriend, right? He couldn’t get upset over others leaving marks behind. At least that was what you kept repeating to yourself as you walked toward your barre in the corner of your apartment living room.

You began going through your usual warm-up routine, only glancing at him when you felt you wouldn’t be caught. He was laid out on the couch, eyes following your legs as if he hadn’t seen you do this a dozen times already. He was already hard, made more noticeable by the one leg draped over the edge of the cushions. His hand was on his thigh, fingers twitching just barely. The control he was trying to maintain was clear on his face, through his sharp blue eyes, his set jaw, and furrowed brow.

It was silent the entire time and your nerves were growing. Eventually, you would have to turn around and he would have the perfect view of your ass. He’d already noticed your thighs, you saw him eyeing you when he was prepping your feet for the pointe shoes. But he didn’t say anything and he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t allowed to. Right?

With a finishing soutenu turn, you were facing the opposite direction. You heard him sit up but then it was completely silent, minus your breathing and your shoes brushing along the floor.

When you were done, you stayed put. You’d gone as far as teaching him a lot of ballet vocabulary because he knew what he wanted to see and after your warm-ups, he would often direct you. It was always somewhat thrilling—apparently, you both shared this depraved ballerina kink. Maybe there had been role play—maybe he was the casting director and you were a desperate ballerina auditioning for a role, willing to do anything to get it, and maybe he pretended he had a million and one critiques for you, and maybe instead of having the talent, you got the role after you sucked him off.

“Face the barre. Run through your pliés.”

You turned to your side, pretending to be focused on keeping your hips squared and your pelvis locked. You could do pliés no problem, but the alternative was meeting his stare in the mirror and you were too nervous to do that. You completed the demi-pliés slowly and the grand pliés much the same. Normally, he would speak during this step, knowing that he wasn’t going to distract you, but nothing.

You waited for more instructions but they never came. You felt his arms wrap around your waist and you startled—you hadn’t heard him get so close.

He just held you for a moment, pinned your back to his chest as he kissed the side of your face. His hands began to squeeze your breasts and you melted into him eagerly. But soon, gentle touching became rough grabbing and all you could do was watch him in the mirror. He looked at you like he was starving and he touched you like it had been ages.

One of his hand dropped down and grabbed your ass. You held on tighter to the barre, shuddering. "What do you call him?"

Because you just didn’t know what was good for you, you laughed. "Are you jealous?"

He gripped you harder, bringing down his other hand to join. "I don’t need to be. What do you call him?"

'I’m not fucking another man," you informed, amusement still clear in your tone. Steve Rogers jealous, you never thought you’d see the day.

"Then what do you call her?"

She had you call her captain, but you couldn’t exactly tell him that. "What do you want me to call you?" you purred. "Sir?"

"No."

You hummed. “Master? You don’t strike me as the type, but you’re weird enough that I wouldn’t be surprised."

"No."

"Then I’m not sure what you want, Steve." You did know, you’d always had the suspicion since he liked to take care of you and loved calling you baby girl.

"I won’t ask you again," he finally said. He didn’t much care what you were doing with other people, but he did have a special liking to your ass. Maybe he was just mad that someone was spanking you before he was.

When it came to Steve, you knew how to get under his skin. You always knew just what to say to shock him and he could pretend all he wanted that he didn’t love when you would say the filthiest things to him, but you knew better. And after he just handed you this, how were you supposed to resist? "I don’t think I’ll have enough time to answer."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, are we on a clock?"

You shrugged, leaning back to set your head on his shoulder. "Well, yeah, if you want to fuck me before mom gets home."

He scoffed, averting his gaze forward.

You knew you’d caught something though, his hands tightened on your hips and his jaw was doing that thing.

"You are sick."

You snorted. "And you’re hard, so."

He turned you abruptly, pinning you between his body and the barre. "Fine, what’s the story?"

You hummed. "You met my mom in a bar, you liked her, you started this all with the purest intentions. But then you stayed over one night, and there I was. You’ve tried fighting it—"

"But you don’t make it easy," he sighed.

You smirked. "I’m sorry, daddy. Really."

Any last reluctance he had was destroyed when you called him daddy. "Well, baby girl, daddy really isn’t okay that you’ve been letting so many other people fuck you."

You shrugged. "Maybe I was practicing."

He scoffed, fully aware of how you were intending to turn this. "Practicing. For what?"

"You. I just wanted to make sure I was good when you fucked me."

He hummed, turning you away once again. "And are you?"

"Good?"

"Mhm."

"The best," you promised.

"Baby, I don’t know how I feel about sharing you. What if I wanted to be your first?"

"I—"

He brought his hand up to your neck and you fell silent. "Daddy is really disappointed."

Rarely did Steve commandeer your scenes. Mostly, he pretended that he was just humoring you, then he fucked you well enough that you weren’t in the position to tease him afterward. It was a great system. But you weren’t complaining that he was suddenly changing things.

"Are you sorry for letting me down?"

You nodded quickly. It was surprising how naturally he could commit to this character.

"How are you going to make it up to me?"

"I’ll do anything," you promised.

He took his other hand, palm sliding over your ass. "Have I ever told you how much I love your ass?"

"No."

"I do... you ever had your ass fucked?"

That was a huge no. The men you had been with up to that point, prior to Steve, did not meet your standards that well. There was lacking trust, skill, most of them couldn’t define 'foreplay' if their lives depended on it. And after, well, Carol was the only one who liked straps so much and she’d never brought it up.

"No."

"No?"

You were about to repeat the answer when his hand came down on your ass. It (illogically) was the last thing you were expecting and you pathetically squeaked before you could stop yourself.

"You know what I want you to call me. Correct?"

"Yes, daddy. No, I’ve never been fucked there."

"You want daddy to fuck you there?"

"Will daddy forgive me?"

"Maybe."

Pouting, right now? Steve Rogers knew no bounds. "Yes, daddy, I want you to fuck me there."

"Spread your legs and hold the barre."

You hurriedly did as he asked, watching his face in the mirror. His eyes were focused on your ass, the way you moved, the way you were teasing him by leaning over just a little.

First, he moved your suit aside and buried two fingers inside you. You were obscenely wet, something he chuckled at.

You would have blushed, had you not already been. He pumped his fingers in and out, ordering you to watch, even though you couldn’t see much with your leotard in the way. When he added another finger, you squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little, daddy." It always hurt, taking Steve was always an adjustment process. The first few times, uncomfortable, an orgasm without his fingers rubbing quick circles around your clit was impossible. You were getting used to him, it was still a stretch, you’d just grown to like that ounce of pain because you knew how much pleasure was going to follow.

"Well, imagine how they’re going to feel in your ass. Then imagine how my cock will feel. Worried?"

"No, daddy. I like it when you hurt me."

He thrust his fingers a tad indelicately and your hips jerked.

Ass—obviously you’d said that to get a rise out of him, but still, rude. You had completely soaked through your thick suit by the time he pulled his fingers out, and not a single finish to show for it. But you figured he knew what he was doing, he’d probably had experience with this before so you were fine letting him run the show.

He pulled the material over your ass so he could watch you take his fingers.

"Take it off, daddy," you pleaded, voice all weak and breathy. You were pathetic.

"Can’t, baby. If your mom walks in, you can’t be naked."

You whined unintelligibly. Was he serious right now?

"Don’t misbehave," he warned. "I don’t want to have to punish you. Understand?"

"Yes, daddy." You set your forehead to the bar, angling your head so you could still see his face.

"Are you ready?"

You nodded slightly. "Yes, daddy." You startled a bit when you felt his finger, taking a breath when he told you to. The first finger didn’t hurt but you felt impossibly full—he was right, how were you going to take him? There was a sting when he got to his knuckle but he told you to relax so you tried.

His opposite hand reached through the suit where he pressed his fingers flat to your clit and began to massage them over you, back and forth, with a toe-curling pace and pressure. He pumped his finger in and out of your ass until you were crying out about your approaching orgasm. His finger felt different now, better, and you weren’t sure any finish had ever built up so intensely.

Before you could find out, he stopped touching your clit, dipping his first two fingers down to tease your entrance. It was then that he decided to add another finger to the one working on opening your ass for him. He was quick about it, slid one finger out, shoved two in.

You threw your head back, moaning loudly.

"Starting to feel good, baby?"

"Yes, daddy." Maybe just the looming promise of the right kind of pain, but not necessarily good. Not yet.

He continued his pattern of edging you until he had four fingers inside your ass. Your legs were shaking and his other hand was completely soaked. He never stopped talking, telling you about all the times he had thought about fucking you like this, how he touched himself during these fantasies, how he was going to make you feel better than you’d ever felt.

Steve wasn’t the most forthcoming man. He didn’t lie, never, but sometimes he kept things so completely to himself and you never had a clue. When did this obsession with your ass start, and how? And if Carol had never spanked you, would he even be doing this now? What other fantasies was he keeping to himself?

"Do you want to go to your bedroom, doll?"

"Not yet."

"Do you want your mother to catch us?" he joked.

You snorted. "Maybe I do."

He leaned over you, kissing the side of your face. "You know, I’m just saying, if you really did have a mom and I was your stepfather and was trying to fuck you on a clock, we would have definitely been caught by now."

You couldn’t possibly refrain from smiling. "You’re such a dork, Steve."

He smiled a little. "You think you’re ready?"

"Yes."

He arched an eyebrow at you. "Don’t drop the act now, baby girl."

You scoffed. "Yes, daddy. I’m ready." You watched him in the mirror as he moved his pants out of his way, something he eventually had to remove his fingers to do. You immediately missed that full feeling.

He adjusted your leotard out of his way once more, opposite hand leading his cock to you. He pressed in just barely, allowing you time to adjust or to protest if this was a failed experiment. You guys had had a few of those. Beyond handcuffs, he did not like tying you up. You guys actually weren’t overly into public sexual situations, save for the final act of The Incident. And phone sex was something that only occurred in times of true desperation. This would not be making the same list.

He folded his hands over your hip bones, pulling you back further on his cock. Your mouth dropped and your eyes slammed shut. It didn’t feel natural, it was like your body was trying to push back at him but well, Steve was nothing if not stubborn. He just kept pushing and pushing until your ass was flush against him.

It felt like an eternity when he started to pull out and then another eternity when he thrust back in, but you enjoyed every second. You felt high by the time his hips were moving easily, steadily. It was this maddening feeling like you were on the edge of something really good but he wouldn’t touch you anywhere else and it just wasn’t enough to finish. You suspected he knew that.

His hands moved up your hips and your waist until he could grab your shoulders. He stood you up, his hips stilling, your back flat to his chest. Just when you thought you he couldn’t get any deeper inside you. He pressed his hands up until he closed around your breasts. He pinched your nipples through the material, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"Let’s go to the bedroom."

He would have a much better angle to watch, of course. Two months prior, you were days away from a huge audition so you were either at the studio or at home practicing. One night when you arrived home at nearly 10, it just felt like something wasn't right. Like someone had been in your apartment, nothing looked off. You just felt it.

You didn't lock the door behind you, just in case. You kept hold of your phone. You hadn’t spoken to Natasha that day and you worried she wouldn’t answer, she didn’t generally stay awake so late. And well, it wasn’t like Steve was a stranger to your AM calls or texts. But Carol lived closer and would have been there in a second if you’d needed her.

You made yourself move, tomorrow was another busy day. You flipped on your bedroom light, nearly sprinting straight back out when you saw flowers on your bed. But fear was quickly replaced with all sorts of confusion.

It looked like an expensive bouquet and there was a card right next to it. And see, these were not roses or daisies, these were dahlias—dark red, full, extra flowers. And who was more extra than... As the card read—ding, ding, ding. Steve Rogers.

When you’re not so busy, we’ll try it out.

Fear soon returned. Oh no, you thought to yourself. What could he have possibly done? It took you only three more seconds to find a full ass mirror over your bed. At the moment, you were stunned, but once more, pulled yourself out of it with your insistence of sleep. You did not have time for this.

However, when you were in bed, your phone charging next to you, you just couldn’t fall asleep. Of course. You had to call Steve. He’d broken into your home, or allowed others to break into your home, without your permission. All to put a fucking mirror over the god damn bed? He was insane, you realized.

"Hey, doll."

He sounded so smug. "You’re sick."

"Hmm, does that mean you don’t like it?"

"That means what I said: you’re sick."

"Take your clothes off."

You snorted. "Who said I’m wearing any?"

As mentioned, this wasn’t your usual routine with him. Steve loved seeing you, feeling you—phone sex just didn’t cut it. But who knew when you would have time for him next?

"There are many toys in your bedside table, pick one now."

You eagerly obliged, spreading your legs and fucking yourself with a vibrator he’d used on you several times. He told you to watch, to not take your eyes off the mirror.

The mirror added to discovering that Steve Rogers liked role-play had been some of the most pleasant surprises of your life. It was fun for both of you, never a question about when or where. When either of you wanted it, the other was always up for it. You’d thought it was just a one-time thing after the ballet incident, but then he found handcuffs in your room, which believe it or not, you hadn’t actually been using for sex. They were sex handcuffs, but they were just part of your costume to the Valentine's Day party Carol had taken you to, thrown by the lovely Maria.

Regardless, he asked you about them and you dismissed them. He then “arrested” you for “being a brat”. That got you bent over the kitchen counter as he fucked you from behind. He had you beg him to let you go but didn’t stop until his cum was dripping out of you onto the floor.

Then he’d noticed you were struggling in one of your classes and offered a prize for doing well on an upcoming exam. Of 50 questions, you’d only missed 4. He laid you out on your bed and told you he was going to eat you out. After the first time, you attempted to pull him up to you, gasping about how you needed him inside you, please Steve. He grabbed your hands and held them down, ordering you to call him professor Rogers.

Then there was the loose sugar daddy scene. He’d bought you a diamond choker on one of his trips away and it was stunning. You felt spoiled and wanted him to feel the same. You got on your knees and stayed there until you were sure your jaw was going to suffer permanent damage if you kept your mouth open that wide for much longer. It was three days later that he sent you a screenshot of your Instagram post about the diamond choker and told you to get dressed exactly how you were in the photo. So, in a rose pink wig, a tiny pink satin dress, a dangerously high pair of red heels, and the diamond choker. He didn’t use your name when finally got to your apartment, he called you baby and made you ride him, fully dressed, until you couldn’t sit up on your own.

Then there was the time Steve Rogers actually sent you the address to a sex shop and told you to meet him there. You’d had no idea until you pulled up to the building but you knew immediately that you were going to enjoy this. He asked you to help him find toys that his wife would enjoy—you told yourself you could play along, but you definitely needed to smack him upside the head later. When he got you in the car, after a little back and forth, you being somewhat mouthy, he placed one of the vibrators inside you and wouldn’t turn it off. His fingers paid attention to your clit the entire drive home.

Your payback for that was you dressed as one of his former chorus girls. A designer at the university that you’d met because she always made the costumes for the show was all too happy to help. You sent him a picture of the outfit then flipped the skirt up to show him you weren’t wearing underwear. The absolute last thing you expected was for him to show up in one of his suits. He was wild almost animalistic, he made you scream so loud that three different neighbors came to check if you were okay. Which had been a great source of pride to him.

Then you bought a stripper pole. It took 7 entire classes before you had any idea what you were doing. Though he appreciated it, it was a requirement of patience that he did not want to execute. Natasha, though,

Natasha loved watching you dance. Carol had the same problem as Steve but if you let Natasha, she would watch you for hours.

When you woke up, it was because Steve was getting out of bed. You glanced at the clock, 4 in the morning. He was getting up for his run, then he'd head out to the tower for another day at the office.

He fucked you again before he left. He had you on top of him, chest to chest, his arms wrapped tight around your back, one hand on the back of your head to hold you to the bend of his neck. He liked to do this with the mirror. He liked holding you flat against him and then watching your ass as he fucked you fervidly. He had become wild and insatiable since the mirror's arrival.

Natasha liked to lay you down, tie your legs to the bedpost, sometimes your arms, and would spend hours teasing you with her mouth. Sometimes, when she knew you weren’t too tired, she would tell you to finger yourself and she would stay next to you and watch in the mirror for as long as you would allow it.

Carol liked making you ride her and you couldn’t deny that was a beautiful scene to watch play out from above. She also liked to turn you away from her, settle directly behind you, drape your leg back over her hip, and fuck you with one of her straps.

They had their shared interests, that was undeniable. You still blushed every time you thought about The Incident. It occurred four months ago. They’d been on a short trip; not even a mission, they’d promised, they’d told you it was more politics than saving the world. The first one you saw when they got back was Carol.

She had texted you while you were out with friends and asked where you were. You informed her that you would be shopping alone after lunch. She joined you because she had a present that she just couldn’t wait. It was a vibrator that she could control from her phone. She never used it while you were walking, concerned that you may actually fall and hurt yourself but if you stopped to look at something or sat down for even a second, it was on.

Natasha had taken you to the restaurant. She told you to go to the bathroom and take off your bra and panties and she handed you her purse to place them in. She made you sit down next to her, slipped the same vibrator inside you, then made you sit on her lap for the entire night. She let you watch her phone, let you know when she was going to speed up or slow down, and all she did the entire night was sip on her wine and keep a tight hold on you so you couldn't move away from her.

Two days later, Steve made you wear it to class. Not ballet class, actual classes where you would be sitting down. It was so random when you would feel it and it was terrifying as he wasn't there. You never knew when or where, or if you were standing up and reading! You wanted to hit him when you got back to your apartment and he was waiting for you. You didn't, but you were really upset. Mostly because he hadn't let you come the entire day.

You wanted to know why? You’d asked, but their answers were dismissive and it wasn’t like you could elaborate on what you actually meant. You weren’t just asking why, you were asking why all three? It was just one of those answers you weren’t going to get while you were still keeping secrets from them.

When Natasha showed up after Steve left, it was two hours before class. You were still in bed checking social media when she slipped under the covers and made you come with her mouth and fingers. You’d taken a shower since Steve left, fortunately.

She kissed up your body and settled on top of you. You undressed her, kissing her bare skin as soon as you exposed it, her arms, her chest, her stomach, her legs, her ass, her cunt. She wanted you on top, grinding against her as she watched in the mirror.

She walked you to class and you fingered her in the dimly lit hallway before she left. She picked you up afterward and made you eat since you simply did not have the time to before class. She walked you home, set up her phone on the table next to the couch, sat down, sat you on top of her, and made you ride her fingers. Sometimes, Natasha wanted videos.

In between your second and third lecture classes, the biggest gap in your day, Carol texted. She picked you up in her car and drove out to some hiking trails that she felt were empty enough. In the back of her car, she had you pressed down to the seats, ass up as she fucked you with her strap. She held the side of your face down against the leather, not so much that it would stifle your screams.

When you finished, she made you clean the seat with your tongue. You could distinctly tell the difference between her taste and yours. She watched you as she removed the strap, taking the dildo and fucking herself with it.

She laid back and let you on top, directing you to sink down on the dildo as it was still buried in her pussy. You didn’t stop taking it until your pussy was against hers, thankfully it wasn’t one of the longer ones in her collection. Leaning over, you used the side of the car to keep your balance. She rose onto her elbows, nipping and sucking at your nipples as you ground your wet center against hers.

This was a regular day, one you had grown to love, one you were completely obsessed with. You were scared. You felt that the likelihood of them all being okay with this was low. But you were not so scared that you would ever lie to them. Withhold information? Sure. Lie? Out of the question.

You'd finally confided in the ballerinas. They'd always known about Natasha because she was at practice all of the time, but you only told half-truths about Steve and Carol. You didn't actually want them to know that you were sleeping with three Avengers. Maybe it was because everyone was drunk, but they promised you that Natasha adored you and she wouldn't leave you.

Okay, but what about Steve and Carol? You were stressed, really stressed. During the preparation period for shows, when training was intense, the ballerinas often went out on Saturdays and got wasted and talked. This was why you were in a loud night club with dancing and alcohol, and no one who was going to stop any of you from getting in trouble.

You were impaired but you were not a bad friend. At the bar, you counted all of your friends. They would likely be leaving with someone as they had all found someone to dance with, you would make the rounds in a minute. It was a rule, if they wanted to leave with a guy, that guy had to give you his number. You would verify it right then and there by sending him a text, then they could be on their way.

It was one in the morning when the girls started leaving. You had a drink at your side and five new names (proven by ID) and numbers saved in your notes.

"That's sweet."

You turned to your left, eyebrows shooting up. Gorgeous blue eyes, long brown hair, and beautiful fair skin. Wanda Maximoff was either sitting right next to you at a bar or you were completely imagining her. Given your drunken state and your current obsession with her, it was possible.

"Well, they don't exactly agree...I read stories about guys and bars and how to avoid getting chopped up into little pieces."

She smiled a little. "Who makes sure you get home?"

"I live close."

She hummed. "Were you heading out?"

Yes, you should say yes. You should leave because this could not happen. You didn't know how to explain that you were sleeping with three of them! And Wanda was wearing this red dress that was really tight and so low cut, so, how would you explain four?!

"Maybe...after I finish my drink."

She eyed your glass for a moment. "I'm Wanda."

"I know. I'm Y/N."

"I think you're the first person who's recognized me all night."

"You're stunning. I don't know how anyone wouldn't recognize you."

She smiled slightly, turning back down to her glass.

There was something so wrong with you. Instead of leaving, you just wanted to sit there and drunkenly flirt, clearly.

"Can I buy you another drink?"

No, say no! "Sure."

It was two drinks later, technically three drinks later, since you finished your drink and then she bought you two more. Things were starting to get...closer. You guys were closer. You'd started out at a normal distance, at least you assumed, but the next thing you realized, you were centimeters away from her.

She had her hand on your arm and she'd stopped ordering drinks. She was ready to leave or almost ready to leave. You hadn't neglected your duties as the best friend. You had 12 names and numbers in your notes but now you were realizing that you were all alone and if you wanted to do something, you could.

You'd talked about yourself a little, the usual. You were a student, you were a ballerina. However, you left the part out about your apparent gambling addiction! She didn't share much and you didn't think that was odd, the others didn't for a long while. They had to be a lot more guarded than you. You completely understood.

Wanda glanced at her phone when the conversation died down, or when you stopped babbling like the intoxicated fool you were, before looking back at you. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Yeah." You should still be saying no. You should try being honest. You should say: I'm sleeping with three of your team members and I should go home. But god, she really was fucking stunning.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"I do. I have a boyfriend that I love very much...but sometimes, there are things that I want to try. Things that he doesn't want to try."

"Are you...referring to me?" That was a stupid question, you were almost sure. But was she? Was that what you were supposed to be picking up?

She scoffed. "In a sense, yes. I do think you are beautiful and you're nice, and really cute. I want to have sex with you, but it can't be a relationship. My boyfriend is offering me an open arrangement... I'm still with him, very committed, but sometimes...I would like to call you and meet you. Does that sound like something you would be okay with?"

Should you be offended by how many Avengers didn't want to be in a relationship with you at this point? You may end up dwelling on that later, but now, you were thinking about having sex with her. She looked soft and sweet, very unlike Carol, Steve, and Natasha. You weren't saying she was better or worse, it wasn't like you were comparing them to rank them.

You were just acutely aware of the fact that they were so dominant and you were not. Wanda didn't seem to need that so much, she seemed like she would be fine just having sex. Meaningful sex, but not too meaningful. Soft sex, but not boring. In fact, it sounded like she wanted to try something different, and maybe you wanted to also.

So, you said yes. Mostly because it reminded you that Natasha, Steve, and Carol all said they were not able to be in an actual relationship with you. You were getting ahead of yourself, maybe they wouldn't care at all. Maybe it would be a complete non-issue, and you shouldn't miss out on having sex with Wanda if you don't have any proof that they'll react negatively.

She kissed you the first time while you were both still sitting at the bar. After you'd given her your consent, she set her hand to your cheek and pressed her lips to yours. It was all soft lips and tongue, no teeth, no power play. She tasted like alcohol and lip gloss, at least her mouth did. You wanted to know what her pussy tasted like, which you didn't fail to whisper to her when she pulled away.

She immediately took your hand and led you out of the club. It wasn't terribly cold as you waited for the Uber she sent for. She was just a bit taller than you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders as she leaned down again to kiss you. Your hands started at her hips but soon began to roam, her ass, her waist, her back, her shoulders to pull her down closer.

By the time the driver showed, you were both completely flushed and very ready to find a bed. She was taking you to a hotel. You figured that was best, no need to add any more people to the list of individuals who randomly show up at your apartment without calling or texting.

She kept her hand on your thigh the entire drive there but didn't dare move it underneath your dress. Another point of difference between her and her teammates. Any of the others and you would have already finished at least twice.

Getting up to the room was a blur. Thankfully, she did all the talking. You weren't sure how to function under this kind of calm, steady build. It was always fast and immediately, but Wanda was taking her time and making sure everything was how she wanted it.

When you finally got into the room, she didn't bother turning on the light. She curled one arm around you, the other pulling your hair off to the side as she began to kiss your neck. She held you against her as she walked forward. There was a bed that you supposed was big enough, a small bathroom, a sad excuse for a kitchen, a huge window with dirty curtains shining light on the mattress.

None of that really mattered, anyway. She led you closer to the window, stopping only when she wanted to remove your dress. It hit the floor, she peeled the curtain away from the window, and her hands were all over you. "Is this okay? I like the moonlight tonight."

She waited for your confirmation before she ran her hands up and down your sides, a teasing touch before she grabbed your breasts. She was still kissing your neck, gentle and open-mouthed.

You turned your head upward, catching her mouth. She opened her lips for you instantly and you took full advantage of that with a slow but sloppy kiss. Her fingers trailed down from the middle of your chest, straight down your stomach, and all the way to your pussy.

She hummed when she felt you were wet. The brushes against your clit were faint but somehow it was enough, it didn't take long at all for you to unhurriedly fall apart. Your legs were shaking and your mind was even more blurry than before.

You turned to her to slip her out of her dress. You kissed across her collarbone, then over her chest, glancing up as you closed your lips around one of her nipples. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head fell back, and she opened her beautiful mouth to moan.

Your hands on her hips, you directed her to the bed. She sat down first, grabbing your arms to pull you down with her. Your naked skin was flush against hers and all you did for the longest time was kiss. Hands buried in each other's hair, quiet moans and gasps filling the room, all the while just building up to this intense scene.

When you sat up, she remained on her back. She pushed your hair over your shoulders so she could see your chest and your face. She was right about the moonlight, it washed over her so well.

You kissed her chin, off to the side of her jaw, then down her shoulder and arm until you reached her hand. You took it in yours, the same with the other as you lowered onto your knees on the floor, intertwining your fingers. There was no prelude, you simply took her with your mouth.

She cried out your name, arching her back and squeezing your hands. She tasted sweet, smelled musky and a little like vanilla. You kissed down the length of her soaking cunt, sliding your tongue into her entrance.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped. "Do that again."

You obliged, releasing one of her hands so you could rub her clit with your fingers. She took her newly freed hand and grabbed your hair. She pulled you down harder, rolling her hips up slowly, trying to get your tongue in deeper.

Not even a minute later, she was making you aware of her approaching orgasm, "I'm close, suck my clit--please, fuck! Suck my clit."

You ran your tongue through her as you brought your hand down, you closed your lips around her and began to suck hard. You pressed two fingers inside her and pumped them in and out, moaning when you felt her clenching around them.

She was shaky and smiling as you lazily licked her through her finish. She pulled you up as soon as her brain was working enough to tell her arms to pull you up. "And how do I taste?"

"Amazing."

She smirked.

You had to figure her boyfriend wasn't much for going down on her since she was looking at you like you were the reason the sun would rise tomorrow morning.

You laid on top of her but she quickly rolled over, legs slotting so you could grind against one another's thigh. Her slick center against your skin was almost enough to make you finish. Again, her mouth was on yours and nothing was hurried. You canted your hips, catching your clit on her soft leg, and she did the same.

Soon, your hips started to gain speed, you were close and could tell she was, too. The sounds of wet pussy slapping against thigh nearly drowned out the desperate screams and whines you both made.

You completely soaked her thigh with your orgasm. As she continued pursuing hers, she reached down, hand gliding between you and her wet skin. She brought her fingers up to her mouth, humming and sucking on them. "I can't wait to have you sit on my face." Then she closed her eyes, her hips stuttered, and your leg felt much hotter.

She didn't waste any time at all, she rolled back over and hauled you on top of her. Your hips jerked when you pressed against her, still sensitive from the last finish. She didn't seem to mind, she just placed both hands on your hips and moved you relentlessly against her.

"Hands behind your back, lean onto the mattress," she instructed.

You quickly did so, relieved to have some type of balance.

She loved watching your breasts bounce this way, loved watching your eyes roll to the back of your head. And she especially loved when you sat up again to grab her hands, an attempt to pull away from the overstimulation. She didn't allow it, she kept her grip tight and pulled you in faster as she rolled her hips up.

#natasha romanoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #carol danvers x reader #will tag the fourth a little later bc i believe in surprises #my writing

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seokiloquy · 3 years

Text

Tip Toe - Semi Eita

Soulmate AU: Dancer (ballet) x Pianist + name on wrist

Requested

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader though they are in a more female-dominated role, Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k+

His hands rested on your waist gently, guiding you in circles as your block covered toe dug into the vinyl matted floor. Your arms were raised in the air with your elbows and wrists bent slightly inwards to form an elegant oval frame around your head. The pointed toe at your knee lowered to the floor in a calculated motion. Point, ball, heel. Your knee bent to carry the rest of your transferring weight. Muscle memory set in quick.

The light twinkling of keys filled the air, guiding your moves like a trail of breadcrumbs. Up to point on the high note, drop on the downbeat, spin on the scale. The instrument’s strings vibrated in a happy tune that painted an image of blooming fields across your vision. You smiled, falling into your partner’s arms. You adored the feeling, like twirling in the air and sleeping on fluffy clouds with stars shining above you.

In the opposite corner from the grand piano, your instructor stood with his arms crossed, scrutinizing every dancer’s moves as the ensemble was practiced. He yapped out an order calling for one of the dancer’s heads to look up higher. The music continued.

Your partner’s hands shifted, one coming across your lower stomach, pushing heat through your bodysuit to sit against your sweat coated skin and the other catching your thigh as your leg raised higher into the air. The bent knee that held your weight pulsed before snapping straight, shooting you onto the end of your shoe in a tight arabesque.

You raised your arms, one ahead of you, fingers dancing carefully along your eye line and the other to your side, a little back. The man's hand left your stomach, shifting so he held your raised angle carefully. Toe first, he walked you in circles, spinning like a little fairy in a jewelry box.

After a 180-degree turn, he took your hand, slowly pulling you forward and out of your pose and into a waiting position.

The piano stopped.

"Water, everyone."

Walking to the back wall of the studio, you ripped open the puckered opening of your flimsy bag. As you dropped the carrier and leaned against the banister that sat under the window, you tilted your head back to pour the iced water down your throat. Your head felt like it was floating, you sighed and sunk into the feeling.

“(L/N).”

You coughed, choking slightly which prompted your dance partner to rub your back.

“Sorry, you good?”

“You couldn’t have waited?” you forced out between coughs, the haze that had given you colourful illusions was gone. The dark floor and white light suddenly seemed a lot brighter. You winced, coughing some more.

Matteus, ever the awkward man he was, lowered his hand and offered you the towel that he pulled for your bag. You thanked him, dabbing your neck with the fresh material.

“You were a bit dazed there,” he said, turning to face the window next to you, sticking his pelvis backwards as he leaned on the wooden bar and stretched. “You danced well, as always, but dazed. Something on your mind?”

You bit your lip, closing the cap of your bottle. “I can hardly remember dancing. Honestly, like I knew it was happening but my mind was somewhere else. I think it was the music.” You turned your attention to the grand piano, where the ash-blond pianist sat, speaking with your instructor.

“Hmm? The music is a bit different than normal. I think it’s probably the new pianist they hired? Finally able to give old-man Monty a break.”

Holding your wrist gently, you dragged the soft pad of your thumb over ink, making it burn under the heat of your hand. “Do you know his name?”

Matteus sat back in his heels before standing straight, catching your gaze as it zeroed in on the musician, unmoving even as the instructor walked to the centre of the room and called for everyone. “No clue.” He looped his arm through yours.

You watched the loose threads at the tip of your shoe slowly unravel as you walked. Small pink strings slowly littered the black floor you stood on. Another pair? You looked to your fellow dancers’ shoes, noticing similar states of damage between them, nothing in comparison to yours though. Was it all the extra practice? Time to replace them.

Matteus, having actually paid attention to the words coming from your choreographer’s mouth, held your arm and pulled you to the side of the room. “Come on dreamer, time to practice.”

The sturdy dancer led you to the side of the room getting in the circular line, left hand holding yours as his right sat at your lower back. You watched the first pair of ensemble dancers began, running toe first into the center of the room as they waited for the music to begin.

The first key hit the piano. Your breath hitched, and without meaning to your head turned to the piano that was only a few metres away. Using Matteus’ hold to your advantage you leaned back, looking over the shoulders of your friends to catch a fleeting glimpse of the pianist at work.

His eyes were focused on the sheet of paper in front of him, never looking down at his fingers as they did their own dance. His whole body moved with a harder press on the keys and every note he played was visible in the floating of his arms. His grown out, shaggy hair (uncommon in the professional world, but intriguing nonetheless) swayed gently. You caught sight of his head moving upward, just about to get a good look at his face when Matteus gave you a good tug, pulling your attention back to the dance. He chuckled when your eyes went to his canvas slippers and nostrils flared.

You and your mirroring pair on the other side of the room pranced forward and once again you had become lost in the music.

Early mornings in the studio were your place. No one seemed fond of being in hours earlier than needed and the thought of staying late to practice instead of strengthening or stretching sent shivers up your spine.

Unluckily though, today, like every week or so, was shoe day for you. No early morning practice, no solo improv, just the irritating sounds of ripping fabric and sound smacks of hard materials making contact as you broke in your new pair of pointe shoes.

Raising the expensive shoe over your head, you brought it down to the dance floor with a loud bang.

“That’s a bit harsh, what did the shoe ever do to you?”

Your arms froze above your head at the sudden intrusion. When did the doors open? You looked over your shoulder. On the other side of the room, lit up by the natural light that poured through the window, was the new stranger with musical hands. His casual jacket sat on his shoulders snuggly, sleeves hanging down to his hands. The soft-looking material made a wall, blocking you and anyone else from seeing the name that was printed underneath.

You hitched a breath as his arms flicked out, pulling the offensive fabric higher, only to be met with the sight of one bear wrist and another covered by a slick pair of leather bracelets. You sighed and only realized your mouth was open when you closed it to gulp down any drool that was trying to escape your mouth.

“Sorry,” you pushed out, lowering your arms and reaching for your ribbons and threading needle. “I’m just getting my new shoes prepped.”

“Ah, I didn’t realize you had to replace them frequently,” he said, nonchalantly making his way toward the piano in the corner of the room. His fingers reached to pull out a few slips of paper from his shoulder strap bag. They fluttered as he shook them. “Do you mind if I practice? I was given new music last night.”

“Ah right, we’re starting the opening today. Go ahead, I won't stop you.”

He gave you a small smile before taking the last few steps to the stool, setting the sheets of paper on the available ledge. He played the first note, then the second, and before long he was sight-reading and easily making his way through the opening number at a steady pace.

You stuck your needle and thread through the fabric of your ribbon and marked portion of your ballet slipper. Listening to the music he played as you soaked in the warmth pouring in from the windows above you. You looked up when he spoke.

“You’re an amazing dancer by the way.” He kept his eyes on the sheet music, jaw clenched tightly as he tried to keep even a thread of focus tied to the paper and not all over your presence next to him. “I’m surprised you aren’t in one of the lead positions, ensemble seems too bleak for you.” His ash hair seemed to glow in the sunlight.

“Huh, oh thank you. I think your playing is mesmerizing. I hardly remember dancing yesterday, I was too immersed, ya know?” You tied off your last stitch and began slipping on your protective gear and pointe shoes

You kept your eyes on him, the bright sunlight made all the shadows in the room disappear into a void, leaving the particle-filled beams to give the man in front of you an ethereal stoplight. His eyes pinched slightly and he gave you a meek grin. “Can I ask you a question?”

You rose from your seat on the floor, stepping over to the side of the closed piano. Placing your fingertips on the edge of the instrument you began stretching, using the piano as a barre. “Only if I can ask one back.”

You watched as his fingers pushed against the keys. He — ignoring your legs moving beneath you — met your eyes. His brows raised in a shocked manner that made an endearing warmth grow in your chest. “How did you start dancing, it seems to come naturally to you?”

You brought your toe to your knee. “I was very hyperactive as a kid, so my mom enrolled me in dance. When they saw I was good but still very hyper, they moved me into a dance academy ‘cause the teachers were stricter.”

He laughed, shoulders bouncing as he bit his bottom lip. “Based on what I saw walking in, I guess it didn’t really work.”

You cheered, “You’re right! It didn’t! But I got super hooked on ballet and made them cough up a small fortune to pay for dance education.”

Resting your elbows on the piano lid, you sat back in your heels and flattened your back into a table, stretching the muscles behind your knees. You didn’t notice his wide eyes quickly shoot back to the paper in front of him.

“So they made a dancing machine,” he spoke smoothly.

“If that machine had a tendency to twist their ankles, then yes,” you smiled up at his peripheral. He laughed. “Okay my turn, similar train, how did you get into music? More so, how did you end up here?”

“Well, in a similar fashion, my mom made me take piano lessons as a kid, but mostly because it’s a skill. I hated playing classical music at the time, but it’s grown on me now. In high school, I played volleyball, so the strong fingers definitely helped. And towards the end of that, I joined a band as their keyboardist.”

“A band?” You shifted positions, standing straight again. You moved on to a port de bras exercise, raising your arms into an oval shape before continuing. “Like a rock band?”

His hair swayed as he nodded and bit his lip. Caught up in both the conversation and memorized movements, you didn't notice his eyes follow your wrist.

“Okay, I have to know. How did you end up here?”

He laughed again, cheeks flushing at your enthusiasm and heart picking up pace. Not that you could tell. He continued, “well the band wasn’t going anywhere and I needed money. And my old piano teacher just so happened to have a few connections.”

The sun rose higher, and the conversation was never-ending until the door opened. Hand on the door, first in the room was Matteus, giving you a surprised look and waving you over as he mouthed off frantic words that you couldn’t make out. The music slowed to a deafening stop, leaving a dissatisfying chord to hang in the air that made your shoulders raise uncomfortably and nearly forced your knees to buckle. You raised a brow in the dancer’s direction, a bit aggravated at the group’s interruption.

You were unaware of the musician’s eyes trained on your profile as he shifted his hands to the beginning tonic chord. Unconsciously, you stood a little straighter, and the pianist smiled.

“He’s early,” Matteus whispered harshly.

Swallowing, you turned back to the black-tipped haired pianist, nervous smile painting your features. He wanted to reach out and soothe the frantic lines on your face, holding your cheek gently. “What’s your name?” you asked hurriedly.

He laughed gently, and you swore the sun began to shine brighter. “Eita. Semi, Eita.”

You smiled as he reached out to hold your wrist delicately between his fingers. The name he hoped to hear rolled off your tongue in a hush.

You spent the rest of the day dancing in the sun.

I want to write longer fics like Catch Me If You Can, Pumpkin Spice, and Cross the Pacific, but I feel brain dead. I will at some point. I’m certain. But that point isn’t now. I hope you liked this fluff though. - Bacon

Posted: 31/01/2021

#semi eita #semi x reader #semi eita x reader #Haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #haikyu x reader #anime x reader #anime

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