#they’d both be in ballet

[kuroarimiyazaki]

Found this early sketch of my Bully OC. The quality is awful and I have something written on the back of it but it’s still cute to me.

[satoruhour]

a/n: technically a fic but too lazy to edit a header. tagging @slttygeto @crysugu @omgeto @ohmygetou @lvlybee @hyomagiri @jabamin ☆

warnings: roommate!geto, soft dom!geto, semi-public sex (the public being gojo & shoko lol), exhibitionism, praise, finger sucking, pet names, fingering, clit stimulation, oral (m receiving), reader chokes a little, cum shot, unprotected sex, riding, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

thinking about roommate!geto and having those dormitory movie nights like i mentioned in the roommate fic but now that you’re together and cuddling on the couch, gojo and shoko can’t help but playfully gag and tease the two of you — geto is smooth, always stroking your hair while his honeyed eyes only stay staring at you as they play some stupid lovey song like spandau ballet’s true in the background.

but what geto loves more than feeling your skin burn from the teasing and your soft sighs of love through your kisses is snaking his hand over your lap with the blanket that’s covering the both of you. it’s winter in tokyo, anyway, so at least you had the excuse of that over your bodies while geto teases the skin above your waistband.

“but they’re right there—” fingers clasped around his wrist as a warning. the movement is so quick the snack bowl almost topples over.

“relax...” geto lands a peck to your temple, smiling when he feels your hand loosens as soon as the warmth of his hand meets with the warmth of your cunt, “be quiet for me and i’ll let you cum.”

you hum in reply, wrapping an arm around his bicep now to stay closer to him, making a show that nothing sinister is going on under your pants and blanket. with one peek to shoko and gojo who’s engrossed with the movie (geto planned this, didn’t he?), you’re melting into the couch when an experimental finger rubs a lazy circle on your clit.

geto smiles at the way you nuzzle closer to him, hearing the whisper of a soft moan before his finger moves down, down, down, letting out a small groan when he feels that you’re already so wet.

“how’re you going to cum now, princess?” geto plays with your juices, your senses on end and wishing the fabric on you wouldn’t move so much, “you’re so wet that they could probably hear your cum drip down my hands.”

you tsk and pinch his bicep softly, “meanie. and who did this to me?”

geto chuckles, catching your lips in a soft kiss, “okay, okay. touché.”

the first push into your warm, wet pussy is phenomenal, both of your eyes closing as you squeeze around his thick finger. it reaches just like you remember the last time, mouth dug into his shirt sleeve to prevent any noise.

“second,” he whispers softly, eyes staying on the screen but not really digesting anything: he’s more fixated on the tightness of which you hang onto his side, the tightness of your walls, nudging past your folds with a second finger, “that’s it, good girl.”

geto mumbles into your hair and ignores the twitch of his cock, but he makes the mistake of pulling his eyes away from the television to you, who already has sweat lining your brow and your chin making an indent in his arm so that you’re staring up at him. your eyes are pleading, swirling with clouds of lust that suguru instinctively curls his fingers and has the pleasure of seeing your eyes widen and your mouth fall open in silence.

“doing so well, baby. you close?” geto cannot pull away from your hypnotising stare, so he holds it and finds himself getting weaker and weaker, “you’re throbbing.”

and you laugh lightly, ragged breaths leaving your person as his hands speed up just a little but like he said — you’re just too wet that they’d hear the squelch of your cunt so he continues to curl his fingers instead while your hand rubs at your clit. you’re squeezing suguru’s arm so tight your knuckles are probably white, heating up his skin with your irregular pants and whines.

your hips start to grind into his despite your initial caution and geto shoots you a cheeky smile before his fingers hit that spot and you’re making the move to moan and geto crashes his lips into yours — that gesture alone makes you cum, hands impatiently playing with your bundle of nerves as the coil in your tummy releases and you thank the heavens geto’s taking the bulk of your sounds.

“oh— just like that, sweetheart.” his voice strains a little as he lets you ride his fingers through your orgasm until you’re catching your breath, “still with me?”

you nod against his arm and sigh when his fingers leave your clenching hole; “always with you.” geto denies the flutter of his heart when you say that, pecking your forehead gently.

and all is well until you four are on your third movie and gojo and shoko are nodding off because they technically did have a tiring day ushering in freshmen today so once they knock out, geto’s surprised when your hand also travels over his body. they go over his arms, his pecs and to his torso and a single finger traces the happy trail right down to his cock and geto swallows.

“what happened to my shy girl?” he bites his lip, the dialogue on the movie now lost to him while you take the fingers that were in you before and shove them in your mouth — they still vaguely tasted like you, the websites were correct, you fear — twisting your tongue over his digits.

“gone.” you grin before you’re moving under the blanket, but not before giving your friends one last glance and they’re knocked out cold, “lemme suck your cock, su.”

suguru smiles, “slut.”

you shrug at the name; you know it’s done playfully and jokingly, “only f’r you.”

and geto hopes that’s true because when you’re the cutest when you tug off his underwear and his fat, throbbing cock slaps his abdomen from how painfully hard he was. you’re the cutest when you wrap your hands around him and even then it’s not enough to cover his length. you’re the cutest when you look up at him through your lashes and give the smallest kiss to his tip which is leaking so much pre-cum he’s a little embarrassed.

it’s a shame he had no chance of experiencing this the first time but then, he was focused solely on you and your pleasure, so seeing you between his legs now was a treat, especially the way your tongue swirls around his tip and scoops up his arousal.

“didn’t know you took dick so well,” geto breathlessly mumbles when you start to bob your head, brushing fingers through your hair and pulling the strands away from your mouth. you moan at that, squeezing his length and forcing him down your throat until—

“woah, woah, easy baby,” geto calms you down through your coughing fit and all you do is hide in his thighs, face hot.

“sorry.” is all you mutter and your lover brings you from your hiding place where there’s a pout on your face and tears lining your eyes when you’ve gagged earlier.

suguru tilts your chin up with a hand and kisses you gently, “nothin’ to be sorry bout, my love,” playing with your bottom lip and places another peck, always not being able to resist your lips, “i’ll train you next time,” that sends a thrill down to your core, “but for now, take it slow.”

“’kay,” you’re meek now, taking his shaft with more consideration but your mouth’s still as hot as ever. geto lets out a small moan, letting you go at your own pace no matter how much he wanted fuck your face. you run a long stripe up the bottom of his length, thumb playing with his tip while his eyes stay fixated on you taking him down your throat so well.

“use your hands— y-yes, fuck,” geto encourages, as you use your hands to pump the areas you’re not able to reach, the little stutters in his voice sending tingles down to your centre. “hollow your cheeks, baby— that’s righttt... mouth’s warm, huh?”

you slurp your saliva off his dick and come off, smiling at him, “yeah.”

he hums while you continue the bobbing of your head and the moans that you let out around his shaft send vibrations up his body. suguru twitches in your mouth and his thigh tenses.

“close—” geto’s moans get breathy and choked the closer he is to his high, hips bucking up into your mouth. there’s drool that drips from the corners and the sounds of your mouth being so full of his cock sends him into overdrive, “wanna— wanna cum all over your face, princess.”

you whine, the slurping and gawking noises getting faster before you’re letting his cock with a gasp, pumping him while your dilated eyes look up to him and him only. tongue out and soft, warm hands, and they all belong to you — truly the only person to get him so riled up and hard — he pulls on your hair before he spills all over your face. his seed’s so much, hitting your tongue and cheeks and you jolt slightly in surprise.

“f—fuck yesss... look s’pretty with my cum all over your face,” geto’s mouth hangs open at the sight, hips still jerking as your hands stroke and milk him until he’s got nothing left, grip loosening and then tightening when you gather his cum and then eat it all up, “attagirl.”

“you taste good, sugu,” you giggle, letting him pull you over and you take it as a sign to do away with the blanket altogether. with one more glance you now see shoko slouched over gojo and both of them drooling from the mouth; yeah you could fuck.

“that so?” geto pulls you in for a kiss, “guess i’m healthy then.”

“hm... don’t know, need your cum in me to do a proper check,” suguru’s hands fly to your hips instantly when you tease his cockhead along your folds, not even having the energy to comment on your little joke, eyes fluttering close and he stammers—

“b—baby, still sens’tive.”

you whine playfully, “please?”

there’s no answer from him when you slide down on him easily, and he sighs when his eyes open — the backlight of the television makes him think that maybe you were an angel to descend upon him, “y’know i can never say no to you, sweetheart.”

and you’re losing yourself in him after, his hands helping you ride him while you bounce on his lap. your head hangs forward, foreheads connected as your breath fans over his face. with each time his cock bottoms out of you, there’s the spill of your juices all over his torso and pelvis, entranced with your gummy walls until the shift of the two people beside you make you freeze.

they’ve both changed positions now: shoko’s head thrown back over the back of the sofa while gojo hangs over the side arm rests — you both share a little giggle and a breath of relief before suguru seizes your chin and forces you to look down.

“can’t last long, your pussy’s just too good,” your lover rasps out, your thighs burning, “so i want you watch to how you take my cock, baby.”

and you could cum from those words alone, yet you follow his orders before he starts to thrust up into you, whining right into his neck. his hips are relentless and his hands knead at your ass, eyes focusing on the way you watch your sopping cunt suck him up.

“s’good, s’good— fuuckk...” you whimper softly, chin hitting your chest as you watch the drag of his cock, in and out, in and out before seeing him twitch and your moans consist of his name only, “suguru, suguru, suguruuu....”

“almost there, cum with me sweetness,” geto groans when your body collapses onto him and he can feel your perk nipples poke into his chest, reminiscent of the very first time you thanked him for letting you room with him. how thankful he was, now. he lets you hide in his neck despite disobeying his request — you’re the only one he’d let do that — and he has an easier time ramming into you from below anyway.

it’s obscene, the slaps of his pelvis against the fat of your ass cheeks, coupled with the slickness of your drooling pussy, it’s got the both of you moaning softly into each other’s mouths before geto’s rutting into you hurriedly and messily. he continues his thrusts, fucking his cum into you until it starts to spill out the sides and you’re cumming right after when his tip kisses your cervix oh, so lightly, sending your thighs trembling and pussy fluttering.

“clenching ’round me so bad— shit, you’re cumming so much,” suguru laughs, cut off by a choked moan when your hips adjust. there’s a filthy shlick! that is sounded out when geto removes his cock from you and the mixture of your cum comes dripping out. he licks his lips when he watches it dribble out of your entrance.

“you’re so gross—” you grin, brushing the sweat-filled hair out of his face.

“like you’re not,” geto purses his lips and clicks his tongue, “sucking me off in front of friends.”

“it’s hot.”

the gears are turning in suguru’s head, and you just know you’re in for it when he picks you up swiftly, shoving your body into the sofa and he drags his weeping tip along your cum-filled cunt.

“oh yeah? let’s go till we wake the neighbours, baby.”

the next morning, you’re waking up with a pounding headache and aching legs, reaching over the bedside table (a gentleman like suguru would never leave you on the couch) before a text from gojo lights up the phone and you’re mortified.

[satoru (loser) 🧿👄🧿]: i heard u btw

[no-144444]

pointe shoes and racecars- o.piastri

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

summary: you and oscar had grown up together, and grown apart. now you're teaching him ballet for a mclaren video. will you two reconnect?

pairing: oscar piastr x fem! ballerina! dancer

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar Piastri was your best friend’s older brother, what could go wrong? 

You’d moved to Melbourne when you were a kid with the rest of your family, and your brother quickly started karting at a local track. In comes the Piastri’s. You were sitting on the sidelines, bored out of your mind when a little girl a bit older than you came up to you with another girl, about your age, and another little girl, much younger than all three of you. 

“Which one’s yours?” The eldest asked. 

“The one in the red kart, my brother. You?”

“The one in the fluro yellow. He’s our brother,” she explained. “I’m Hattie, that’s Addie, and that’s Mae. Wanna be friends?”

You nodded. “Yeah! I’m Y/n.”

And since that day, you were. Turns out you and Addie ended up in the same class in school and became fast friends, then you ended up in the same ballet class, and it all snowballed from there. Playdates became hangouts and dolls became bitch-sessions, and soon enough you were all grown up. You were a constant in the Piastri family home, sleeping over most nights to carpool to early ballet, then school, then back to ballet, and then back to the Piastri home. You watched every race with the girls, growing up alongside Oscar and your brother from the beginning. You watched both of them in Formula Renault, Formula 3, Formula 2, and finally, Oscar’s second year Formula 1 was coming up, while you brother (Jack) was staying yet another year in F2. It was funny, whenever Oscar was home in recent years, you always seemed to miss him. You didn’t mind. Oscar and you weren’t all that close, you were closest to Addie, Hattie, Mae, and Nicole. Though, he texted you when he was away and you responded, apologising for missing him, he always told you that he’d ‘see you on the stage one day anyway’. He’d always supported you. You’d always supported him.

Sadly, your time living with the Piastri’s had come to an end. You had been given the chance of a lifetime in the form of a full scholarship to the Paris Opera Ballet School, and you weren’t going to turn it down, much to Nicole’s dismay. That was two years ago. Two full years of living in Paris, down. 

Paris was amazing. You missed your family and you missed everyone back in Melbourne, but you loved it in Paris. Your new fellow dancers were so welcoming and nice, and you’d made fast friends with a group of them. You’d been doing French in school since you were a kid, and you loved getting to speak it with native speakers. You’d even been named an Etoile (star) in your first year. You’d helped the Paris Opera Ballet with their online presence and started a YouTube channel with some of your fellow dancers which had garnered over 4 million subscribers. Everything was brilliant. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Alright everyone, gather around!” Carole called. “We have been invited to the McLaren garage this weekend for the Monaco Gran Prix,” she explained. “We will be attempting to teach some of the staff some of  Balcony Pas de deux from ‘Romeo and Juliet’, and also having a photo shoot with Vogue while we are there. Y/n and Hugo, I want those lifts as clean as possible! Chop chop!”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The week went by and finally you were walking into the McLaren motorhome behind one of the staff members who was showing you around. In the end only 3 people from the company were required to go, Hugo (Romeo), Laura (one of the company's pianists), and you (Juliet). You walked around, keeping an eye out for Oscar, or the rest of the Piastri family who had all told you they’d be visiting. 

You were quickly ushered into a makeshift filming studio and told to warm up while they gathered the people you’d be doing the video with you. You chatted and warmed up, trying a few of the lifts from the show and just generally practising your moves. 

The door swung open and there he was. Oscar with a grim look on his face who hadn’t even recognised you. 

“Do we really have to do this?” he not-so-subtly asked Lando beside him. 

“Mate I don’t want to do it either-”

“Y/N!” Nicole’s voice cut through all the noise of the motorhome and the piano stopped. She ran and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug as you laughed. 

“Hi Nicole,” you beamed, hugging her back. Hattie, Addie, and Mae weren’t far behind her, and joined in on the hug, emotions flowing as you all started to catch up. 

“How are you? How’s work? How’s Paris?” Hattie asked immediately. 

“How’s Paris? Is it amazing? Can I visit sometime?” Mae asked, speaking over her sister. 

“How are you?!” Addie squealed, taking your hands. 

“I’m great, so happy to see the four of you,” you smiled but it dampened as Hugo reminded you of the job at hand. “Sorry guys, we’ll need to catch up later, the fun police has just-”

“Quoi? Je ne suis pas la « police du plaisir » ! Nous avons un travail à faire !” (What? I am not the 'fun police'! We have a job to do!) He defended, but by then the girls had already cleared out, and you’d already turned your attention to Oscar and Lando. 

“Hi,” you smiled at Oscar. 

“Hi,” he smiled back, a hint of blush on his cheek. “I almost didn’t recognise you.”

“I could say the same for you,” you chuckled. “Became a Formula 1 driver and forgot about your friends, huh?” 

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Don’t even.”

“Ready for some ballet?” Hugo smiled at the two men, who both just grimaced. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You started warming them up, learning quickly that while Lando was not flexible, Oscar was even worse. 

“And go down further if you can,” you instructed, pushing down on Oscar’s shoulders. 

“Bug, I can’t go any further,” he chuckled. 

“Bug?” Hugo questioned. 

“Childhood nickname,” you dismissed. “Don’t start using it.”

Hugo nodded, holding his hands up in surrender. “Noted.”

“Holy shit, you’re ‘Bug’?” Lando gasped. “He talks about you all the time!”

You chuckled as Oscar’s cheeks went a brilliant shade of pink. “Sure Lando, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Alright!” Hugo announced. “Let’s start on some variations!”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The boys watched in horror as you and Hugo danced around the room. Balcony Pas de deux, your favourite number of the entire show. You did everything perfectly, Hugo did everything perfectly, but when you two danced, sometimes there was something missing. You usually thought that it was just a lack of romantic chemistry because you were such great friends, or maybe it was something else. Lando and Oscar applauded as you two finished your piece, then you turned to them, smiling. 

“I have to lift him?!” Lando stressed. You laughed with Hugo. 

“No, you’ll be lifting me,” you explained. “Hugo’s going to teach you the moves and you’ll just need to lift me. You don’t even have to go on pointe. It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

The boys stayed unconvinced. You’d picked an easy enough professional routine and you were sure they'd get it eventually. You started with teaching them how to properly lift someone so they wouldn’t get hurt, and they wouldn’t drop you. Unsurprisingly, Oscar was very good at this, you remembered how Addie and you would force him to practice lifts with you in the confines of the Piastri family home, and shockingly, the muscle memory was still there after so many years. So, you moved onto teaching him the moves for the first 20ish seconds of the dance. And unsurprisingly, he was very good at the lifts, not so good at the dancing. He couldn’t get his back leg low enough, or he couldn’t extend his arm enough, but you barely noticed. You were having too much fun to notice. You realised you’d been missing fun when dancing with Hugo. Juliet was this spontaneous, youthful character who was full of love and a craving to be loved. Oscar brought out that fun side of you. He always had. You laughed and smiled as you both danced, laughing when he’d trip or almost drop you, but neither of you cared. You moved on and taught him up to about the one minute mark in the piece. There was a lot of repetition and not a lot of male dancing in the first 60 seconds, so he was practically in the clear, all he had to do was smile and lift you. And he did. There wasn’t a moment where either of you weren’t smiling. He looked a bit uncoordinated and you looked thousands of times better than him, but you two were both smiling like little kids. 

His hand slipped and he almost dropped you to the floor, concern and shock plastering itself on his face as he scrambled to catch you. “Shit, are you alright?” he asked, somehow catching you by pulling you to his chest. 

“I’m fine Osc, no bruised sternums here,” you chuckled. He laughed, reminded of a crash you had in karting as a child. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

As the session came to a close, you did the first minute of the dance with Oscar and with Lando and determined that while Oscar was better at the lifts, Lando wasn’t half-bad either. 

“Alright everyone, thanks for tuning in and tell us if you want to see us attempt this again!” Lando smiled at the camera. 

“I have no idea how you do that every night,” Oscar sighed, clearly tired and out of breath. 

“Sometimes twice a night,” Hugo corrected. “And yes, it is tiring.”

“I don’t know how you sit in a boiling car going 300 kilometres per hour for ninety minutes every Sunday,” you smiled. 

“It is tiring,” he shrugged, smiling. “Do you want to grab lunch?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you nodded. “Let me just grab my stuff.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Catching up with Oscar felt great. You didn’t realise how much you two had in common. From movies, to books, and everything in between. You were even too busy laughing to hear Hugo call you to join him for the Vogue shoot. 

“Y/n!” He repeated, gathering others' attention. “Come on! We are being timed here!” 

“Coming!” you called back. “Sorry, I completely forgot about the time. Good luck in free practice today, please don't get yourself injured,” you said, pulling him into a hug. “Love you Osc!”

“Good luck!” He called after you. “Love you too Bug!” 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Childhood crush?” Hugo asked as you two relaxed after the shoot, exhausted after your day. 

“Nah, best friend’s brother,” you explained. 

“Oh, so even more of a rom com then,” he chuckled. 

You scoffed. “No. We’re friends, that’s it.”

“Friends? Friends don’t look at you like you’re the only person in the room, friends don’t somehow laugh their whole way through the first 60 seconds of  Balcony Pas de deux,  friends don’t make puppy dog eyes at you, and still call you by your childhood nickname!” He laughed. You groaned. 

“We’re not like that! He’s just… he’s intense with his eye contact-!”

“He wasn’t intense like that for me!”

“I don’t know what to tell you!” You finally gave up. “Come on! There’s no way he-”

“Bug?” Oscar popped his head in the door, sweaty and smiling. “How’d it go?”

“All good,” you nodded. “How did Free Practice go?” 

“Good,” he nodded, out of breath. “Went fastest in sector 2.”

“Very impressive!” Hugo smiled, pretending to know what that meant. You chuckled.

“I was wondering if you wanted to stay for the rest of the weekend,” Oscar offered. “Both of you, of course,” he gestured to you and Hugo. “I know you're busy but my mum would kill me if I didn't ask.”

You smiled. Someone else could cover Juliet for one weekend, right? “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“I’d better get back to Paris, but thank you for the kind offer,” Hugo smiled. 

“Cool,” Oscar smiled at the both of you. “Addie has offered her room if you want to share with her, but there’s also my apartment, if you want your own bed.”

“My own bed please, Addie kicks in her sleep,” you chuckled. “Thanks Osc.”

“No problem.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You said your goodbyes to Hugo and followed the Piastri’s around Monaco for the rest of the day. You saw some of the sights, but eventually ended up in some fancy dinner with good food and good people around you. You were laughing at anyone’s jokes, telling stories, and genuinely just enjoying yourself. Paris had many things, but it didn’t have the Piastri’s. Sometimes you wished you could just shrink them and put them in your pocket to have them with you at all times. 

“So, how’s Paris?” Oscar asked as the night died down. You two were on your way back to his apartment and you were a little bit wine-drunk, but neither of you cared. 

“It’s amazing, but it doesn’t have you guys,” you patted his shoulder. “I miss you guys like crazy.”

He smiled. “I miss you too.”

“How’s Monaco? It’s so funny that we’ve lived an hour plane ride away from each other and we still haven’t visited each other,” you chuckled. 

“Monaco’s nice,” he nodded. “But it doesn’t have you here.”

Suddenly you were a lot more sober than you were 5 seconds ago. “Well, I’m here right now.”

“Exactly,” he smiled. “It’s really good to see you Bug.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you smiled. “Beetle.”

He laughed as you brought up his old nickname. Most people resorted to calling him ‘Osc’ or ‘Ozzy’ now that he’d grown up. He thinks his mum stopped calling him ‘Beetle’ when she visited him at school or races because you weren’t around to be ‘Bug’. Neither of you remembered why it had started, but you and Oscar were Bug and Beetle. It probably would’ve made more sense to have Addie as Beetle, with how much time you two spent together, but in reality it was just both your mums’ collective hopeful thinking that your friendship would turn into something much more. It might’ve, if you’d both stuck around long enough to see it through. Some part of him wondered how his life would’ve turned out if he’d stayed. Not that he didn’t love his life, he did. He was everything he’d ever dreamed of (well, not a Gran Prix winner yet so, not everything), well, everything but one thing. He didn’t realise it at the time, but in every single one of his visualisations of his future that he did as a child (something about a winner’s mentality? He didn’t understand it at the time), he’d imagined you being there with him. He never explicitly said it, but you were either his girlfriend or wife, or something other than a friend. It had always been a certain to him. You were his Bug. He was your Beetle. It just worked. 

“What’re you thinking about?” you asked, leaning into him as the street lights illuminated his face. Since when was he so pretty? 

“Us as kids,” he smiled. “Remember trying to teach you karting?” 

“You mean bruising my sternum? Yes I remember the month of agony thank you very much,” you chuckled. “And I remember how stressed you were running over to me. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen you lose your cool.” 

“Well I was about as stressed then as I was today when I almost dropped you,” he laughed. 

“Well, you saved me this time,” you chuckled. “My knight in a shining papaya?”

He laughed. “Sounds about right.” 

As you two came up to his apartment building, your conversation died down. You two went up to his apartment and he gave you the grand tour, finally showing you your bed for the nights. You said your ‘goodnights’ and then a problem plagued you. It was just meant to be a day trip to Monaco, you were meant to fly back earlier, and now here you were in Monaco with just your dance bag. What was in your dance bag? Your various shoes, a multitude of toe pads and things to stop the pain, three different water bottles, and some random leotards and a skirt. 

“Osc?” you knocked on his door, hoping he wasn’t asleep already. 

“Yeah?” he came to the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Of course, classic Oscar, asleep in seconds. “Everything alright?” He yawned. 

No. Everything was very much not alright. He’d come to the door with no shirt on, and you really couldn’t focus on the problem at hand. “I have no clothes,” you blurted out. 

He immediately opened his eyes and stared at you, then his brain processed fully what you said. “Oh, no pyjamas,” he nodded. “Sorry, I thought you meant- I’m actually just going to stop myself now.”

You chuckled. “Probably best.” 

“Well I’ll give you a hoodie and some of my shorts?” he offered. “Just to sleep in, and then I can bring you to the shopping centre down the way. I think there’s a Zara there or something.” 

“You really don’t need to bring me, I’m sure I can find it on my own. I’m sure you’re busy tomorrow-”

“Nonsense,” he shook his head, handing over the clothes. “I have time for you.” 

“Thanks Osc.”

You went to sleep with significantly more to think about, so did he. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You woke up the next morning to the sound of a smoke alarm, a shouting Nicole, and a cursing Oscar. You quickly got up to witness the commotion. 

“Y/n! Thank God you’re here!” She groaned and turned to Oscar. “I cannot believe you live on your own, you’re 23 and you can’t make eggs without almost burning your building down?!” 

“It wasn;t my fault!” he defended. “You’re the one who came to the door!” 

Nicole rolled her eyes as the girls laughed, watching this all unfold. Addie came over and stood beside you, smiling brightly at you. 

“What?” you chuckled. 

“Nothing,” she smirked. “Nice hoodie.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I had no other clothes,” you explained as the arguing continued. 

“Not a fan of sleeping in a leo?” she smirked. 

“Shockingly no, and also, we have to go shopping for clothes now, since all of mine are in Paris.” 

“Shopping! Yes!” Mae cheered. “Let’s go,” she said, immediately starting to drag you out of the apartment. 

“I’m not even dressed-!” Your complaints were met with nothing but more pulling.”Alright, alright! Let me grab my phone and my wallet, then I’ll be back out to you, yeah?” 

“Yay!” Mae cheered. 

You went back into your room, tried your best to make the hoodie and men’s shorts combo look good (it didn’t) and grab your things, then came back out. Oscar was cleaning up the kitchen as Hattie talked to him about the free practice and quali today, and Mae jumped up the moment she saw you. 

“Time to go!” she announced. “Bye Osc, good luck! See you at the track!” she called, already halfway out the door. 

You chuckled, following behind her, Addie, and Nicole. “Bye Osc!”

He grabbed ahold of your hand and placed a key in your palm. “In case you want to come back and change,” he smiled. 

“Thanks Osc,” you grinned. “Maybe leave the cooking to me tonight?”

“You don’t have to-”

“Osc, you’re letting me stay at your house, and you got me a paddock pass to see you. Let me make you dinner.” 

He nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

His hand lingered for another few seconds before Mae called back to you, willing you to ‘come on!’. 

“See you later,” you smiled. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Shopping was fine, you bought some clothes and essential hygiene and makeup, then went back to Oscar’s apartment and got dressed just as FP3 started. You all rushed over to the track to watch, and it went well for Oscar, quali was probably going to be interesting, as per usual. Monaco was always a very special track and you really did enjoy looking around at the beautiful scenery. You noticed how the cameras followed you around, but you just put that down to being with his family. 

“Y/n! Can I get a photo?!” a young girl asked. You smiled and knelt down to be at her level. 

“Of course you can,” you smiled. “What’s your name?” 

“Carlotá,” she nodded. “I do ballet! I love you, you’re so good. I want to be as good as you one day!”

“Well I can’t wait to see you on stage one day! Maybe we’ll even get to dance together,” you chuckled, heart warmed by her enthusiasm. 

“I hope we do!” she smiled. 

You quickly got a photo with her and then you were back on your way to the McLaren hospitality with Addie talking your ear off about her new college courses as you listened intently. Suddenly, Oscar was in front of you, sweaty but smiley. 

Nicole immediately pulled him into a tight hug and you saw the weight lift off of her shoulders, if only for a short time. “All my kids are safe,” she sighed, and you knew you were a part of that. You’d always admired how much she cared and how deeply she cared about everyone in her life, it was incredible. Hattie hugged him next, then Addie, and lastly Mae. You smiled and gave him a pat on the back as Zak Brown ushered you further into the hospitality for a ‘family lunch’.

“So, I never knew Oscar had a girlfriend,” Zak smiled, turning to you.

Your face dropped. “Oh, um… he’s not my boyfriend. I’m just a family friend,” you explained. The air in the room had been sucked out and everything was a bit more awkward. 

“Oh gosh! Sorry, I just thought because of the video- I really need to remember to not just believe YouTube comments,” he chuckled. He’d somehow charmed his way out the awkward moment, and you found yourself laughing too. 

Oscar wasn’t laughing. He quite liked the idea that his boss thought you were his girlfriend. He was just as fond of the internet thinking you were his girlfriend. He’d made a devastating revelation last night. His mum had been right all those years when she told him that he’d end up with you. Well, not that you’d ended up together yet, he still had to do the ‘asking out’ part. Nicole watched as his frown deepened the more you laughed at the comments of the YouTube video of you teaching Lando and Oscar ballet with Hugo. 

“Wow, I think you might need to post something to tell everyone you’re just friends,” Zak laughed, showing you some more comments. 

You nodded. “I’ll post a baby picture or something,” You chuckled, turning to Oscar. “At least you’ve got the acting part of ballet down.”  

He smiled. “Exactly.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

As the day progressed, you watched with bated breath as quali went underway, and Oscar qualified P2. You were ecstatic, jumping up and down with Addie and Nicole as Hattie and Mae cried in the back. All five of you had never been good with toning it down during his races. You just loved him so much, NOT like that, obviously. But in the friendly, totally platonic, family friend way. 

Nicole led the rest of you through the motorhome and you finally found him, sweaty and smiley once again. 

“Osc!” Nicole cheered, pulling him in for a hug. Addie, Hattei, and Mae all joined their hug, and you weren’t sure if it was right for you to join too, so you stayed back, taking a few photos of the five of them hugging. A part of you wanted to make it your wallpaper, but suddenly Oscar was in front of you. 

“Congratulations!” you smiled. 

“Y/n, I’m tired and I really don’t want to beg for a hug, please?” He smiled. You chuckled and wrapped your arms around his neck, his went around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

“Well done Osc,” you smiled. 

You didn’t catch the way Addie and Hattie smirked at each other, or the way Nicole gushed over the two of you, or the way Mae took a few photos of the two of you, immediately sending them to Oscar’s phone, knowing he’d want them. 

You pulled back, a bright smile on your face, then turned to the girls. “Alright, I’m making dinner tonight, you guys ready to go?”

“Oh, we have a booking at this restaurant tonight,” Nicole sighed. “Another time?” 

You nodded. “Of course, see you all later,” you smiled. 

If you’d looked slightly more to your left, you would’ve seen Oscar silently beg them to not intrude on the date you didn’t know was a date. Of course, being the Y/noscar shippers they were, they obliged with as minimal smirking as possible, which was a lot. You hugged them goodbye then turned to Oscar. 

“Alright, you go shower and then direct me to the nearest supermarket!” You instructed and he smiled. 

“Sir, yessir,” he joked, saluting you. “You can wait in my driver’s room if you want.”

“Sounds good.” 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Your evening was wonderful, you spent the evening walking around Monaco and grabbing supplies for dinner, then the actual cooking was rather enjoyable (aka you cooked your famous chilli and he sat in the corner, chatting away to you) and finally, cozying up on the couch with your favourite childhood movie, Cars. Well, it was his favourite, yours was Ballerina. Anyways, as the film continued on, you found yourselves getting closer and closer to each other. First it was an arm around the back of the couch, then an arm around you, then you were leaning into his side, until you had your head on his chest and he had a satisfied smile on his face. 

As the film came to a close, you got up and stretched, yawning. 

“Y/n,” he spoke. “I’ve really enjoyed having you around these past few days,” he smiled. 

“I’ve really enjoyed being around you,” you smiled back. 

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out. It wasn’t exactly the smooth delivery he’d imagined since he was a teenage boy stalking your instagram from thousands of kilometres away, but it would work. Hopefully. 

“Pardon?” You stared at him shocked. 

He let out a nervous breath. “I’m in love with you.”

You nodded. You didn’t exactly know what to make of it all. You loved him too, so why wouldn’t your mouth make the words? This was so stupid, just say it! Say it! Say-“I love you too,” you finally blurted out after a few seconds of buffering. 

His nervous frown turned into a bright smile, and his hands landed on your waist, pulling you into him. He hugged you close for a moment, internally calming down. “Kept me waiting there,” he chuckled.

“Sorry,” you smiled. You pulled away a little bit, then pressed your lips to his. “Brain fart.”

He laughed, then pressed his lips to yours again, in a perfect, Oscar, kiss. You could feel his hands on your waist, every brush of his brush against your forehead, every piece of skin on yours. You couldn’t get enough. 

“You have a race in the morning,” you whispered, pulling back from the kiss just enough to remind him. 

He nodded, connecting your lips again. His kisses were getting more and more heated, more and more consuming, more and more hungry. He was barely listening. He was kissing you. Everything little him had dreamt of. 

“Oscar,” you pulled back, getting serious. “Wait until after the race, alright?” 

He nodded, pressing his lips to your again, this time quicker and softer. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” you smiled. “I would want to too, just… I don’t want to impair you’re-” you awkwardly tried to explain as he tried to hold back laughter. He failed and ended up laughing in your face, only making you laugh too. 

“God I love you,” he smiled bashfully. 

“I love you too.” 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The next morning, you woke up to Oscar beside you, his arms wrapped around you. You smiled. This felt right. He felt right.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You walked into the paddock hand in hand and Nicole immediately gasped. “You’re finally together?!” 

You laughed. “Yeah, we are,” you nodded. The four of them were a mix of cheering and crying, all ecstatic for you both. 

“If you hurt her I’ll kill you!” Addie warned, pointing a finger in Oscar’s face. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiled, looking at you. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You watched in awe as he crossed the finish line in P2, celebrating with his sisters and mum. You all ran to the Parc Fermé, ready to greet him. He ran over to you five, hugging his mum first, then running straight to you. He smiled then pulled you in for a kiss. 

“Congratulations,” you smiled, pulling back. 

“I have to watch you dance now,” he rushed out as Addie pulled him over for a hug. “I love you!” He shouted, being pulled away by Lando, knowing they were on a time crunch.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

2,830,623 likes liked by landonorris, y/nballet, and others oscarpiastri Bagged myself a dancer, and a second place trophy. Great weekend :)

comments

user83: WHAT THE FUCK MY WORLDS COLLIDING

user73: BRO HAS ULTIMATE RIZZ -> Hattiepiastri: INCORRECT BUZZER, they've been in love with each other since they could walk, they just didn't know it yet.

nicolepiastri: My babies  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

landonorris: NOW HE'LL STOP THIRSTING -> oscarpiastri: polly not...

y/nballet: my love  ❤️

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

7,830,725 likes liked by oscarpiastri, hugomarchand, nicole piastri and others

y/nballet: Bagged myself an Osc :)

oscarpiastri: I love you  ❤️ -> y/nballet: No papaya heart? -> oscarpiastri: shut up please.

user73: WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS??? -> user26: they've been friends forever and now they're dating :)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[drefear]

Daddy Issues

Best Friend’s Dad!Miguel x Reader

TW: smut, p in v, roughness, dirty talking, fingering, some fluff, some angst, teasing. 

might make a part 2, we’ll see. 

Nothing beat the way it felt to dance, nothing made you feel as alive. This was evident in the way you leaped across the stage and spun into a pirouette. You smiled and panted a bit and continued your routine, jumping into an arabesque as if you were in flight and completely weightless.

The applause filled the auditorium and you felt the out-of-beat rise and fall of your chest as you begged for air silently. You saw your father stand up with tears in his eyes and your best friend as well, who came to watch you for support. You’d finally gotten the lead in the show your dance school was doing, The Nutcracker , and being Clara was like walking on air. You ballet-ran off the stage and waited for the curtains to close, signaling the end of the show. You’d done it, and with perfect timing as you were about to graduate college and no longer have your dance team anymore, since you would officially reach the age limit in the fall of next year and auditions were in the winter. Your heart pounded as you saw Gabriella from the wings, happily waiting for you to come out and take your final bow, and then it was time. You milked the hell out of your curtain call, waving and smiling like a total idiot, but it was worth it. Everything had paid off to finally be at this moment.

But… they were gone? You searched for your father and Gabriella’s faces, but they weren’t in the seats they’d just been in. Did they leave? Maybe went to get the car before everyone rushed to the exits? You felt a little tinge of hurt in your heart, but you would try to understand. They came to watch and that’s all that mattered.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder as you masked your confusion on the stage, you turned to see the two missing familiars holding two large bouquets of flowers. You eyes welled with tears and you hugged them tight, crying happily as they wrapped their arms around you. The moment was perfect.

Well. Almost. There was only one person missing, one person who you already knew wouldn’t make it.

Gabriella’s dad, Miguel. He’d been one of your biggest fans since you and Gabriella became friends in middle school, about the time you began to blossom into the woman you were today. The two of you were inseparable from the moment you’d met, and soon, both of your families were just as close.

You’d been through everything together. Puberty, getting your periods, your parents divorce and your mom leaving, Gabriella’s mother passing away, everything. You two had even decided once you graduated high school, to go to college together and share an apartment.

Which is exactly what you did, and now you both were graduating. Gabriella was finishing her undergraduate for medical school, and you’d gone on to major in the arts, so you could become a professional choreographer. No one could get in between the two of you.

Except her father, you thought for a brief second before shaking the thought from your head.

No! That’s bad, very bad! You chastised yourself for your subconscious wishes.

Gabi’s dad was so nerdy as you grew up, doting on her mom every waking moment. You’d even gone as far as to call him a simp once, to which Gabi laughed about it for days. Your mom and dad barely got along at all through your childhood, so it was no wonder how much her parents loved each other was foreign to you, but things changed when you two became juniors in high school.

You’d had your first kiss, and Gabi begged for details in her room. The two of you sat up and talked about this boy you’d kissed all night, but she was definitely way more excited than you were. It just wasn’t what you’d expected, shoving his tongue into your mouth instantly and basically just pushing your head into his passenger window as you somewhat wanted to get away from him.

Plus, he wasn’t even that cute.

But Gabi hadn’t experienced anything around boys yet, and so you indulged her and made it seem way more romantic and nice than it was. Batting your eyes, you made smoochy sounds as she smacked you with a pillow and you both giggled.

“Girls, lights out.” You heard Gabi’s mom say and you furrowed your brows a bit at Gabi, who just rolled her eyes in response. You waited to hear the footsteps fade before you asked her what that was about.

“My mom and dad have been seeing this counselor. Something about the spark needing to be reignited, so now they go into the guest bedroom every Saturday to have sex.” She made a disgusted face and your eyes widened.

“They plan it?”

“I guess? It’s been every weekend now for like three weeks, and I’m going insane! Let’s sneak out and see a movie or something before my brain dies.” She moved towards her window and waved me over, but you glanced at her bedroom door.

“Wait, I gotta get my shoes from downstairs, I’ll meet you in the backyard.” You spoke and she gave you a thumbs up, before tucking out of her window.

You tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room when you heard it.

“Miguel- right there!” It was hushed, but you heard it clearly. Not being able to resist, you peeked into the kitchen where you’d heard the sounds and your mind was never the same. “What if the girls come down-”

“Shh, we’ll hear them, now focus on me, cariño.” He had his head tucked into her neck as his pants were pulled below his ass, showing his toned bottom as he fucked up into her. Legs wrapped around his waist, he was so much larger than her. How did you just notice this?

Your eyes fluttered downwards to where the two of their bodies met and you gasped. He was huge. Could dick even be that big? He was beyond anything you’d seen in the health textbooks or on twitter.

You stumbled backwards and immediately knocked over the lamp on the table, the house then suddenly becoming quiet. It was as if there was no air inside of your lungs anymore, freezing in place until you saw the swinging kitchen door begin to move, running faster than you ever have for your shoes and bolting back up the stairs. You jumped as you tried to get your shoes on as fast as possible and sat on the window ledge as you heard someone coming into Gabi’s room as you were about to climb down the gutter into her backyard. Looking up, your eyes met his.

His face was sweating lightly and his eyes were blown with lust, watching you like a predator. You glanced down where you’d seen what you should never have, and his pants were pulled up now, but the bulge was still prominent and hard. You gulped and practically fell out the window backwards as you collapsed onto Gabi, who was waiting for you.

“Go!” You whispered harshly and dragged her hand, “Your dad is right behind me and he saw me!”

“Shit, how?” Gabi asked and your mouth went dry, the scene replaying in your mind like a broken record that kept skipping to the same place.

“You don’t want to know.” You hushed and ran to her fence as the lights from the back door flashed on and you two were met with the large shadow of Mr. O’Hara.

“What are you two doing?” His voice was like a death sentence to the both of you, who were sitting in the grass now. You scrambled to get up and your hands were shaking. Nothing was processing in your head. Why were you so sweaty?

“We were just gonna jump on the trampoline, dad.” Gabi lied and you just nodded, eyes avoiding his as he walked closer and folded his arms. You looked at his hands, and you thought back to where they’d just been, rubbing Mrs. O’Hara’s clit. Your eyes flashed back down to the grass.

Your name broke you from your haze, Mr. O’Hara’s voice making your knees tremble a bit. “You don’t look well, maybe I should call your dad and have him come get you.” he spoke and moved to touch your forehead, checking for a temperature. You flinched and moved backwards.

“You know what, you’re right. I’ll walk home I think. See you tomorrow, Gabi.” You rambled and a hand caught your wrist.

“You can’t walk home now, it’s dark out. I’ll just call your dad-”

“He’s working late, can’t come out. I’ll just walk home!” You tried again, begging for whatever higher power could hear you to just let you die.

“No, I’ll drive you then.” He said and your fate was sealed.

You just quietly nodded as Gabi looked at you with a bad feeling showing in her emotions. You two were in so much trouble.

Sitting in the car, your knee bounced with anxiety.

‘Please don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me, please don’t-’

“So, where were you two actually planning on going?” SHIT.

“Uh. Just to see a movie.” You mumbled, staring out the window.

“And why sneak out? You both know that we’d happily drive you, even give you some money for snacks.” His tone made your skin crawl, now recognizing it as the moaning and grunting you’d heard prior.

You cleared your voice and tried to not look guilty. “We, uh, didn’t want to… bother you guys.” You hoped he wouldn’t even hear you, would just let it all go.

“It’s never a bother, especially when it’s about your and Gabi’s safety.” He spoke and pulled up to a red light. The silence was drowning you, but it was better than answering his questions.

“Gabi said you two were busy tonight, so we thought it’d be better if we just snuck out.” You shifted your legs in the passenger seat, begging the world to strike you with lightning.

“Ah. So Gabi figured it out.” He said and the light turned green again. “Gabi’s mother and I have been married a long time, and sometimes we need to do things to keep-”

“The flame alive, yeah I know. Can we please not talk about this, Mr. O’Hara?” You begged, and your eyes met once more, making you blush wildly. You couldn’t help but remember the way he looked as he thrusted into his wife. You turned away fast so he hopefully wouldn’t see your red cheeks. “Gabi and I will never sneak out again, I promise, just please stop talking about this!” You covered your ears a bit. That’s when he put it together.

“Oh.” he just said and continued to drive, hands white knuckling the steering wheel. “I’m… sorry you saw that.” His tone was hesitant, like he wasn’t even sure what the words he was saying meant.

“Cool, yep, see ya tomorrow Mr. O’Hara!” You chirped and practically jumped out of his moving car as he pulled to a stop outside of your house, no cars in the driveway and no lights on. You ran to the front door and burst inside, locking it behind you and panting.

That night, you’d had your very first orgasm thinking about him fucking you like that and nothing was ever the same.

A year later, and Mrs. O’Hara was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer and had only a few months to live. She pulled through to around a year and you felt your heart break the moment she was gone. Your mother had abandoned your father and you a little into your freshman year of high school, so you’d leaned on Mrs. O'Hara, like she was your own mother, learned her ways and how to be a good cook, and she taught you many things about life that you’d eventually need.

Gabriella and Mr. O’Hara were both devastated, and you could understand why. Nothing was the same for them. After the funeral, you, the O’Hara’s, and your father had a meal together, and that would be a weekly dinner from then on. Most of the time, she would cook for everyone when you all would hang out together, especially after your mom disappeared, but now with her gone, you picked up on cooking duties. It wasn’t as amazing as hers, but it fed you all and it was similar, so you kept up with it every week.

Flash forward to tonight, graduation looming over you like a rain cloud on a summer day. All of your grades were final, your dance team was about to disburse, and you’d be a woman of the world soon. Oh how the times had changed, and tonight was your official family dinner. Instead of cooking at home, your father insisted on you all going out to eat and your and Gabriella’s favorite restaurant.

And so here you were, sitting with that too tight bun still bobbypined and an easy-to-throw-on dress you’d yanked out of your closet in a rush to wear home after your performance. Gabriella held your hand as she chatted about what her and her new boyfriend were going to do after graduation, how he was going to med school with her and she wanted to get an apartment with him. You nodded, excited for her. You weren’t surprised, as she’d mentioned them moving in together multiple times recently, which would mean you'd be looking for a studio apartment soon. That was fine by you, since she’d still be in school and you were about to begin your own career.

The Latin food filled your senses as you enjoyed the food and light conversation. Gabriella spoke with her boyfriend to her other side and your father laughed with a glass of bourbon in his hand. You felt a hand on your shoulder from above and saw that looming figure you saw in your late night fantasies.

“Dad!” Gabi perked up and stood to hug her father, making you also stand to give him a polite peck on the cheek. As you leaned up to do just that, the corners of your lips brushed and your body froze, the feeling soft and… addicting. You snapped out of it almost as fast as you felt it and blinked a few times quickly to look like nothing happened, not meeting his eyes as you sat once more.

When you looked back to where he was hugging your father and shaking Gabis boyfriends hand, your eyes met and he was staring a bit. He sat next to you and you straightened up in your dress. This was new…

You’d done well at hiding your crush on him in the years, you thought. The first few months after you saw him and his wife have sex, you couldn’t look either of Gabi’s parents in the eye, but you’d gotten over it once you lost your virginity. ‘So that’s what it’s like’ you thought once you were done and the boy you were with was in the bathroom.

Dinner was served relatively quickly as you all ordered and drank. Your father had another bourbon neat, and Miguel had a Manhattan, as Gabi and her boyfriend each had a few vodka sodas, and you just slipped on your little tequila drink. It was a special for that week or something and had some sort of juice that made it look blueish purple.

Once you all had a drink in your each, you’d all begun laughing and chatting louder and as the night went one, you’d had a few more.  The live band started and you swayed a bit at the music. When you turned your head, Miguel was looking at you already with his arm behind your chair. You blushed a bit, warm from the liquor in your veins as he chuckled.

“Drunk? I thought you could handle more than that.”

“No no, I don’t… I don’t like to drink too much, so I’m already pushing it.” You smiled and glanced at your dad, who just nodded in agreement.

“My little girl did not get the drinking gene.” He added and sipped the bourbon he had. Gabi laughed and spoke up.

“Should’ve seen her in Miami on Spring Break! She was so drunk, she was dragging strangers to dance with her-“

“Gabi!” You chimed in and glanced at your father and  Miguel, the men laughing at your embarrassment.

“You’re a great dancer, even drunk!” She added and her boyfriend smiled at the memory as well. “How about we dance?” He nodded and pulled her hand to dance to the live music, enjoying the soft singing of the Hispanic music. You glanced at the dance floor and saw all couples, where Gabi now stood with her loving boyfriend.

“Go, find a partner!” You dad added and you shook your head. “Come on! A professional dancer who won’t dance alone?” He teased and you smiled again, just ignoring the comment.

“Here, I’ll dance with you.” Miguel stood and reached for your hand. You froze once more for that moment and nodded. “That way, you can still dance and not be alone.” He smiled wider and pulled you up, walking with you to the dance floor. You stood in front of him and heard the next song begin. Preciosa by Marc Anthony began and the beat made you move your hips gently, as he held your hands and followed your movements.

“They didn’t teach Latin dancing to you, did they?” He asked, a playful tone in his voice. You looked up with a small ‘no’ and he chuckled, moving you in close to his chest and putting one leg in between yours. “Follow my lead, and loosen your hips. No ballet here, amor.” The roll of his tongue on the ‘r’ made your hips stutter in their movement. You’d never been so nervous to dance. He held one hand up and placed the other hand around your waist, swiveling you and twirling you both as he moved with precision and ease across the dance floor. You felt the eyes of everyone around you, but you couldn’t care. This was a moment you knew you’d waited your whole life for, and this was probably as close as you’d get to being with Miguel, so you’d ignore everyone and enjoy it while it lasted. A smile tugged at your features and you let him lead you. He even lifted you at one point like you were nothing but a piece of paper, a feather.

When that song ended, Vivir Mi Vida played and the tempo became faster, making you both continue with hast and creating a bit of sweat on both of you. He took control of the dance and spun you around the dance floor, making sure no one got in either of your ways as you laughed with glee.

The night moved in a blur as you and Miguel moved like a couple who’d been together for years, two who moved as one.  A slow song played and the strum of the guitar moved your bodies close, making you lean back and forth intimately against each other. The song ended and you both realized there was very few people left in what once was a bustling restaurant, and when you turned back to your table, your father was handing the bill to the waiter. Miguel stopped and walked back.

“I told you I was taking care of it tonight.” He caught your dad’s wrist and took the check, replacing your father’s credit card with his, and giving it back to the poor confused server. They hurried away as your dad shook his head.

“Couldn’t let me have that, O’Hara? You and Gabi came to support my little girl, and you even swept her onto the dance floor and made her smile. Least I can do is buy ya dinner.” He laughed and Miguel smiled.

“Not a chance. She’s been a wonderful friend to Gabriella for years, and she’s like my own mija. Let me treat you all and celebrate her.”

The words echoed in your mind and broke down your wonderful night.

His mija? As in… his own daughter?

You cursed yourself silently and painting a fake smile onto your lips as you all got up to leave once he took back his card. Gabriella was speaking to you and rambling about the apartment her and her boyfriend were looking at tomorrow, but all you could hear was the white noise of your own thoughts crippling your ability to think.

You tossed and turned all night after hearing Miguel say those words and you pushed down the feelings you’d pretended were not there for years, as they threatened to roll over your being and blow through your eyes without grace. How could you let yourself think anything like that again?

A few weeks later and you sat with Gabi in her backyard, tanning in the chairs by her pool as you both heard a low “I’m home,” from inside. The back door swung open and you saw Mr. O’Hara standing there. He was silent for a moment before getting a bit irritated. “What the hell are you two wearing?” He barked, angered.

Gabi shrunk back. “Dad, what are you talking about? They’re just bikinis!” She tried to call him down, but he seemed to get even worse.

“Just- those aren’t even bikinis, those- that’s less than underwear, you both might as well be wearing nothing!” He yelled in upset, like a lion roaring in pain.

“Maybe I should just go.” You mumbled and his eyes snapped to you. Uh oh…

“Not a chance. Yours is worse than hers! You look naked!” He stepped towards you and instinctively you took a step back, behind the lawn chair.

“M-Mr O’Hara, no one can see us. We’re in your backyard.” You spoke carefully, trying to make it better. “So no one even saw us, right? We'll change.” You nodded, obediently as you grabbed Gabi’s hand and slipped back into the house, hearing him grumble to himself as you passed him.

“I’ve never seen him talk to us like that.” Gabi spoke, putting on a t-shirt. She sighed and pulled her hair up. “Not even when I had that hickey sophomore year!”

“Maybe he just had a rough day and that was the last straw?” You hadn’t changed yet, staring at yourself in the bikini in the mirror. It really wasn’t terrible, maybe a bit more of a cheeky back than a full one, the straps of your bikini fairly thin. Just a regular red triangle bikini. Maybe you’d just gained weight? You huffed, “my bag is downstairs with my clothes, I’m gonna go grab it.”

“Do you wanna just borrow a shirt?”

“I mean, maybe. Anything baggy, so he doesn’t freak out again?” You asked and glanced at her hamper of clean clothes.

“Yeah, grab whatever.” She waved you off and you reached in, grabbing a large t-shirt and a pair of soccer shorts. “I’m gonna go start making some dinner, come down when you’re done changing to help.” She spoke and walked out of the room. You sighed and pushed your hair behind your ears, sitting on her bed and holding the discarded bikini. Was he really upset? Well, maybe he was since he saw you as his own daughter. You begrudgingly got up and walked down the hall, passing by his office and spotting him.

“Come in here.” His tone was sharp, almost nerve wracking. You followed the voice and saw him with his arms folded over his chest, an irritated glare in his eyes. “I’m disappointed in both of you for thinking something like that is appropriate to wear.”

“Mr. O’Hara, we weren’t out in public, and no one else was around!” You answered, regretting your decision to stand up for yourself, as you notice the look in his eyes and realize you’re just digging your own grave.

“So you two weren’t taking a snapchat in those outfits? No videos or TikToks?” He asked, making you bite your tongue and avoid laughing at hearing him say that stuff.

“Maybe one tiktok…” You trail off and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But, we didn’t post it, and I can delete it.” You justified and he nodded, concern still etched into his beautiful face. You take out your phone and as you begin to delete the video, his eyes narrow.

“...are those my clothes?” His head cocked to the side like a confused dog and you looked down, just as curious to see what he was talking about.

“No, they were in Gabi’s clean clothes.”

“Well, that’s my t-shirt from high school and those are my workout shorts.” His words made you quiet, forgetting about deleting the video. You blushed a bit and immediately starting searching for your bag, making a bee-line for the living room. “Oh my god, I’ll go change, I’m so sorry.” You rambled some flustered apologies before he could say anything else and ran off to the bathroom with the bag on your shoulder. Locking the door, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Could today get any worse? You leaned your head against the wall and kept your eyes shut, then took your clothing off once more to change into the clothes that actually belonged to you.

Tugging your skirt down to a suitable length incase Mr. O’Hara decided to berate your fashion choices once more, you glanced at something on the floor. It was another shirt of his, this time obvious by how large this one was, and the smell.

It was definitely something he’d just worked out in, having a particular musk to it, and the smell of his aftershave and body wash. It was him to a tee, and something in your body lit on fire just from the scent.

Without a second thought, you stuffed the shirt in your bag and exited the bathroom.

That night was filled with stifled moans and bitten knuckles as you quieted yourself while using your vibrator. His shirt stayed stationed in the hand you were biting down on, smelling his scent while you touched yourself until you were seeing stars and having trouble remembering your own name.

You hid that shirt the next day, stuffing it behind your pillows for safe keeping.

A day later, Miguel and Gabi had come over to watch some sport together. You’d never really been interested in sports unless Gabi was playing, but you enjoyed the company, so you often cooked for them all while they enjoyed the show. You mixed the guacamole as you heard someone walk into the kitchen behind you.

“Smells great.” Miguel spoke as he opened the fridge.

“Homemade chips, for the guac.” You nodded, still somewhat keeping it short with him after the prior day’s events.

“You can’t still be mad, right?” He asked and you turned to him fully, pausing the work on the mashed avocado and staring at him. He was holding two beers.

“I was never mad, but I still don’t get it.” You shrugged, “it just didn’t really seem like a big deal.”

“Really?” He seemed to get a little upset at that, placing the beers down and leaning on the kitchen island. “Because I think it was a huge deal. You’re barely an adult, you can’t be dressed like-”

“Like what? A woman? It was a bikini, it’s not like I was standing on the corner!”

“Watch how you talk to me.” He got cold and serious and your temper was flaring up.

“Why should I? You’re not my dad or my boyfriend, so you don’t get to tell me how to dress.” You shot back and he was quiet for a second. This prompted you to continue your winning streak. “And I don’t think you get to tell me what’s appropriate in front of people.”

“What are you talking about?” He hissed, taking a small step closer to you. “You don’t remember? When I caught you fucking on your kitchen counter? Cause I remember. Vividly.” You jabbed back and his eyes widened, the anger on your face apparent. Without another word, you stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom, slamming the door and sitting on your bed.

You shouldn’t have brought that up, you knew you shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t help it. Who was he to tell you what you could and couldn’t do? He was just your friend’s dad, he had no right to yell at you about how you dressed or what you did. It wasn’t his place.

“Honey?” Your dad said from outside your door and you got up, opening it for him. “Miguel told me that he upset you, so I told him that he and Gabi should go home for the night so I could talk to my little girl.” Your dad always called you ‘his little girl,’ no matter how old you got. Tears started welling in your eyes, and you didn't know why, but you started crying into your father’s chest. He hugged you in a tight embrace as you continued to let out the tears you didn’t know you were holding in.

Some time went on and after about a week, you’d gone to Gabi's childhood home to hang out and watch a movie while Miguel was out. It was perfect. You didn’t have to see him and you could have some one-on-one time with Gabi.

Until she fell asleep halfway through the movie. You sighed, getting up and getting a glass of water. The week had been stressful. Every free second you had, you were touching yourself to Miguel’s shirt, tracing your clit, biting your lip to avoid making sounds. Even just the memory of his smell made your knees wobble a bit and you held onto the fridge handle a bit tighter while getting the water. The front door opening signaled you that he was now home. Time to leave as fast as possible, you thought to yourself, and placed the full cup of water in the sink.

Before you could walk out of the kitchen, Miguel was in the doorway staring down at you. “I just got off the phone with your father.” His voice was monotone, which wasn’t abnormal.

“You can tell him I’ll be home soon.”

“Well, he had a few questions for me. About you.” He spoke and something was off about how he was speaking. Was he… taunting you?

You finally met his eyes and you were right, something was off.

“He said the cleaning lady found a man’s shirt in your bedroom.” Your heart dropped. No no no no!

“Oh.” Was all you could muster up as he watched your reaction. “He asked if you and Gabi had any new boys around, any new friends. He said you randomly started crying the other day and he was worried you might be going through some sort of relationship that he’s unaware of. So?” He asked and you just clenched your jaw.

“Mr. O’Hara, that is none of your-”

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“What?” You questioned, taking a step backwards.

“Say my name. You want me to treat you like an adult? Say my name.”

“Fine. Miguel, that is none of your business.” You barked at him, a smirk forming on his lips.

“I think it is my business, though. Since it’s my shirt.” He announced and your eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates. How did he-

“It was just so strange, how one of my shirts went missing, one I had been wearing the day I yelled at you about that bikini, and then suddenly your dad finds a shirt that matches the one I’m missing. Weird coincidence, hmm?” he folded his arms and you felt your body running cold. How could you steal from a genius and think he wouldn’t realize? “So let me get the facts in order. You watched me have sex in my kitchen, you stole my dirty clothing, and you pranced around my house in a skimpy bikini.” He spoke in a lower voice, as if he was just thinking out loud, and you noticed the look in his eyes was becoming hungry.

“Y-Yes ok I did that, I’m sorry. Don’t tell anyone it was yours!” You begged and he chuckled at you, looking to the side.

“I’m not telling anyone anything, but I have a question.” He paused and brought his thumb to his lip, as if thinking about something he was trying to word correctly. “What were you doing with my shirt?”

Your blood ran cold, the sound of your heart beating in your ears too loud to even think. He… wanted you to say it. Heat began to rise up your neck and cover your cheeks and ears with a tint of red.

“C’mon, say it.” His lips twitched to a smirk and you squeezed your legs together at the view you had of him. Dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, belt around those slim hips, slacks tight in all the right places from how muscular his thighs were.

Embarrassment filled your head as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and as you lifted them up his body, red rubies claimed your sight like they owned you.

“I-I… thought about you.”

“Be specific, amorcita, what about me?” He moved forward and tilted your chin up to keep eye contact with him as you spoke.

You gulped and closed your eyes, too humiliated to say what you were about to while seeing his face. “I thought of you and I having sex… touching me and stuff.”

“Eyes on me, mi corazon.” You opened your eyes and he was bent down to where he could kiss you. His breath smelled like mint. “Tell me more.”

“I imagined you on top of me, b-behind me… kissing me.” You trailed off as his lips ghosted over yours, then smiling and crashing together like a crescendo of a symphony. His hands gripped the sides of your body, picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

“You thought of me touching you here?” His hand trailed down your torso towards the front of your jean shorts, tracing where your pussy sat, hot and waiting. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and he smirked again. He liked the effect he had on you, it was obvious.

“Words, mi amor.”

“Yes, Miguel, please.” You spoke, your words shaky as he laughed at your shyness. “Where was that attitude from before? All that sass?” He whispered against your ear as he unzipped your jean shorts, pulling down the material to expose you more to him. His fingers rubbed against the lacy fabric of your panties, and you lost your mind for a minute, panting a bit just from the slight contact. “You’re that sensitive? Just from a little touching?” He purred and yanked your panties off as well, your naked core against the chill of the air sending a shiver up your spine. “Where’d all that shit you were talking from the other day go?”

“Miguel,” You beg and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Gotta open you up first, Princessa.” His words were low and rumbled in your body as he gave you pet names.

A finger slipped into you without issue, and your back arched into his chest as he massaged your thigh with the other hand. A moan erupted in your throat and he quickly took the hand on your thigh to cover your mouth. “Shhh, we can’t have Gabi finding us like this, right?” You nodded and practically saw your eyes cross as he pushed in another finger, beginning to feel full with just the two digits. He worked them back and forth in you as he placed soft kisses against your throat. Your whole body jolted, like an electric current was rolling throughout your body.

His fingers began to curl against that spongy spot that had you rolling your eyes back, letting out more muffled sounds against his other hand, his eyes hooded and watching you through his thick lashes. Like a predator, he moved them faster and you felt yourself about to teeter over the edge. His thumb brushed against your clit and you were sent into a full earth-shattering orgasm, gripping his shoulder for stability as he let you ride his fingers through it.

“Preciosa…” he mumbled and unzippered the dress pants, pulling himself out and watching your face change from blissed out to fearful. “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow…” he whispered and lined himself up. Pulling you to the edge of the counter, he pushed the tip into you and you closed your eyes, feeling the stretch of his size already. He moved slowly as you adjusted and once he was fully in, you hissed a bit. You both were completely breathless, like two wild beasts waiting to see who would make the first deadly move. “Look at me while I fuck you good, I want to see that pretty face while I’m inside you.” Keeping eye contact, he moved his thumb back on your clit, making you shake a bit and let out pretty little sounds again. He started to move at this, feeling so good and overwhelmingly full. It was as if you’d been speared onto something, he was impaling himself into you and you loved every second. You began to thrust back against him and he practically lost it then and there, watching you frantically chase your own high making him almost feral. He yanked you off of the counter top, flipping you over and pushing you down flat against it. Shoving himself back inside of you, he began a relentless pace, bruising your cervix over and over. As you got louder, he pulled your hair back to make you arch against his chest.

“Yeah? You like how I ruin you?” He taunted, slamming into you from behind and causing the sound of skin slapping skin to echo across the room. “This pussy is mine.” He growled and gave your clit a gentle slap, making you practically scream out.

“M-Miguel…!” You were panting from how he’d made you so breathless, so overwhelmed by him.

“Be quiet, or do you want Gabi to know you’re a slut for me? That you love when I fuck you better than anyone ever could.” He went on and you nodded along. He was right. He’d ruined you for any other man. You’d never be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them to him.

“That’s right, amorcita, moan for me.” He egged you on as he bottomed out once more, making your legs shake. He lifted one of your knees to lean on the counter beside you and pounded into you from a new, deeper angle, giving you chills. That was it, that new spot he’d found made you come around him instantly, muscles tightening from the orgasm. You felt someone warm fill you, and realized he had finished as well. Grabbing your face harshly, he pulled your face sideways to give you a rough kiss as he kept himself inside of you for a few more moments.

You gasped for air as you felt him slip out of you, his seed dripping down your leg a bit and making you hyper aware of what just happened. You both stood, half dressed and heaving in silence. Your eyes found his, and everything hit you all at once. Grabbing your underwear and jean shorts off of the ground, you rushed out of the kitchen and began getting dressed as you walked.

“Wait-” He called out and yelled your name, but you were fast and he was still tucking himself back into his pants. As you reached the door, there was a knock and you buttoned your shorts as you swung open the door.

A nicely dressed woman, beautiful and tall, stood there holding a jacket. The two of you stared at each other for a second before she looked past you and smiled.

“Ah, Miguel! I realized you left your jacket in my car.” She spoke, then looked down at you. “Is this your daughter?”

Tears built up in your eyes and you looked back at Miguel, shocked.

“You were on a date?” Your words could’ve been poisonous with how you spoke to him, because they stung him terribly. His mouth was parted, still in shock.

You’d had enough. Your body pushed past the woman’s and you ran down the street to your home, only a few blocks away. It wasn’t your apartment, but your dad should be home and you could just tell him you didn’t want to talk about it. He never pushed you.

Knocking on the door, he opened it and immediately was afraid.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to stay here tonight, ok?” You spoke and he nodded, hugging your crying frame. Tonight had been too much to think about, and as he walked you in, you finally felt the exhaustion hit you. You trudged off to your bed and fell asleep.

Part 2

[francixoxoxo]

⋆.˚ Rose Gold ᡣ𐭩 ୨ৎ

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐗 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝟏𝟐 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭. 𝐇𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!! 🫶🫶

Ballet seemed to be the only way for you.

Your feet were molded to fit into slippers, never mind if your toes were bruised and broken. You were gratefully blessed with thick hair, because years of updos would have thinned it to a rag-doll’s amount otherwise. You grew used to the dull ache of an empty stomach. Your body was made to be tugged and bent and manipulated without so much as a complaint, you were made to push every comfortable limit. You were born to sacrifice comfort for greatness.

Coriolanus had recognized that greatness since you were children. He saw that immense talent, as he sat in the very back of the theater in a seat you’d begged your director to provide. You’d been so young, at the first show you brought him to. Perhaps just twelve. But so, so magnetically beautiful.

The stage was your Eden, Coryo could tell from the start. The dainty way you moved, the way your brows pulled taught in an expression equally as emotional as the dance. He couldn’t peel his eyes off you, clearly the company could see that was the overwhelming sentiment because you got most of the lead parts. You were their prima ballerina, and you deserved every ounce of the praise for your bone-cracking work.

Coryo, even in your academy days together when he could hardly afford a half-decent tie, never came empty handed to your shows (which he seemed to always find a way to attend). He always had a bouquet of flowers for you, the bright tulips you adored or soft pink peonies to match your tutu. It was always worth it to see the way your eyes lit up.

It was needless to say that Coryo fell in love with the beautiful-souled, elegant ballerina. How could he not, after years of being so close to you?

Tigress and you were the ones to teach him how to dance for his first prom, his cousin not-so-discreetly recording Coryo learning to dance the lead with his “little girlfriend” in the Snows’ apartment. (Coriolanus had protested to that nickname, claiming you were a “friend who was a girl.”) He still remembered the feeling of your waist under his hand as you gracefully moved, stark contrast to himself. More embarrassingly he still remembered you and Tigress had both broken into giggles at Coryo’s unrelenting stiffness. He liked to think he was a better dancer now.

You’d been the one to walk with him to the library, if only to check out classical dance magazines into your backpack while he studied. You’d always leave early for ballet lessons. He knew you were a hard worker, dedicated to your craft. But Coryo hadn’t known the half of it.

Once, he recalled, you’d gone straight to the changing room instead of coming to greet your father or Coriolanus. He’d been puzzled, holding his bunch of white roses in the crook of his arm and asking the other dancers what’d happened. They’d only shrugged. So he might have snuck behind stage, confident that the rest of the ballerinas were still taking photos and chatting with family, and knocked on the changing room door.

“Yes?” Your voice rang out, croaky and raw. His heart had dropped at the sound.

“It’s just me. Can I come in?” Coryo called to you, his ear to the door. You shuffled around before opening the door yourself.

Just as he’d expected, your eyes were red and blotchy, mascara running. You’d taken out the comb in your hair but not the updo itself. Your tutu, though you’d been raised and reprimanded to take extreme care of the company’s accessory, was discarded on the floor beside your ballet slippers. As Coryo stared down at you, hips brows furrowing in concern, you stood in your pale pink leotard and snow-white tights. Through the sheer fabric he could see the bandages around your feet, scabs reopened and bleeding through the gauze to your tights.

You’d sniffled. “It’s fine. It wouldn’t show under the slippers.” As if that was his cause of worry. You stepped aside to let him into the dressing room, stiffly sitting himself down on a mauve chaise. He set the roses beside him.

“Are you all right?” Coryo cooed, watching you as you sat beside him. You pulled your knee to your chest with your foot on the upholstery.

You shook your head. “I made a mistake on my pirouette en dehors.” You wiped your eyes, spreading more mascara onto your cheeks. Coryo just stared, so you swallowed down the lump in your throat. And yet still your voice was meek and raw. “The spin. I ended it far too early, made a fool of myself. Nearly fell over, too!”

Coriolanus shook his head, watching you tear your updo down and shake out your hair with a roughness all too aggressive for his liking. He reached for your hand. “I thought you did amazing.”

“Because you don’t know ballet!” You bawled, your lips pulling in a grimace as more tears poured down your rosy cheeks. It was evil of Coryo to think, but he couldn’t deny you were pretty when you cried. “Oh, Coryo, I’ve never danced so sloppy in my life! And there was a critic in the house!”

He didn’t get it one bit. You were lovely. Every ballerina adored your kind nature or was jealous of your undeniable talent. You’d entranced him, mind, body and soul, with every move you made— on and off stage. He hadn’t realized how much effort it took to look, well, effortless.

It was then that Coriolanus realized just how hard you worked, just how much of your life ballet consumed. And he adored you more for it, as he folded you into his arms and promised you were a born star.

For years, you flourished. Your grace was unmatched, the emotion you could convey in the simplest of movements spoke volumes in a medium that used no words. You had the loving care and support of your father, your mother long gone. Coryo provided a kind of companionship that was invaluable. You were, with no exaggeration, a star.

When Coryo became a mentor for the Hunger Games, you saw him a bit less. It was all right, you supposed. You were busy too. Though, it did sting when he didn’t attend your ballet company’s performance of Appalachian Spring. The only show he had ever missed. After the news of his cheating in the Games and his relationship with Lucy Gray got out, it was only salt in the wound.

You weren’t sure why you expected letters from him when he was sent to the Districts. Life went on, you supposed. Even though you sorely missed seeing his face in the crowd, which seemed to only diminish.

The company was failing. They were holding on, grasping at straws, under the immense pressure of closing. That just about ripped your heart to shreds. And, as if the world was endlessly trying to knock you down, your father fell fatally ill. Dead within the month.

Ballet was the only way for you. But without your father’s support, and (though your family name had never been particularly prestigious) no social standing, other companies were reluctant to take you on. Your talent didn’t seem to matter in a world that revolved around social status.

With the ballet company’s sinking, so was your career. You saw yourself walking languidly towards a cliff, your mind in despair, your eyes witnessing where the road ended, yet your feet betraying you— It was hardly their fault. The finale of your passion, your life, was impending and inevitable.

The theatre was putting on A Midsummer Night’s Dream tonight. Coriolanus’ platinum blonde curls were still cropped, he rubbed a now-calloused hand over his head as he sat in the back row. It wasn’t difficult to score a seat anymore, perhaps now that his new internship with Dr. Gaul put some money in his pockets the cost of a ticket seemed less steep. Perhaps his memory served him wrong. Or, more likely, the prices had lowered exponentially.

Coriolanus was stone faced as he watched the stagnant red curtain, inoffensive music playing before the ballet began. He’d expected there to be as much of a turnout as there had been the last show he attended; but he could only count fifty-six people finding their seats. He couldn’t see your father, who he usually sat with, anywhere.

He paid it no mind. The moment the performance started, his icy blue eyes were focused solely on you. You could’ve been the only ballerina on stage, though the program in his lap said otherwise. You were a magnificent Hermia, as the program listed you were dancing.

Even after years of watching ballet, Coryo wasn’t very cultured in it. But any fool could see you looked utterly stunning in a pale pink, flowing dress to your calves with a gold-trimmed bust. Your tresses were done in an intricate updo, topped with a decorated comb. Watching you move, daintily and freely yet practiced— he forgot to breathe.

Coryo was entranced.

In Coryo’s lap he held a bouquet of hawthorn, purple hyacinths, pansy and bluebells— wrapped in white, tied off with a dainty, baby pink ribbon. It was rather beautiful, he’d taken care in which he chose, double-checking the meanings of the specific flowers with the florist. He knew you’d understand them, he recalled your raving about a secret language hidden in petals. He’d never been able to afford such an intricate bouquet for your previous shows.

Coriolanus wondered what you would think of him now, in a crisp white dress shirt, a simple black suit to let his red tie and coat pop. Those blonde curls you loved shaved down. Bearing expensive flowers. And in his pocket, a rose-gold bracelet dotted with diamonds.

Oh, he felt like a little boy again, admiring your radiance on stage, blue eyes round and glimmering with adoration. You were exuding passion, an overwhelming and raw talent.

When the final curtain drew, he set about finding you. It wasn’t how it had been when you were younger; ballerinas no longer took photos with family in their little pink tutus. He followed the masses to the lobby of the theatre, hanging by the grand door he knew you and the other dancers would come flooding from. In his red coat’s pocket he rubbed a thumb over the velvet jewelry box for you. The other hand clutched the bouquet, the flowers that bared every feeling.

None of the ballerinas that slipped from the backstage were you, to his dismay. For a moment he thought you might’ve slipped out a back door. Coryo still hadn’t seen your father, there wasn’t a point in coming to the front if he wasn’t attending. He leaned his back against the marble wall, frowning down at your flowers, until the door creaked open, and his azure eyes flicked up to see if the girl was you, and to his delight—

“Coryo?”

Oh, you hadn’t realized how large the hole he’d left in your heart gaped until Coryo was standing in front of you. Your Coryo.

“You’re here.” You must’ve sounded so silly. You certainly felt silly. You were already out of your costume, in a loose white sweater, soft and short pink skirt over black leggings. And here he was, in a sharp suit and tie, a gorgeous coat.. Stark contrast to the young boy who couldn’t scrape together a decent suit-jacket for your shows. The young boy who had filled out and chiseled into a man.

Coryo smiled softly down at you, eyes twinkling fondly. He offered the bouquet to you, his voice gentle and smooth as silk. “I’m here.” You took the bouquet absentmindedly, admiring it for a brief moment before shifting it to the crook over your elbow and turning your attention to Coriolanus again.

He looked so different, yet all the same. Those soft blue eyes slightly sharper but not any less attractive. His hair, Christ, that was the thing you couldn’t keep to yourself.

“Your hair!” You breathed, reaching up to push a dainty hand through his grown-out blonde buzzcut. It caught him a bit off guard, but he leaned his head down and chuckled.

“It’ll grow.” Coryo shrugged, letting your hand slip from his hair but not without grabbing it with his own. He leans down to press his lips to your knuckles. You think you might be in heaven. “You were amazing up there. Just.. angelic.”

You wondered if the heat in your cheeks was obvious. “Thank you..” Suddenly you had no words. Well, you had plenty to say. Plenty of thoughts, certainly. But no way to say them just yet. Coryo must’ve been able to tell.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Coriolanus’ brows drew together hopefully. You got a faint idea he might actually be nervous. To your dismay he dropped your hand gently. “You must be tired, but..”

“No, no, I’d love to.” You blurted, cutting him off with a bright smile. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow.

Coryo couldn’t stifle his grin. He decided to save your gift for later, as he guided you through the grand doors of the theater and to his car. Your lips had formed into an “o” at the long, cream-white vehicle. It even had a hood ornament, the silver logo of the expensive brand. “Oh, Coryo, it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t stop yourself from gasping your next words, though you were mortified after uttering them, “Since when could you afford something like this?”

You thought he’d be offended, but he just chuckled and opened the passenger door for you. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Restaurants weren’t exactly open at this time of night— atleast not any that Coryo found good enough to bring you to. So he settled to bring you to a gelato place he recalled you loved, sitting outside with you and watching the people go by. The streetlamps cast the dark street in soft yellows, the city was still very much awake.

You felt awake. For the first time in months, you felt your heart beating, you felt an honest smile gracing your lips. Seeing Coryo again was a breath of fresh air you hadn’t realized how bad you needed.

Coriolanus told you about his time in district twelve, though he left out some details. You told him about your father’s passing. You were hesitant to mention how poorly the theatre was doing, though. You had a feeling he knew.

Your feeling was correct. While the two of you were walking home, your hand comfortable in the crook of his elbow, Coryo spoke up. He breathed your name hesitantly, waiting for your acknowledging hum. “Tell me the truth. Is the dance company failing?”

You frowned, eyes on your feet. Well. What was the point in hiding it? It wasn’t exactly private information. “It is.” You murmured, almost ashamed.

“But you’ll go to another one?” Coryo immediately jumped to you. He didn’t seem to care about the theatre, only whether your talent would be in one.

That was the issue. Your breath caught in your chest, your lips pressing nervously and your eyelids fluttering shut to avoid the sting of tears. “I haven’t gotten any offers.”

It seemed your hard work simply.. Wasn’t enough. Not without a family name. In the capitol, where everything depended on a girl’s parents, an orphan whose name hadn’t been prestigious in the first place didn’t stand a chance. The only reason you were with this theatre was because your father and the owner had been friends in the war.

That just didn’t sit right with Coriolanus. He found your hand in the crook of his elbow, resting his roughened hand over your soft one, squeezing. “But you’re a natural talent.” His brows pulled taut. You shook your head.

“It’s not that simple.” You sighed, using your free hand to dash away the tears wetting your cheeks.

But it could be, Coryo knew as he turned over the jewelry box in his pocket, but didn’t say. Oh, you’d hate the idea. You’d be furious. You were a hard worker, anybody could see. You prided yourself in making a career for yourself without nepotism or assistance, very few favors. Of course you’d deny the idea brewing in Coryo’s mind, you’d write it off as a shortcut.

But he saw your talent. He’d just make it so others would see it aswell.

Coriolanus would never be ashamed of his cunning mind. He should be. But he never could.

He was like a snake. The next socialite party he attended, he slithered his way into every sophisticated conversation, networking, whispering his agenda into men’s ears, men with the power he thirsted for.

Politics was exactly where a snake like Coriolanus Snow belonged.

Usually it was for himself. Coryo was climbing the capitol’s ladder, collecting pons at each rung and using them as he went. But this time, this particular snobbish event, he smoothly brought up the name of a beautiful, immensely talented young ballerina looking for a new theatre to perform to. A ballerina he would personally vouch for, a ballerina he insisted would bring pride (and fame, of course,) to any company she danced for.

Eventually Coryo pulled on the right string, his words reaching the right ears. He got acquainted with an older man, Darien Jeux. The owner of a very, very prestigious ballet company. Oh, he was skeptical at first, but wasn’t Coriolanus a charmer? By the time the glittering champagne in his glass was finished, a deal of sorts was sealed. Jeux had a grandson in need of work, an internship would be arranged for the dolt. In exchange?

Coryo was the first person you called when the letter came in the mail. You had just arrived at your apartment after a late-night rehearsal, a crisp envelope left in the slot in your door. Stabbing an ornate letter opener, a gift from your father, into the paper and tearing it, oh, the words printed almost brought you to tears!

“Coryo, you won’t believe it!” You cheered over the phone, the joy in your voice as you gushed about Yeux’s ballet company extending an audition, the possibility of a contract, the prestige of this company! “Oh, isn’t it wonderful?” You breathed, the hope in your voice washing away every qualm Coryo had about going behind your back.

“It is.” Coriolanus smiled softly to himself, his eyes fluttering shut in an overwhelming relief.

Ballet was the only way for you. Coryo would kill a man to keep you happy, to keep your career alive. It was only right, that if he had the capability to make everything easier for you, he should use every resource available. Anything for you.

“You deserve it.” Coryo cooes, leaning back in his leather desk chair and letting your lilted voice keep him awake for another hour.

Hope had been thrust into your life again, the air under your wings, keeping you afloat. It seemed like your life was brightening in every corner now. Coryo insisted on taking you to dinner to celebrate when your audition went smoothly. How desperately he wanted to lean over that table and kiss you silly. He settled for taking you to dinner the next week. And the week after that. And after that.

In his eyes, his help was just that. A bit of help. This society was idiotic and venomous, your immense talent would have been enough to bring you to the top if that was the sole factor. It would be such a waste of great potential if you were stifled simply because of your name. He couldn’t have that.

Once Coryo gave you that little push, simply just got your name out there, your ability spoke for itself. You really were a star, landing one of the large roles in the first performance the theatre put on since signing you.

Coriolanus also pulled some strings to get a seat in the gallery balcony of the theatre. The company was putting on The Sleeping Beauty, which in your delicately graceful nature you landed the role of Princess Aurora. Tigris sat beside him, she’d absolutely adored you even when you were young. He even had a little pair of opera binoculars to watch you dance, not minding his cousins giggles at how old he looked holding them up to his eyes.

Coryo felt waves of pride, seeing the seats full. All eyes were on you, your grace on a pedestal display— exactly where it should be. Oh, the smile it brought to his lips each time the crowd roared with applause and whistles for you. You deserved no less.

When you came out after the show, you donned a simple yet elegant white dress, a boat-neck A-line that fell to your mid thigh, accentuating your delicate figure. Coryo had specifically told you it would be perfect for the after party, which technically wasn’t solely for your first performance with the theatre, but you’d be on display no less. He was certain that your name would be in headlines by tomorrow, and he told you so, which you’d smiled shyly and shaken your head at.

You’d never been to such an extravagant party. Your old theatre was never this grand, and whatever luxurious events they held were distant memories by the time you were old enough to attend them. The ballroom was classically beautiful, marble pillars along the walls and a painted rotunda ceiling.

You hadn’t a chance to look up and appreciate the mural before you were swarmed with people wanting to meet you, shake your hand and congratulate your performance. Coriolanus was right at your side the whole time, a strong hand on your shoulder. It shouldn’t have made you feel such excitement, but your heart was betraying your mind at the protective gesture.

Eventually, you grew a bit tired of all the introductions and stale small talk. Coryo could tell, he bowed his head and murmured against the shell of your ear, “I think it’s time for a dance. If you aren’t tired of it by now?”

“No! I mean, yes. I’m not tired of dancing. I’d love to dance.” You stumbled over your words, feeling the flush come to your cheeks. Oh, you weren’t tired, quite the opposite. You were restless. You were infinitely grateful for Coriolanus as he guided you by the hand, pulling you into a dance. He was a better dancer than you remember, you told him so. He’d only chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he lifted his hand to twirl you.

Coryo wore a boyish grin while he watched your dress flower and billow as you twirled. “I’m glad I’m not embarrassing myself, then.”

Perhaps it was then that you truly realized the boy you’d grown up with had turned into a man in the blink of an eye. A man who laid a strong hand on the small of your back, blonde hair combed neatly, cheeks roughened with stubble and eyes sultry. A man who was staring at you in a way that nearly made an expert ballerina stumble in her dancing.

You weren’t sure what moved you to lay your ear against his chest, feeling the solid and comforting warmth of him. You hoped, though, that he didn’t hear the soft sigh you released as he nosed your hair. You imagined that he dropped a kiss to your scalp. Why, Coriolanus, your Coryo, was cradling you as you languidly danced like you were made of porcelain.

In fact, as the song’s lulled to an end, Coriolanus leaned away from you just barely. Just enough for you to lift your head, eyes raising to meet his sapphire ones. Sapphire eyes filled with a soft affection, a kind of tenderness that you were beginning to wonder if you could live without. For a moment you dreamed he might kiss you.

You watched as his icy gaze flickered over your face, before he murmured lowly, “I’ll go get you a drink.” Wordlessly you nodded, watching as a tantalizingly sincere smile curled Coryo’s lips. He slipped away from you carefully. Expertly stifling the white-hot anxiety burning a hole in his chest under that clean-cut suit.

With a soft sigh, and rubbing both of your palms over your burning cheeks, you sought out your new friends. The circle of ballerinas, done up in simple and classically beautiful dresses, welcomed you happily. Eager to listen about your flustered retelling of the whole interaction with Coriolanus. Gasping girlishly and relishing in that sisterly bond. Slowly that exciting knot in your stomach came loose.

Just as you had collected yourself, your ears perked to the dropping of your name. You looked over your shoulder, finding the source to be two older men, one pudgy and one gaunt. They both had cold eyes, sharp and knowing. That would’ve been enough to make you shiver, if it weren’t for the words slipping past their thin lips.

“I heard Yeux was paid off.” The thin man hummed. Your stomach sank. Surely they weren’t talking about you?

The fat man shook his head. “No, more of a favor, I heard. That boy Dr. Gaul funded? Crassus’s boy.” The other man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not clasping a champagne flute.

He sneered, “So, the company ‘star’ only has a contract because the Snow boy pulled strings? What a disgrace this theatre is coming to!”

Oh, the marble floor was spinning under your feet. A frustration, a fury was boiling in your heart, dull and painful as you clenched your jaw. How many times had you told Coriolanus that you didn’t want any nepotism? How many times had you mentioned your pride in how hard you worked for your career? All for him to pull the rug from under you!

How could he? How could he go behind your back and snatch your values away from your hands, make an absolute fool of you?

Feigning a smile you excused yourself from the ballerinas, walking aimlessly through the ballroom. Slipping through the crowd with a kind of bleariness in your eyes. Color had been brought back into your life, but at what cost? Your morals. You hadn’t even been given a choice of whether to keep them intact or trade them for glory. You wouldn’t have chosen this, certainly.

You moved on autopilot. You hadn’t even realized Coriolanus was trailing after you until he clasped a strong hand on your shoulder, gently turning you. You shrugged your shoulder away from his grip, your wild eyes meeting his. Oh, the betrayal swelling in your stomach threatened to swallow you whole.

Coriolanus breathed your name in an awkward chuckle. His brows drew together as he offered a fruity drink to you in an ornate glass. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t talk to me.” You hiss, turning from him and storming away with a purpose in your feet.

Coriolanus only follows after you like a lost puppy. “What? What happened?” He called your name, but bitter loathing was toiling in your mind too strong to so much as cast him a look.

Damn him for feigning innocence! Damn him for coming back into yourself, sweeping you off your feet and having the balls to think he could just fix all your problems with his connections! Damn him for taking all that you prided yourself on away, just to make himself feel better. Charity, that’s what you were.

“I’m not stupid!” You cried, calling over your shoulder and blinking away hot tears. Nevertheless they streaked down your cheeks. At last you found the walls of this cursed ballroom, turning down a grand hallway. Gratefully, only a few people hung by the pillars and potted plants, disgustingly old men and beautiful, young women, some of them ballerinas from your new company. Your company that Coriolanus got you into.

Speak of the devil, he was still on your heels. Perhaps he even broke into a run after you, because before you knew it he was grabbing you by the shoulders, cornering you between a marble pillar and the wall. You shook him off you, staring blazingly up into his buggy and nervous eyes.

“Darling.” Coriolanus breathed, exasperated and terribly confused. He stopped reaching for you, gratefully, but he was still looming over you. Trapping you in.

You wiped the tears from your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Coriolanus sighed. He murmured your proper name gently, his brows pressing together. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it for you, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You would, wouldn’t you!” You cried, throwing your hands down. “Try and fix everything, just swoop in like a knight in shining armor and fix my poor life!”

His face fell at that. His azure eyes darkened, lips parting and his chin tilting further down to you. He knew he was caught, you thought bitterly as you huffed. Coriolanus dragged his hand down his face, trying to rub the situation off his skin. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know that you disregarded my wishes! I didn’t want any nepotism, I didn’t want any shortcuts, and that is exactly what you did, Coryo!” Tears were flowing uncomfortably and warm down your cheeks, ruining your pretty makeup. You rubbed the skin around your eyes raw. If only you could see the distraught look on Coriolanus’ face.

He shook his head, murmuring breathlessly, “But… I did it for you. You needed some help, you needed someone to get your name out there.” You shook your head, but your silence gave him a chance to go on. “I knew you’d be upset, but your talent—“

“I am upset!” You bawled, “You knew I’d be upset and you still did it, Coriolanus! You did it for you, not for me, if—”

“You couldn’t even afford to eat!” Coriolanus snapped, barking at you with buggy eyes. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving with a deep breath. His eyes slip closed, he pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces in exasperation. He never wanted to yell at you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” Coriolanus murmurs, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he watches the way tears come to your eyes stronger than before. He watches the way you cross your arms, looking to the wall and chewing on your lip. “You were struggling. You… You’re a talented woman. The most talented. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you fizzle just because you don’t have someone to vouch for you.”

“But now all this isn’t because of myself. Where I am today isn’t because of my talent or my hard work.. It’s because of a man pulling some strings.” You murmured, rubbing your eyes again. Your voice is raw and low, you look down at your dress and smooth down the material. Such a quality, beautiful dress. You would’ve liked to say that you were wearing it because of your own work. Coriolanus took that away from you, you reminded yourself.

Coryo pushes a hand through his hair, sighing softly. His lips press, he looks away at the others in the hall. He’s scrambling for a way to resolve this. “I had to help you. Because…”

You eye him expectantly, turning your wet cheek. Coriolanus reaches forward to tenderly thumb away a loose tear, and you don’t pull away. Perhaps you’ve tired yourself out. “Because I love you. And I can’t let a woman so special fail for such a stupid reason. Special to the world, of course, but special to me.”

Oh, the world was spinning around you too fast for your mind to keep up. You felt the floor giving out from under you, you had to cover your eyes with a palm. He loved you? This is why he did all this? This is why he felt the need to lift you from the mud? Not for his own selfish gain, but for you? For love?

“Coryo, you can’t just...” You began, the words dying before they could pass your lips as you shook your head desperately. He seemed to understand, nodding a bit and watching you with wide and buggy eyes. You finally looked up to meet that penetrating gaze, feeling your chest heave with deep breaths.

Without a word you moved into Coryo’s arms, pressing your wet cheek to his chest. You felt his breath hitch, his arms immediately wrapping closely around you. He nosed your hair, smelling deeply your rose-scented shampoo. God, the things he would do for you. This barely scraped it. He knew you’d be hurt, but he also knew what would be best for you in the long run. He knew he’d rather let you hate him than regret a passion left dry in the sun.

A long while passed like this, Coriolanus murmuring sweet words of consolation and diligently drying the tears on your rosy cheeks.

“My love, this world is cruel.” Coriolanus cooed, his eyebrows drawing together and forehead creasing as he smoothed down your hair. “Talent without a name is nothing. If talent was all that mattered, you wouldn’t need my help.”

Coryo dropped a kiss to your forehead. “I wish you didn’t need my help.”

Coryo brought you home that night. Neither of you breathed a word the whole ride there, Coriolanus casting you longing glances constantly and you fidgeting with your rose gold bracelet. A gift from him. Your most prized jewelry nowadays.

Feelings just toiled and swam in your heart, threatening to spill and taint your whole body. You were furious with him. But oh, how you loved that man.

The man who is not pressuring you any further, not shouting, not condemning your anger with him, just silently holding your hand over the center console, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles slowly. Tenderly. The man who loved you. The man who would kill for you, much less call in a favor for your sake.

When his car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment, you leaned away from him. You shifted in your seat to face him, but he never let go of your hand. In fact, he’d squeezed it a bit tighter.

Coryo was watching you with wide, you’d dare say puppy dog eyes as you opened your lips to speak in a whisper. “I don’t want you to do this again.”

He nodded seriously, dragging his thumb across the backs of your fingers. His sapphire eyes never dropped from yours. “I promise you.”

“And I don’t need your altruism.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not a child, I’m not a poor thing.”

“Not even a little bit. Kill me before I suggest it.”

You found yourself leaning over the center console, your nose brushing his. He found his hand slipping to gently cradle the back of your head. “I forgive you.” You murmur quietly, Coryo nods a bit, mind like a runny egg. He’s having a bit of trouble focusing on your words, as important to him as they are.

Coriolanus draws you closer, planting a tender kiss onto your lips. The cool metal of your bracelet pressing into his nape drew a sigh from his mouth, you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. Kissing him felt like a comfort. Kissing Coryo felt right, your lips moving on his as if your soul knew before your mind had even considered it.

He didn’t interfere with your career again. He respected you with every bone in his body, with every string in his heart. He let your talent, your ineffable passion for your craft speak for itself. You were a prima ballerina of your own work, he’d often murmur to you late at night. In a bed he had somehow managed to coax you into, in a bed he couldn’t imagine sleeping in without your warm form beside him. You were a star.

No matter how independent you were, he would never stop protecting you. Caring for you. Providing you the best he could. Until the day you died, he would break his own bones to bend to your whims.

Coriolanus would kill for you. Without qualms, he would carve his own bone and flesh, if you asked him to. You didn’t even need to ask. If it made you happy in the slightest, Coryo would engrave your name into his heart.

It had always been written there, hadn’t it?

[noneorother]

Oh my god, season 2 is The Tales of Crowley Hoffmann

I guess this has to be a series now too. Part 1 l Part 2

When Aziraphale wants to perform a show-stopping magic trick in S2E4, he is shown the "Professor's Nightmare," a rope trick, and references "Prof Hoff himself" at the end of the minisode.

Because we love double meanings so much around here, I decided to actually watch the Powell & Pressburger epic opera film "The Tales of Hoffmann," assuming it was the another P&P easter egg and the other Hoffmann (not the magician) that was being referenced.

One, this movie is unhinged. Two, this season IS The Tales of Hoffmann. Allow me to explain...

There are shot for shot quotes literally everywhere throughout the season.

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Hoffmann watches Stella perform) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Clerk in Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia, Hoffman & Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue Crowley & Aziraphale"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Prologue) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the Zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Giulietta Banquet scene) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue Banquet scene" *By the way Hoffmann wears a goatee for this tale

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Prologue "Dragonfly dance") & Good Omens Season 2 Prologue "Before the Beginning" *This is Stella and un unknown devil drangonfly, NOT Hoffmann

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Clue"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Tale of Antonia) & Good Omens Season 2 "The one with the Zombies"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (Automaton Ball) & Good Omens Season 2 "The Ball"

P&P The Tales of Hoffmann (End credits through Hoffman's glasses) & Good Omens Season 2 end credit scene.

Stella & Aziraphale. This one makes me laugh.

There are SO MANY MORE, but tumblr has an image limit. Seriously, it's nuts.

2. It seems simple and straightforward, but it's not at all

" Why would ambitious filmmakers simply film an opera? Many admirers of the work of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger have assumed that their decision to make The Tales of Hoffmann (...) was in some way an admission(...) that they couldn’t go on making their edgy, over-the-top melodramas after the rejection and interference they’d suffered (but) there’s a case for considering The Tales of Hoffmann as one of the finest and boldest works that Powell and Pressburger produced, so far ahead of its time as a wholly “composed” film, combining visual and musical elements, that it has still not been fully appreciated... Late in his life, Powell himself said that he thought it was one of the best films that he and Pressburger had made. What makes the film so remarkable is a series of paradoxes: the fact that it virtually reinvented the freedom and fantasy of silent cinema while making full use of Technicolor and a stellar cast of dancers and singers..." - Criterion, The lives of marionettes

3. The structure of the story is the same as the show

Here is the story of the Movie** (Not really the Opera that inspired it) In the prologue, we see the dance of the dragonflies onstage at a ballet. Count Lindoff (very bad dude) is spying on both the principal dancer Stella, and the audience member Hoffmann (who's admiring her). Lindoff is behind the scenery. During her dance, Stella passes a love note to her assistant for Hoffmann. The bad dude intercepts it out of jealousy. During the intermission, Hoffmann goes down to the tavern next door, watched by his sort of buddy in red, Nicklaus. People ask him to tell stories to while away the time, and so he tells 3 stories (actually four but we'll get back to that).

We launch into 3 tales/minisodes in other times and places : 1. The Tale of the Ball of the Automaton where he falls in love with a robot. He is humiliated. 2. The tale of Venice (Giulietta) where he falls in love with a courtesan/double agent who crosses him. 3. The tale of Antonia, where he falls in love with a girl who feels trapped by her living dad, her dead mom and a mysterious bad dude (Lindoff). She is murdered in a ring of fire, but becomes a ghost and is resurrected and sent back to earth. At the end, we snap back to the tavern in the real world. Hoffmann reveals that these three women are all metaphors for how he feels about Stella, his true love. He's drunk and depressed now, thinking she never sent for him after the show. Stella arrives in the tavern looking for Hoffmann, ready to run away, but now accompanied by Lindoff (dressed as an angelic figure) who followed her. She looks to Hoffmann to save her, but he's too blinded by the fact that he doesn't think she loves him back to pick up on the signal. He gives up, and she goes back up the stairs guided by Lindoff. Her assistant (who was bribed by Lindoff at the beginning) is given the go ahead by Lindoff to go back to the tavern and taker over. They close the door to the tavern, while she walks up ethereal stairs with the bad dude. THE END.

The one story that doesn't fit into the minisodes and is told in the real world is Kleinzach. We understand by the end of this one that this is Hoffmann's self loathing about never being good enough for Stella, because Stella is perfect and Hoffmann is ugly and deformed. The main love interest attempts to steal Kleinzach's essence through a mirror by the end. 4. Powell & Pressburger recast four actors in new roles In The Tales of Hoffmann, P&P decided to recast four of the principal actors/dancers from the film The Red Shoes in new roles, wanting to recreate the magic that they brought to the first ballet film. Sound familiar?

5. Crowley is Hoffmann

"The Tales of Hoffmann" original 1881 costume concept for Hoffmann & Crowley costume sketch for S2E3 1827 Edinburgh. Glasses are a really important aspect for Hoffmann in both the opera and the movie versions of The Tales of Hoffmann. Hoffmann is gifted metaphorical magic glasses that he wears to be able to perceive his love in a way they aren't really in real life. In the opera, he wears dark glasses to shut out the real world, not just as a metaphor. Check out a modern day version of the opera's Hoffmann costume :

He's french and slamming a beer but you get it. Crowley also canonically loves watching movies. It would make so much sense that his minisode recountings with him and Aziraphale would resemble different styles of movie that he loves. Seeing as we see him drive away at the end as the last character, an argument could be made for him being the ultimate narrator of the story in season 2.

6. The original American release of The Tales of Hoffman had 14ish minutes cut out of it by the studio. So we all know by now that whole debacle about having the clocks jump 14-15ish minutes during the kiss?

"The Tales of Hoffmann found an audience far wider than expected, despite Korda’s misgivings about the movie’s running time and his decision to cut 14 minutes out of the film for its American release." - Criterion, The Tales of Hoffman

I have been unable to unearth what the difference between the American & British versions of the P&P Tales of Hoffmann is, if you know let ME know. I want to know! _____________________________________

And I HAVE SO MUCH MORE. This is long enough already so I'll save the more detailed stuff for a new post.

**The opera is a whole other beast. You can read about it here, but basically there's a lot more going on in the opera because the composer died before finishing it, and multiple versions exist after the original uncompleted score got lost IN A FIRE. Anyway. Here's part 2

[eilidh-eternal]

Chapter 2 - Places!

Simon Riley x Johnny MacTavish x F!Reader 4.4K words Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, mild swearing, feelings of loneliness/isolation, imposter syndrome, feelings of anxiety, reader is oblivious to Johnny and Simon's advances. Masterlist

Delaney O’Riordan, despite her petite frame, pulls you along with a strength that rivals some of your male counterparts in the English National Ballet, iron grip wrapped firmly around your bicep as she berrates you for making her come looking for you. 

“What on earth are ya’ doin’ down here?! An’ drinkin’ no less!” She doesn’t let you get a word in as she hauls you out of the hotel bar away from the two men, through the lobby, and herds you into the lift. “We’ve forty-five minutes to get to the theater and you’re down here flirtin’ with strangers?”

“Laney, it’s fine. My bag is packed and I’m dressed to go, all we need to do is grab it from the room and catch the bus. It’ll take thirty minutes, tops,” you assure the fiery-tempered woman as the doors to the lift close and she presses the button for your floor. “And I wasn’t flirting.” You weren’t, right? You just lost your balance. He’d caught you–they’d caught you–and set you upright again. That was it. No flirting. Even if the way the dark-haired man had called you pretty made your stomach flip-flop the same way it does every time Connor has to toss you through the air in rehearsals, and the way the blond wearing the mask, Simon you think he was called, made your skin warm with the hand that lingered on your back for longer than any polite touch should have.

“Aye, so you admit you were drinkin’ then?” Delaney crosses her arms and fixes you with an admonishing glare.

“It was just a cocktail, a mint julep. There was hardly any liquor in it,” you say in an attempt to placate her, knowing her irritation comes from a place of concern rather than annoyance. “Just something to calm the opening night jitters.” Despite decades of experience and many, many opening nights for productions big and small, for company exhibitions and tours abroad, some of them still had you tapping your fingers methodically over your thighs and shifting your weight from one foot to another every few seconds.

Her gaze softens but her arms remain folded tight to her chest. She knows tonight is important. It’s your first show as the company’s first principal dancer. The prima ballerina of the English National Ballet, dancing the lead role of one of the most quintessential ballets—a night that will define the rest of your career. “You’re going to do just fine tonight. I know it feels different, having the title now, but you’ve danced this role before. You’ll dance it hundreds of times more, no doubt, now you’ve made a name for yourself. The Bolshoi will be beggin’ ya to dance for ‘em in Moscow after tonight. I know it.” 

You scoff at this. “Bolshoi made Swan Lake, Laney, they don’t let just anyone dance for them. Especially for Odette and Odile.” You couldn’t imagine being asked to the Bolshoi Ballet. It’s one of the oldest, toughest, companies to dance with and for. Their dancers are all hand selected, scouted for their looks and physique in their youth, and train with a militaristic intensity to be the best of the best. The Soviet and American schools of ballet are both similar in that way. Aggressive. Emphasizing and attacking their movements and the sharp lines of their form with an energy the English and French schools lean away from. But that was the very reason why you’d been offered a contract with the Kensington-based company. For your ability to dance the part of Odette with the elegance and grace required for the demure damsel, and simultaneously portray the brazen and arrogant seductress Odile, who moves with much darker intentions. A duality that is coveted among dancers.

The soft ‘ding’ of the lift alerts you to the fact that you’ve reached your floor, heavy doors sliding open to reveal the gaudy carpet and busy wallpaper lining the hallway of the hotel you’re staying in for the time being. You nod a brief goodbye to Delaney, promising to meet her in the lobby, and step off the lift. The room is comfortable, has everything you need and is by no means lacking, but still it’s less than ideal. You miss your cozy apartment in the suburbs, the early but peaceful mornings before rush hour and all the sounds that come with it, and the beaux-arts architecture giving way to modern urban highrises. Soho isn’t that different, all things considered, but staying in a hotel until you can find a new apartment in London leaves you feeling out of place and untethered with just a few suitcases full of essentials and a contract for work in your possession. It makes you feel temporary. In this city. In this job. Easily replaced at a moment's notice. You try not to imagine what your life would look like if those things were true, pushing away the poisonous and intrusive notion that at any moment you’ll wake up from this dream and mourn it for being just that–a subconscious fantasy–as you sling your duffel over your shoulder and head back down to the lobby to meet Delaney and catch the bus. 

Backstage at the London Coliseum thrums with the typical pre-show chaos. Last minute adjustments to props and the set before rolling everything into place behind the curtains, mending any overlooked rips or tears in costumes sustained in dress rehearsal, and hundreds of dancers, crew and musicians fluttering about the narrow halls between dressing and storage rooms. Hairspray lingers thick in the air of the dressing rooms and the scent of gels and pomade have a cloying effect that leaves you grateful for the privilege your status as first principal affords you. A green room. 

It’s not very big. Just enough space for a backlit vanity, a rolling costume rack, small loveseat and a powder room. It feels odd, not sharing a room with fifty or sixty other dancers as you prepare for the show. Feels even stranger that someone else is doing that for you now, slicking back your hair and affixing your headpiece, rouging your cheeks and lining your lips in a blush tone. One more thing you’ll have to get used to.

Once the hair and makeup artist deems their work is finished you waste no time breaking in your pointe shoes and allowing yourself a final warmup before leaving your little bubble of calm amidst the chaos of opening night. The sound of the orchestra checking their pitch and tuning accordingly mixes with the chatter of the settling audience, and as the stage manager announces five minutes to showtime the wings of the stage begin to fill with all manner of performers. Everyone stretches, marks choreography, and goes about their pre-show rituals, wishing one another a good performance with smiles and encouraging embraces. Across the stage, you find Delaney smiling at you among the other dancers in the wings. She lifts her hands, presses them together in the shape of a heart over her chest, and you mirror the gesture. ‘Good show.’

“Places!” the final call rings out, and the house lights dim. The audience falls silent as the opening bars played by the orchestra signal the opening of the stage curtain, and with a deep, steadying breath, you leave behind the wings to take the stage.

By the time you step off stage you’re exhausted but elated. You had a stellar performance, a standing ovation from the crowd, and your directors sing their praises to you all the way from the stage after curtain call to your green room. However, the theatrics aren’t quite done for the night. There is to be a rotation of swans to pose with families for photos after each performance, and as first principal you are expected to set an example. That’s how you found yourself back in front of the vanity with another hair and makeup artist taming your hair back into place and making adjustments to your makeup. A costumer comes to help you change, guides a pair of wings onto your shoulders and shows you how to fasten them to your wrists, how to pose with them, and you’re sent off to the lobby.

You greet each child with a hug, mindful of the extra berth required to do so with the wings, and smile for cellphone cameras through the pain radiating from your knees and ankles. Some of the smaller children are too enamored with the feathers and the rhinestone-dusted gossamer to pay attention to their parents, and it takes several attempts to steal their attention away and take a satisfactory photo. Parents throw apologetic smiles your way as the children all take their turns, and you assure those who voice them that it’s really no trouble at all, though the twinging of your right knee would beg to differ. You’re holding a back attitude, relying on the small section of barre hidden behind the small recreation of the lake erected around you to maintain your balance and sustain the pose with your leg high in the air behind you, and you nearly sigh in relief when the child in front of you darts back to their parents once the photo is taken.

That relief is short lived, however, as you come back down on two feet again and turn to greet the next family. You’re wholly unprepared to find the dark-haired, blue-eyed man from the bar, masked, blond companion at his side, towering over you.

“Hello, little bird,” the former greets you and a roguish grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

He has a mohawk. You hadn’t noticed in the bar, and you tell yourself it must have been the dim lighting that had kept that detail hidden from you. It certainly wasn’t the way his arm had felt wrapped snugly around your waist, or the way concern shone in his eyes and made them look more like sta-

“Yer friend carted ye off before we could have a proper introduction. Name’s Johnny. Ye remember Simon,” he says with a gesture to the statuesque, masked blond, and you force the shocked expression from your face and replace it with a polite smile, nodding in recognition.

“Yes. It’s… nice to meet you both. Officially. Would- would you like a picture together?”

Simon’s eyes dart towards Johnny and the shorter man turns his face up to meet his gaze. There’s a moment of silence between the two, an internal conversation you’re not privy to. When Johnny looks to you again there’s an impish look about him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he steps forward, leaving Simon with his phone.

“Si isn’t fond of photos,” he says as he approaches, sidling up to you between the wooden props. He bends down to whisper into the shell of your ear, “We’d like to have a photo of ye though, pretty little bird that ye are.”

Heat blooms across your cheeks, and before your brain can fully process the implication of his words he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. Your lips part on a yelp of surprise as you’re suddenly being hefted into the air and-

He’s perched you on his shoulder, you realize with no small degree of shock, a large, steadying hand firm on your thigh and the other resting on your shin just above your ankle. The look in his eyes and the sultry smile he gives you as he peers up at your shocked expression causes your stomach to flip and you grip onto his other shoulder to balance yourself. “Sorry for the scare, hen, but I can’t have our pretty bird stranded on the ground. Ye should be up there,” he says with a wink. 

What do you even say to that? 

“It’s ok, I just- I wasn’t prepared is all,” you reason aloud and cross your ankles, willing yourself to relax in his hold. When you lift your gaze from Johnny’s you find Simon right where you left him, brows pinched together in what you think is exasperation, but the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that suggests amusement. 

“Quit your yappin’, Johnny, and look ‘ere,” he grumbles, and Johnny does as he’s told, reluctantly tears his gaze away from you to look at Simon, holding up his phone for the photo.

You plaster a demure smile over your features, hold yourself steady with a hand on Johnny's shoulder, thick, corded muscle rippling beneath- No. Stop. Now is not the time for thoughts like this. This man is a stranger and you’re still at work. You inwardly chastise yourself and extend your free arm above your head, attempting a loose fourth position, posing prettily for the photo, and dutifully ignoring the warmth of Johnny’s hands on your legs, how solid he feels beneath you. 

Just as easily as he’d hoisted you upon his shoulder he guides you gently back to the ground, hands lingering around your waist, unwilling to let you go again. “We want to ask ye somethin’,” he says as Simon steps forward, hand finding its way to the small of his back and Johnny’s hands pull away from your waist reluctantly to lean closer to Simon. “When yer done here with…” He pauses and gestures broadly to your wings and costume, and his smile turns apologetic. “Performance? I’m sorry, I dinnae ken what to call it. But, we’d like to have a proper drink with ye.” He looks hopeful as he slips his hands inside his pockets, and Simon’s head tilts ever so slightly to the side as they wait for your response.

You? They want to have a drink with you? You shift your weight nervously from one foot to the other, fighting to hide the scrunch of your nose as your knee barks under the pressure. “I won’t be done here for at least another hour, it will be quite late.”

“That’s not an issue for us,” Simon quickly supplies. “You’re stayin’ at the Broadwick?”

You nod.

“We’ll meet you there then, at the bar. Same place as before.” His voice is confident. Commanding. He says it like it's a fact, like you’ve already agreed. And at this point, you might as well. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about the two men. Curious about Johnny’s flirtatiousness and Simon’s encouragement of it. And you need friends outside the company. Someone who you can talk to about boring and mundane things like the weather or how outrageous the price of a latte is at that little corner bakery you’d been frequenting. Something other than commiserating over long rehearsals and the blisters they cause, or how the director was in a sour mood with the cast that day over something beyond their ability to control. Anything other than work.

“Ok,” you finally agree, and you think Johnny's face might tear in two if his smile were any wider.

An hour and a half later you’ve returned to the hotel and rushed yourself into the shower, scrubbing at your skin with a soapy washcloth and carefully avoiding getting your hair wet. It’s still done up nice enough, and there's no sense in going downstairs looking like a drowned rat with damp hair when it’s already been… Shit, they’ve been waiting nearly an hour. You speed through the rest of your routine, washing the thick show makeup off your face, digging around in your suitcase for the sweater dress you know is here somewhere- Ah! There, buried under a mountain of leotards, and, graciously, next to the comfy flats you planned to wear with it. You trade the generic hotel bathrobe for the dress and step gingerly into your flats, mindful of the blisters already forming, and spare a few minutes more to swipe some mascara over your lashes and conceal the ever present dark circles of exhaustion under your eyes before heading downstairs.

Your heart pounds behind your ribs the same way it had earlier in the evening standing in the wings at the start of the show, and you take slow, deep breaths as you approach the hotel bar, half expecting to find it empty after you've kept them waiting for so long. You wouldn’t blame them if they’d left already. It’s nearly eleven p.m. on a Thursday, well past late for most of the working professionals in the city.

And yet, there they sit, occupying the same seats at the bar they had hours earlier. Johnny spots you first, beaming at you from over Simon’s shoulder, and your heart calms a bit, flooding with relief at the sight of his smiling face and easing some of your fear that they would be upset having waited so long.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait down here, I didn’t want to show up covered in sweat or looking like I’d come straight from the shower-” you say by way of greeting, and Johnny is quick to smother your apologies.

“Dinna fash, hen,” he interrupts, standing from his seat and guiding you to take his place on it with a warm hand on the small of your back. “We didn't mind waitin’. Had ourselves a nice little chat, eh Si?”

You settle yourself on the barstool and Simon hums thoughtfully beside you. “We did.” 

Johnny takes the open seat beside you, angling his body so that he can brace an arm on the bar top and sit facing you. “So our little bird’s a dancer?”

“‘S a bit obvious, Johnny,” Simon quips.

Johnny huffs an exaggerated sigh as he retorts, “Aye, but what if she’s not really? Could be a spy. The Russians have done it before,” he says and winks in your direction.

Simon groans but you can’t help grinning at Johnny’s teasing. “Yes, I'm a dancer. Not a spy. I don’t think they could keep up with our training.”

Johnny lifts a curious brow and leans forward. “How long do ye train for somethin’ like that?”

You make a show of pausing to think before answering. “Hmm, it’s been a little over twenty years now, twenty-two I think?”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds like swearing. “Twenty-two years?!” 

Simon’s eyes shine a rich, amber color in the low light of the bar, and a glimmer of something akin to recognition passes through them as he nods appreciatively. “Ya must be good at it then, if you’ve worked that long for it.”

You feel warmth blooming across your cheeks and a similar warmth working its way from your chest to your stomach, lower, as his eyes, the only part of his face visible above the mask, continue to study you, and your dress suddenly feels too tight against your skin. “I’m as good as any other dancer who’s worked most of their life for it.” A modest answer. 

“Which one were ye then, on stage tonight? Were ye one of the swans?” Johnny’s voice pulls you out of the hold Simon’s wandering gaze has on you. You blink several times to clear your thoughts, and when you finally turn your attention back to him he's smiling down at you with a glimmering fascination in his own eyes.

You hesitate, briefly consider lying so they don’t make a fuss over the truth, but ultimately can’t find it in yourself to do so. “Yes, two of them actually. Odette and Odile.”

Johnny’s brows furrow, and Simon sighs with feigned annoyance but explains for him anyways, “She’s the swan Johnny. She’s the leading lady.”

“Christ, yer the star of the whole thing and yer playin’ it off like yer just in the background! I’d be tellin’ everyone if it were me.”

“Thankfully she’s not. She has class, something you could use more of,” Simon chides and you laugh quietly to yourself at their back and forth.

Johnny looks as if he’s about to come back with another smartalec comment but the arrival of the bartender defuses his need to have the last laugh as a glass of scotch is pushed towards him, a mint julep for you, and a tumbler of bourbon for Simon. Johnny takes the drink without question, swirling the contents of the glass and taking a slow sip, but it’s your turn now to pinch your brows in confusion.

“I didn’t- I haven’t ordered anything?” 

“The bartender came by while you were explainin’ your trainin’ to Johnny. I ordered for us,” Simon explains.

You look from Simon to the drink in front of you, brows still pinched together.

“‘S what you ordered earlier, would ya rather have somethin’ else?”

“No! No, this is perfect, thank you. It’s just… I don’t think anyone’s ever bothered to pay that much attention to me?” you quickly explain, pulling the mixed drink towards you.

“Aye, he’s a charming bastard like that. Observant to a fault.”

You hum in answer and bring the glass to your lips, taking a slow, savoring sip.

“How long have ye been in london?” Johnny toys with the glass in his hand as he watches you, tracking the movement of your throat and your tongue as it darts out to swipe across your lower lip.

“We’ve just come back from tour a few weeks ago, so not long.”

“And you’ve been stayin’ in a hotel?” Simon seems perturbed at the notion.

“Hard to look for a place to live when you’ve been on tour for three months.” You take a longer sip from your drink this time. You really need to dedicate some time to that this week, maybe contact a real estate agent.

Simon and Johnny share a look, another unspoken conversation between themselves, and that glimmer of recognition returns to Simon’s eyes. “We’re… familiar, with that particular struggle.” When you turn to him with a puzzled expression he explains, “We travel a lot for work.”

“You work together?” 

“Somethin’ like that,” and that’s the end of it. Their closeness makes sense then, if they travel together often. It’s hard not to get close to someone when you're obligated to be with them all the time. Hell, it’s the reason why you and Delaney are so close, having shared a room while on tour. 

“D’ye have a borough in mind?” Johnny asks to redirect the topic of conversation back to you.

“The studio is in southern Kensington, close to Stamford Bridge, and we perform at the coliseum and Royal Albert Hall when we aren’t touring, so I’m hoping I can find something centrally located. Maybe in Belgravia or Westminster.” The few places you've been able to find online are quite pricey, but your contracted salary is enough for a decent flat in either neighborhood. It’s not like you order takeaway every night and your busy schedule certainly doesn’t allow you to party every weekend. Well, maybe the takeaway part isn’t exactly true. Frozen dinners from Tesco don’t count as takeaway, do they? Either way, if you have to spend the money, it may as well go towards a comfortable and conveniently located appartment, even if it’s overpriced. 

“Bit of a highbrow area,” Simon comments and Johnny does his best not to outright snort when he starts to laugh, taking a long swig from his half-empty glass of scotch.

“Highbrow is an understatement. Ye’d be a stone's throw from the palace in either borough,” he seems to agree, and tacks on under his breath as he drains his glass, “The whole south of London is full of posh bampots.”

Simon huffs from behind you and when you peer up at him you’re met with a simmering glare pointed in Johnny’s direction. 

“Och, dinnae gi’ me tha’ look Si. Ah Ken yer fer Queen an’ country, but ye ken well enough how Ah feel aboot-“

You try and fail to hide your amusement, doubling over to clutch at your sides in a fit of giggles and half-suppressed laughter, finding both Johnny’s thickening accent and disdain for the richer neighborhoods and the stuck-up personalities they breed within them comical in an ironic sort of way. You’d always been of a similar opinion, holding contempt for the privileged and entitled attitudes of the people who lived in gated communities—and now you would be one of them. 

When you regain your composure and right yourself once more, your lungs take longer to catch up, breath stalling in your chest as you realize you’re being watched.

In the dim lighting, Johnny’s eyes are luminescent, the reflections of headlights as cars pass by the window like comets blazing a path across the steely-blue night, and it reignites the warmth you’d felt under Simon’s gaze. He regards you with the kind of rapturous intensity you think a soul ascended to the gates of heaven might behold a guardian angel and the heavenly fire they wield, and it leaves you breathless. It sucks the air from the room like a raging inferno, rips the oxygen from your lungs and replaces it with delicate whispers of smoke and a burning need to draw lungfuls of the very thing he’s stolen from you, but all you can do is inhale the intoxicating fumes it leaves in his wake. 

“Sorry, it’s just… the irony, and your accent. I didn’t mean-” 

“No dove, don’t apologize. Not for makin’ such beautiful sounds for us,” he says in a husky voice and that spark of heat flares brighter, low in your belly.

Oh. Oh… Your denial of all his flirty comments and your resolve to ignore them begins to disintegrate as you realize this isn't just some bit for him. He really means it. He simply watches you for a moment longer, and you shift nervously under the scrutiny of his gaze until you think he must know you're having trouble breathing because a slow, confident grin splits his lips as he looks past you, over your shoulder to where Simon leans casually against the bar. His glass of bourbon is somehow empty despite never seeing him drink from it and he’s bent forward at the waist, elbow braced against the bar top and his fist pressed to his temple.

“Think I could get drunk off’a that,” he murmurs, and you know that no other proclamation has ever sounded as delightfully dangerous as those eight words.

En Pointe>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[revivemyreverie]

“Watch yourself. After all, you may be decent at dancing, but your foul attitude could be easily burnt away.”

Twisted from: The Evil Queen’s Red Iron Shoes

Coppelia Waltz

コッペリア・ウォールス

CV: ???

Technical Info.

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Demisexual

Birthday: 05/25

Age: 18

Height: 5’7 (170)

Hair Color: Charcoal Black

Eye Color: River Grey

Hand Pref.: Left

Homeland: City of Flowers

College Info.

Year: 1st

Class: 1B Set 27

Club: Track and Field

Favorite Subject: Art

Other.

Hobby: Flower Arrangement

Likes: Weddings

Dislikes: Forgiving others

Favorite Food: French Toast

Hated Food: Sunflower Seeds

Specialty: Ballet

UM: Iron Vengeance

The lower part of your body becomes bound to an unseeable fire. Until your begging finds value, you’ll dance in a hot hell forever.

The Dancing Plague

There was once a little girl, in a little village, who was born with no feet. Despite her obvious disability, she still dreamed of dancing in front of a large crowd, with flowers being thrown at her graceful figure. The other ballerinas in her class, however, thought differently.

“All you do is sit on your wheelchair without any legs to stand on, and that’s where you’ll be until you die of old age!” They’d pick on her without fail. “Hurry and give up, us real ballerinas need no stumpy girls like you!”

Brought to tears by their cruelty, the little girl fled the studio and sped into the woods. She wheeled on the mossy grass for hours and hours, losing herself in both the trees and her tears. Suddenly, the girl heard a tune like no other, and drew closer to the sound. That is when she saw it—a fairy dance.

Countless humans danced hand-in-hand, even as their feet were dyed red. But the faeries, oh the faeries, how gracefully they danced! Like flowers in the wind, they scattered and reformed and flew so freely!

It was only until one noticed the child that the music stopped, and they gathered around. And yet, the girl was not met with hostility.

“What is a mortal so young doing in the woods?” One asked.

She cried out her woes to the faeries, describing how terrible the other students were, and how she just wanted to learn to dance. The fae, finding sympathy for the little human, quickly thought up a way to fix her problem.

They lifted her from her wheelchair and flew her to their lair. On the first night of her visit, the ballerina was granted a pair of silver slippers, able to lift her off the ground. She cried and cried that night, so joyous to finally dance.

On the second night, the faeries taught her their peculiar dance. Like the humans she saw in the circle, she twirled and jumped without end. But unlike their tired bodies, she proved herself relentless, refusing to stop unless her steps matched her teachers’. Soon enough, she was dancing just as gracefully.

On the 3rd and final night, the fae taught her a magic spell. Still being the tricksters they always were, they giggled and snickered as they whispered an incantation in her ear.

“But why do I need such a spell?” She curiously asked.

“To punish those naughty children,” one fae answered, “and to give you a sense of retribution.”

So on that night, when she left the forest and came back to the dancehall, she whispered out that little spell, cursing her classmates to a fiery pain. Without any dancers to take their spot, the adults dragged the little girl from her seat and onto the stage.

There, with her classmates wailing backstage as their feet burned the same bloody red as the humans in the forest, the little girl danced. Her iron shoes glistened on the stage, as the crowd stared in awe at her beautiful performance. And even past the thundering applause of the audience, and flowers being thrown to her feet, the little girl could only think of one thing—

That her dream finally came true.

❤️‍🔥…

“Do you have any final thoughts, Miss Waltz?” The reporter pointed the mic in her face, grinning.

The child thought, before looking up to her horrified mother, who had built her metal shoes herself. Then, to her sickened upperclassmen, who taught her the magic of vengeance and the dance that wowed the crowd.

Smiling, she turned back to the camera, concerned parents rushing behind her.

“I’d just like to thank everyone who supported me, and helped me achieve my dream! This really feels like a fairytale come true!”

[exactlymaximumgarden]

what i did for love (jschlatt x reader fic)

chapter 1: ...again!

summary: your broadway debut is finally here after years of working toward it. however, an unwelcome face is quick to crash the party. word count: ~1.3k warnings: fem!reader a/n: please don't yell at me if any of the details about the rehearsal process or whatever are factually incorrect. idgaf!!! all love ofc. also, this fic will (obviously) draw on a lot of material from a chorus line, so i’d suggest familiarizing yourself with the show while reading if you’re not already! not essential tho lol song: i hope i get it - a chorus line ensemble

The first thing you noticed was how, no matter where you performed or for how long, you would never get used to the way the stage lights quite nearly blinded you.

Opening night of your leg of A Chorus Line opened in less than two weeks, and you couldn’t be more elated. For years, this had been your dream. To perform, to be onstage, to be on Broadway. And now here you were. The show was undergoing another revival, a more modern take on the iconic musical. The casting directors had issued an open call to all aspiring stars in New York City to scout some fresh talent. They’d mentioned something about wanting to find unknowns, some unrecognizable faces since you couldn’t keep casting the same people over and over. That would be overkill, they said. That was a no-go. Not here. Not in the big leagues or whatever.

Hell, you were lucky that you even made it past the initial round of callbacks. But if you had told the version of you almost a year ago that was stepping into those auditions for the first time that you were going to be chosen to play Cassie, one of the most prominent roles in the show, you probably wouldn’t have believed it. A whole dance number and song to yourself, plus the most dialogue out of the rest of the female characters? It was surreal.

And now, after months of rehearsals, the opening was just around the corner.

It was no secret that everyone involved was growing increasingly antsy the closer opening night drew. Your castmates were collectively full of a newfound energy you hadn’t witnessed from them yet. It didn’t help that today was the first day of full costumes, plus more light and music cueing. Somehow, the show coming together brought everyone’s moods up by a thousand.

These more upbeat vibes were made evident as the cast stood in the primary assigned formation, one next to the other all in a line close to the edge of the stage. You stood, unable to stop yourself from fidgeting with the scarlet tulle of your costume’s skirt while, out in the audience, the production team buzzed amongst each other with directives, ideas on what to cue next, and how. And those stage lights, those damn lights, bore down upon you. You had to tilt your head down to keep the rays from blaring directly into your eyes.

“Okay!” You were no sooner snapped out of your daze at the booming sound of your director Vanja’s voice from out in the audience. Vanja was a middle-aged woman who’d been raised to become a ballet prodigy. She was not only a seasoned dancer but a strict, dedicated spirit, which was only natural considering her upbringing. She was functioning as both director and choreographer, so she was undoubtedly the most strung-up out of anyone involved in the show, but for obviously different reasons. You squinted, trying to search for her limber figure out in the house, but your vision was obscured from your point on the stage. Her eastern European accent (from exactly where, you couldn't recall) oozed through her words like a thick molasses as she continued, “We will be running ‘At The Ballet’ next. Victoria! Step up, please.”

From your left, your castmate Victoria stepped forward. The tall blonde had been cast as Sheila, the character who sung the first section of the aforementioned song. Since the two of you were sandwiched directly beside each other in the line formation, you’d become quite close during the rehearsal process. “Yes?” Victoria answered coolly, not at all intimidated by Vanja’s demanding tone. You couldn’t help but envy her a little bit for that.

“We will start a couple of lines before the beginning of the song,” Vanja instructed. “Isaiah will prompt you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Isaiah!” Isaiah was another member of the cast, having been assigned the role of Zach, or the director of the chorus line the show centered around. Zach was primarily unseen throughout the show save for a few particular scenes, so Isaiah, the lucky bastard, got to sit out in the house for most of the rehearsals. You couldn’t see where he was located either, but Vanja seemed to have spotted him, as you could hear her advise, “Start from, ah… start from, ‘Better, go on.’ Just after she’s taken her ponytail down, yes?”

You heard a deeper voice clearing their throat, indicating Isaiah was beginning to speak his assigned dialogue. “Better. Go on.” 

Victoria, meanwhile, squared her shoulders in an attempt to rapidly lock into character before reciting her own lines. “Oh, how she did it. Well, first, she took me to see all the ballets. And then, she gave me her old toe shoes, which I used to run down the sidewalk in. On my toes. At five. And then-”

Suddenly, the typically fluorescent stage lights dimmed to a faded mix of blue and purple. It would have been a very serene color combo had it not been for Vanja’s deafening voice cutting Victoria’s dialogue off. “Hold!” she yelled. “That light cue is too early! That is not supposed to happen until the music starts! Who did that? Tech! Who did that?”

As Vanja spat out her rampaging words, Victoria turned her head just slightly enough to make eye contact with you. She sent you a discreet side-eye as if to nonverbally say, ‘She’s crazy!’

At that moment, one of the members of the tech crew stuck his head out from the wings of the stage. You recognized his face considering you’d seen him around so often, but you never caught his name. “Sorry, ma’am!” he apologized with a rueful grin. “That was an accident. I’m trying to show the new guy the ropes.”

New guy?

Judging by the tone of Vanja’s voice instantly calming down, she seemed to grasp the situation. “Ah, the new techie boy?” she queried. “I haven’t gotten to see him yet.”

“Oh, he’s right here.”

Almost as if on cue, everyone in the cast’s head turned towards the wing, where a second head popped out from behind the curtain. Your eyes widened. No way.

The new guy in question donned a polite smile, his oak brown curls cascading down the sides of his face into mutton chops you recognized all too well. His golden-rimmed aviator glasses shielded his glinting eyes. “How’s it goin’?” he greeted sheepishly, and to your right, you heard your castmate Ari suck in a quiet gasp. Nobody ever spoke to Vanja so casually.

No way.

“Hello.” Surprisingly, Vanja didn’t seem to mind so much. Or maybe she was just giving him the pass since he was new. “What’s your name? I apologize, I never caught it.”

“Oh, uh, Jay. Lotsa people call me Schlatt, though.”

No. Way.

“Ah. Pleasure to meet you, Jay.” You could practically hear the smile in Vanja’s words. “Come see me when we take a break so I can properly speak to you.”

“Will do. Sorry ‘bout the lights. I’ll be more careful.” 

Your stomach churned. Why the hell was he here? Him, of all people? Victoria, sweet Victoria, somehow seemed to catch on to your less than enthused reaction. In your periphery, you could see her quirking up a brow inquisitively at your expression. You couldn’t even make eye contact with her. You were too busy staring at Schlatt, fighting to keep your jaw from dropping.

And of course the prick had to notice you.

It happened in a split second. As he retreated back behind the curtain, your gazes met. A stupid grin crept onto his face as he saw you, clearly dumbfounded by his very presence in the theatre. If you weren’t onstage right now in front of all these people, you would’ve lunged at him.

You heard Vanja’s voice once more as the lights returned to their normal cue, preparing to resume the scene, but it all might as well have been a distant echo. Somehow, someway, Schlatt had made his way back into your life after fighting for so long to keep him out of it.

Why him?

next chapter

[esggs]

5 : 14 AM - satosugu

“Thought you said that you’re quitting, Suguru?”

Suguru smiled at his lover’s face, blowing a smoke ring towards him. Satoru didn’t appreciate it, but considering all the things Suguru has done that he doesn’t appreciate, smoking is easy to forgive. Satoru fanned the cigarette-smell away with a hand. “You said the girls didn’t like you smoking?”

“They don’t.” Suguru answered. He found it a bit cute that Satoru would check up on Nanako and Mimiko indirectly like this. “That’s why I do it secretly.” 

Satoru just grunted his annoyance. He was still lying naked in bed, eyes unwrapped, post-orgasm bliss slowly dissipating into the gnawing frustration that only Geto Suguru could cause. The other man had cleaned both of them up and was now sitting cross legged on the easy-chair next to the bed. They were so close: if both of them looked at each other, their lips would touch.  

Suguru dragged a puff. “The girls follow this idol who’s been pushing for an anti-smoking campaign. Mimiko’s ballet teacher talks about staying healthy a lot too.” The girls are growing up well, Satoru. Don’t worry about them. 

“You won’t listen to me.” Satoru complained. “At least listen to them, then. Stop smoking so much. I can see that your stomach walls are getting weaker.” Suguru looked a bit surprised at this, as if he wasn’t expecting Satoru to bring that up, even though he knew nothing could be hidden from the Six Eyes. It was true, lately Suguru had been finding it harder and harder to stomach curses. “It’s probably the smoke killing your internal organs, Suguru.”

“Ah, it could be a lot of other things, Satoru.” Suguru lightly brushed off his concern, but he did douse the cigarette out anyway. “Stress, diet, could be stomach ulcers– don’t just blame the first thing you see . You still keep doing that?” Satoru was obviously not convinced, but chose not to argue further. He just stared at the ceiling of Suguru’s bedroom. He’d memorised that wallpaper pattern at this point. 

“Aren’t you getting late for work, Satoru? The sun will be rising soon.”

“The sun tends to do that.”

Suguru chuckled. To Satoru, it warmed his skies the same whether he was 17 or 26 years old. Such a delicate, tinkling laugh. “Move aside then, Satoru. I’m tired too,” he said, crawling under the blankets next to Satoru. “Didn’t get much rest last night, and I have to fix up so many monkeys today.”

Suguru liked saying things like that to bait Satoru. Satoru knew that. Suguru knew that Satoru knew that. Neither reacted to it.  

Satoru didn’t enjoy coming to see Suguru like this. Once or twice every year, he would end up in Suguru’s bed, unhappy about the circumstances but unwilling to leave. They’d spend one secret night together. Unlike back in those days where they talked about anything under the sun, they avoided talking about almost everything now. The past was too painful, the future a dead-end. Satoru couldn’t ask, “What did you do today, my Suguru?”, because then his Suguru would answer truthfully and the blind peace that Satoru had woven out of this situation would shatter immediately. So they talked about Shoko, smoking, Nanako and Mimiko, and the state of Suguru’s stomach. 

He could feel Suguru falling asleep in his arms. Satoru raked his eyes over Suguru’s handsome chest, branded with the large X scar. He’d offered to fix it a few times, but Suguru would sternly refuse. He knew that Suguru wore that day on his heart every single day since then, replaying it in his head constantly, until he had brainwashed and re-brainwashed himself to this point. Riko Amanai’s corpse. The applause. That one man. That one day that drove them both to insanity. 

“You’re sweating, Satoru. Take the heavier blanket off and move closer, you’ll be leaving soon anyway.” 

He did.

img

a/n: satosugu angst save me. save me satosugu angst. satosugu angst.

i keeping mushing takumi from nana and geto suguru together in my head even though geto would kill him within 15 mins if they met

i love the metaphor of 'willingly blind', gojo choosing to blindfold himself to geto's sins, until the very last moment, which is the only time in canon jjk 0 that gojo finally takes his blindfolds off, and sees geto as he truly is then: dead.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Weaving threads of friendship (mostly platonic)

Refer to this post.

As the people requested, Hobie’s partner meeting Miles.

This one is significantly shorter than my last one partially cause I think this is pretty straightforward

From the moment Miles Morales heard of Hobie brown he didn’t know exactly how to feel about him

It happened in passing as he and Gwen had swung through the city

The first time since the collider incident that he had seen her, months of wondering if she was fine

If she and the others had made it back safe

And now as they go around city just like he had hoped if she mentions him

He couldn’t help but feel a twang of panic

Feelings he’s harboured for the blond that had been simmering for a long while coming to a bubbling uproar

Didn’t help as he pushed the subject and got in response that she had apparently been living with him

An ugly seed of envy sprouts it’s way into his gut at that

He can’t help but feel ashamed of it

This was Gwen, of course she found someone. She was the coolest person he knows

Someone who could do ballet while fighting villains

Plus was apart of some kickass band in her dimension

He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if she was selling out stadiums

And if she wasn’t currently, then he fully expected that for her future

He should feel happy that she found someone

Happy that she was in a good place

Yet it’s hard to ignore that sprouting envy as his emotions are already high enough as it is when seeing her again

It doesn’t help when he meets Hobie though

Having a moment to prove himself and then suddenly having it quite literally dashed open

With a guitar no less

Doesn’t help that he was cool as hell

The studded black leather vest

Spike Mohawk

Doc Martin boots

British accent

Silver gleaming piercings

Miles knew he couldn’t compare to him

And by god did it hurt

From the moment Hobie saw miles he knew knew he���d like the accidental Spider-Man

It might be due to the fact that Miguel did NOT want him apart of the Spider regime

On the fact that him being Spider-Man went against canon

But it also had to do with the fact that he recognized how he looked at Gwen

It’s how Hobie looked at you

Sure, he couldn’t see under the mask but it was very glaringly obvious to Brit

That was the gaze of someone who was in a deep passionate love

Something akin to fizzling fireworks that popped off in the night

Pop rocks exploding on your tongue on a humid day

Sappy romantic shite that he once never thought he’d think of

Until he rapidly found himself staring at you with that same expression

It makes him chuckle a bit thinking back

How glaringly obvious he was with his feelings yet you couldn’t accept the signs

Not until he told you face to face

Good times

With that look he also sees a slight sadness with it as well

Miles occasionally glancing at him and then back to Gwen

The slight bitter taste Miles held in his voice when addressing him

But what…oh

That realization almost makes Hobie burst out in laughter

Poor lad is probably running circles in his head for nothing

He’s definitely gonna have to tell him

One the tour of the HQ Hobie lingers close by to the newbie

Hands on his pockets as Jessica leads to way to Miguel’s sulking area

With the lame and inconveniently slow office floor elevator

A perfect example of capitalism

He pulls Miles aside with an arm around his shoulder, making Mikes give a noise of complaint

Until Hobie pulled out a Polaroid from an inner pocket of his vest

In it was Hobie with another person

Both staring up at the camera as he gave them a kiss

Miles looks to him in confusion

“I thought you and-“

“Gwenivere? Nah mate. S’ just crashin at my place cause home ain’t the best for her right now.”

“And that’s?”

“Yeah, my partner in crime so to say. Should meet them sometime, they’d like ya”

“Really?”

“Gwen won’t stop talking bout you.”

Hobie stifles a laugh at Miles’s face

The look of surprise and Fluster washing over the young lad as he shoots a glance at Gwen

Who all the while remained obvious to his stare as he directs it to the ground once more

Hobie grabs a new piece of tech as he does this

Pocketing it as he did with many other nick-knacks he’d found and swiped

To be fair, if it’s not nailed to the ground real nice then it’s free territory for grabbing

Or well…that’s what he tells others anyways

The piles of scrap pilled up in both his home and your room is a testament to that

As was the prototypes of his own dimension hoping bracelet

When you met Miles you couldn’t help but be extremely excited as the young Spider-Man sat down on Hobie’s worn and old ripped leather couch

Gwen often talked of him

So now seeing him in person is a extremely fun experience especially since he’s awkward in a way that reminds you of your past self

Conversation starts off slow at first

Stuff mostly revolving around his universe

What he liked

Etcetera Etcetera

But what really gets talk happening is when he brings up drawing

In a life in which your surrounded by musically artistic people it’s nice to have someone with a new passion

So it’s safe to say he quickly ends up showing you his sketchbook

Carefully showing you pages of graffiti tags

Mural ideas

And a few that had Gwen that he quickly flipped to a different page

You don’t comment on it but your grin alone tells him what he needs to hear

Speaking of which, Gwen is ecstatic that you get to meet Miles

She would not spot talking about it even before the whole “don’t tell mikes about the spider society” situation happened and was figured out

You definitely tease her a bit about it

And Miles as well

Buts it’s all in good nature

Miles finds you to be down to earth and Hobie’s translator of sorts

He doesn’t at all get British slang or can understand what Hobie is talking about so you help with that

Using an phrases and metaphors work better for his American understanding

He thanks whatever god there is for that cause sometimes he swears Hobie is making up shit just to confuse him

If you show him all the handmade gifts Hobie has made for you he gets a lot of creative inspiration

Especially since he’s always willing to step out of his normal medium

Show him how to make his own custom pins and he’ll return later with at least 15 plus a couple for you and Hobie

Their also really well drawn as well

So it’s a win win for everyone

At some point you secretly ask him to make some potential album cover art for Hobie and he is fucking ecstatic

He’s never done something like that before so he takes to trying it very seriously

Experimenting with styles

Trying new techniques

Eventually he settles down on a mix of graffiti and collage of news paper clippings

Cause apparently to him you both look as if your straight from newspaper clippings mashed together

Gwen can attest to this as well

Hobie ends up fucking loving it

And Gwen, Miles and Pavitr have to deal with the punk being all lovey dovey to you in a way they had never imagined Hobie to be

He’s peppering your face with kisses and swinging you around in a hug

You let out a small yell as he tosses you up and catches you

It’s honestly really sweet

“How did I once find him intimidating?”

“Eh, it’s not much of a surprise to me. You’d be surprised to find out how many Punk people are actually really sweet”

“I think it’s also cause you thought he was dating g-“

He eventually puts you down and pulls them into a hug

That quickly turns into him aggressively messing up their hair

“I take what I said back”

“Hey! Don’t mess with the hair! My beautiful natural hair!”

“Why am I even surprised anymore?”

Safe to say miles has become a new vital part of this group

And you wouldn’t have it any other way

[lov3-from-loserlane]

Our Life Now and Forever mind wanderings ^_^

-Qiu seems like they’d be a miku fan. Like, they’d discover her in step 2 and be super embarrassed and secretive about it but by step 3 he’s like begging to go to hatsune miku expo.

-Tam seems super competitive. In a lighthearted and fun way, I mean. She’s the type of person to up and start a race or just go “I bet you couldn’t do a handstand for more than 3 seconds.” In steps 1 and 3 at least, in step 2 she’d be too concerned about coming across as annoying. Maybe with MC though she’d keep that attitude.

-I think Qiu and Tamarack both would love sleeping beauty. The movie is based on a ballet and uses a lot of the music in its soundtrack, which is something I think Qiu would appreciate. Tamarack I think would relate to Aurora’s feelings of isolation and her love of being in the forest surrounded by nature. You can’t tell me Tam hasn’t tried to sing to birds as a kid…

-Not a hc just an observation, I really just like Qiu’s contrasting yet coexisting styles. I mean ballet and dirt bikes, that’s awesome. For everything about him that’s soft there’s an equal opposite part of him that is tough, which is something I can appreciate and really relate to. Soft being the dirt bikes and tough being the ballet 🥱🥱🥱

[miloformula123fan]

Could you do fic for Peter 'Bono' Bonnington with wife reader? Bono was on the way to meet his wife and kid(s) and was stopped by Nico Rosberg. Nico's like an excited child trying to make a convo with him. And his family just laughed while watching Nico fumbling over his worlds in front of Bono. Nico then spotted them and decided to ask them a few questions. Just something fluff and sweet. Add something if you want to. You decide how it ended. Thanks!! :)))

look at me, still getting fics out

(also my current inbox is about 30, if this ever gets above 50, i'm closing requests :D)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

peter bonnington x wife!reader

Bono was excited for this weekend. His wife had brought their 3 year old twins to their first race and so he was speeding through his meetings and the paddock to find his family.

And was he a little in his head?

Yeah

Did that mean he really had to bump into Nico Rosberg?

Apparently, yeah.

“Oh, hey Bono, um, wonderful to see you the paddock, I mean, you are always in the paddock, but y’know, obviously nice to see you…” Nico was floundering, panicking. He’d obviously seen Bono when he was in the Mercedes paddock, but that was before he had become the force he was today.

“Yeah Nico, lovely to see you too, is there anything you need?” Bono was a little annoyed, he just wanted to find his wife and kids, but he was happy to indulge Nico for a second as he tried to find them.

Y/N was barely 5 metres away, having enjoyed a nice coffee and some lunch with the kids. She felt like a spy sitting there with her sunglasses watching as Nico fumbled for his words, blushing and panicking, as her husband tried to look for a way to find his family, or at least a way out of this conversation. She smiled, before picking up her bag, and pointing out to her children their father, as they sprinted through people’s legs to get there.

“Dad! Dad!”

Bono turned around with a huge smile on his face, as he spotted his kids, opening up his arms, as they hugged him, picking them up.

He almost forgot about Nico as he let teh kids talk about how cool he looked and what they’d done at school that week.

Almost.

As he put the kids down, and placed a soft kiss on his wife’s lips, he noticed Nico crouching down and talking to his kids.

“Hello, what are your names?” Nico asked while crouching down to the 3 year olds level.

“I’m Clara and that’s Carl.” The girl, Clara, seemed a lot more confident that the boy, her brother, Carl, who almost was hiding behind his sister.

“It’s lovely to meet you both, I’m Nico, I’m friends with your dad. Are you gonna follow in his footsteps and be racing drivers? Or follow mum’s footsteps and be ballerinas?” Nico asked

“Oh god, Nico. The endless debate in our household. Clara wants to get into karts, but Pete is against it. And Carl wants to get into ballet and I’m against it. So…” Y/N laughed as she hugged Nico as he stood up. “Lovely to see you though.”

“Lovely to see you as well, come around for a dinner some time, Viv would love to see you.” Nico smiled before crouching down to the kids level “and Clara, if you ever need a kart, and your dad won’t let you, call me, and I’l buy you one, okay?”

“Nico stop corrupting my kids.” Bono laughed, before starting to usher the family back to hospitality. 

“I would never.” Nico feigned shock, before waving goodbye and returning to Sky.

“Now, c’mon, I’m hungry, let’s go get lunch!”

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @pear-1206

[awmancreeper]

✿*:·━━━━━·:*✿*:·━━━━━·:*✿*:·━━━━━·:*✿

DAD! TXT: Boy Vs. Girl Dad

Genre: fluff

Warning: contains baby talk, mentions of called mommy, not proof read

Notes: this is up for discussion

Yeonjun (연준)

• Girls, I’m sorry but Yeonjun’s is NOT up for discussion.

• Choi Yeonjun is THE girl dad, she’s his little princess and would spoil her!!!

• Junnie sees your daughter and can’t help but to think abt her growing up. - already crying at the thought of giving her away (not in a toxic girl dad kinda way)

• So his goal in life is show her how a man is supposed to treat someone they love (ofc leading by example- lucky you),

• every month he has a father and daughter date. - it’d be weekly if he wasn’t so busy

• They go out shopping, to eat, maybe get their nails done

• If not at a salon, you can count on Yeonjun rocking “by his little princess” nails no matter how much times the company yells at him for his busted nails- he’ll keep this polish on till the next date

• Not to mention he’d put her in every dance activities she can be in.

• Yeonjun doesn’t know if his daughter is gonna love dancing like he does but he’s gonna give her the option pretty dang early

• Why is your baby in a tutu at 2 y/o… idk ask her father bc he just said she came back from her first ballet class.

• Yet don’t get it twisted it goes both ways, she LOVES Yeonjun like she tells you daddy is her favorite :/

Soobin (수빈)

• Soobin grew up with boys so you’d think he’d want a boy bc he’s more comfortable especially since girls come with “problem” but the moment he lays his eyes in your baby girl, he fell in love.

• Tho I can totally see Bin w/ a son

• Honestly both

• Soobin is just a gentle parent- it doesn’t help that he feels like he scares them bc of his build

• So he usually lightens his voice and slouches around them

• He was afraid of holding his baby in fear of hurting them

• That didn’t last for long bc binnie is all over that baby

• As they got older, soobin used his height as an asset

• He is THE piggy back giver

• Soob treats all his kids the same but once his daughter comes up it’s over for the son

• His princess will get anything her little heart desires

• Tho he’s in total denial, saying that he treats all his kids the same regardless of their gender

• But you see it, the way bunny ears magically appear when his baby girl calls out for him

Beomgyu (범규)

• I think we can all agree that Beomgyu would be bomb at both girls and boys but I think if the baby was boy,

• he’d see the child as competition.

• Like who is this new born sucking on his s/o titties, that’s his job.

• Gyu would love any of his children but this baby boy grinds his gears (playfully)

• it doesn’t help that his son inherited his mischievousness.

• Don’t call him crazy when he tell you little gyu smirked at him when you yelled at Beomgyu for beating him at a race to the car.

• They’d both go up to your asking which drawing is better

• “whoever gets to mommy first loves her more”

• So many races (╥_╥)

• Regardless Beomgyu loves his mini me and who doesn’t like a little healthily competition here and there.

• Definitely wants more kids---- smth abt building an army ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Taehyun (태현)

• I truly can’t decided whether he’d but a better boy or girl dad, tbh Taehyun gives me “as long as they’re healthy” vibes

• but that’s good bc he’d treat his kids the same.

• Now Tae’s is kinda similar to beomgyu but in a sense that taehyun views everyone else as competition

• I don’t think Taehyun would have a preference but either way his kid is better than your kid- why bc they stood up by themselves for 3 secs.

• Or bc they held their bottle themselves when you were feeding them.

• There’s no way that kid doesn’t end up in everything, I’m saying sports, combat, dance, instruments, etc -

• it’s like Taehyun is speed running maxing out his kid’s skill tree.

• Tae’s kinda seen as the strict parent out of you two

• But he just wants best for them (and so he can brag abt his kid winning the 1st grade spelling bee)

Huening Kai (휴닝카이)

• Not matter what the gender is, it’s already set in stone that this baby with be a mini Hyuka.

• Although I do see Huening Kai with a baby boy or twins (imagine huening twins(;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)).

• Whatever the gender may be it doesn’t stop the fact that both Kai and baby are inseparable

• But its not only bc they’re alike but that have a common interest… you

• Yk how many you heard “let’s go bother mommy” from Kai

• Kai also starts their plushy collection early so by the time they’re 5, their wall is filled with stuffies

• If the baby is a boy, Hyuka would teach his boy to treat girls like a flower

• he wants to be proud of the way his son treats other, especially with girls -Kai has 2 sisters that engraved that into his head

• Speaking of sibling, Kai’s gonna want more kids

• His loves his sibling and he wants his children to have the same experience

• He also wants to have them close together for they can grow up as friends

• So get prepared bc the moment that baby can hold their own bottle, Kai’s pouncing on you for more

Perm Taglist: @beoms-sugar @txtbrainrot @kaisdefender(OPEN)

[agentdilfhotchner]

random question.. do you have any hotchniss headcanons? 🫣

// okay, so i do not ship hotchniss as much as jemily, BUT i do think they’d be really good together, soo i wanted to throw my thoughts about this power couple out there. this is also my first time doing something like this so i apologize if it’s ass ✨🫶

MY HOTCHNISS HEADCANONS:

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡˚॰°ₒ৹๐

- Emily and Aaron both took dance when they were younger. Hotch was kinda forced to by his mother but secretly liked it, especially the being partnered up with pretty girls part. Emily was a full on pro ballerina by age nine. She still takes ballet classes in her free time because it helps ease anxiety. Definitely giving black widow movie vibes, like spy AND ballerina, we love to see it. Anyway, they bond over this when they first get together and decided to take couples classes. They do anything from salsa dancing to tap, Emily even persuades Hotch to take a dirty dancing class, AND HE IS ACTUALLY REALLY GOOD?!? The man is so tender and likes to take his time in a relationship so the intimacy in dirty dancing is like second nature to him and Emily definitely isn’t mad about it.

- They are both very much married to their work so every now and then they have to take a step back and remind themselves, and sometimes each other, that work isn’t the most important thing anymore. Hotch is actually better at making time because he’s had so many years with Jack. I also like to think that Emily is the Unit Chief and Aaron has semi retired but helps consult on cases across the country by the time they get together. Emily is definitely in charge of planning trips for the two of them, plus Jack whenever he wants to tag along.

- very much the definition of ‘touch him/her and i’ll kill you.’ vibes. They are both VERY passionate creatures and do get jealous often. Definitely not in a toxic way, they just love each other so much and never want the other to feel disrespected. Hotch will always have a hand on the small of her back when they are walking together. Emily eats ALL of it up cause her man is completely whipped for her.

- Aaron goes absolutely feral when Emily speaks French or any other language. He literally turns into Gomez Addams and is just like ‘My wife is the most gorgeous, smartest person to ever live!’

- Emily instantly connects with Jack because although her mother is still alive, Emily rarely got to spend time with her. So she definitely feels like she is healing a part of her younger self by being there for Jack. I don’t see Aaron and Emily having kids of their own. Jack being enough for Aaron and Emily maybe feeling as though she wouldn’t be a good mother. Aaron tells her how ridiculous that is because she’s a natural with Jack, but ultimately they decided to just focus on raising him.

- Emily does have five fur babies to take care of though. Soon after her and Aaron got married he gifted her with a cat he adopted from the pound. Little did he or the vet at the pound know that the cat was pregnant, so a couple months later the Hotchner family discovered a little surprise in the form of six baby kittens. Aaron talked Emily into giving two of them away, one to Spencer and one to JJ, but Emily insisted on keeping the rest. Of course Aaron couldn’t say no to her 🫶

- Aaron has a lot of PTSD from what happened with Haley. He has night terrors sometimes so bad that Emily finds him shaking and sobbing in his sleep some nights. If Emily takes to long running errands or maybe doesn’t answer a text over a certain amount of time Aaron’s anxiety sky rockets. But Emily is so patient with him. Staying up late to soothe him and going with him to his therapy sessions just to hold his hand in the waiting room. She’s his number one supporter and he doesn’t take that for granted.

[sinful-lanterns]

Who do you think plays sports, cause I think the tall women like zoya, cinnabar, and rahu play like basketball or volleyball. They'd def show off to reader during their games and when ever they score they'd send us a smile or a wink. God I love tall women.❤

I agree with all these women being athletes! They’d be on the women’s basketball team, however I’d like to add some other possible candidates for potential sporty/jock women :D

Ninety-Nine isn’t necessarily on a sports team, but you can find her working out everyday at the campus gym, unconsciously showing off her rock hard back muscles that have various ladies swooning.

Tetra and Pricilla seem like the type of people to enjoy tennis whenever they are free. They’re always decked out in matching uniforms, so they look extra cute when competing against each other with you watching them 💕

Lamia is on the college swim team. She’s beaten numerous colleges with just her time alone, and she likes to show off to you whenever she can. If you watch her during one of her swim meets, she will always flash you a toothy, shark like grin trying to impress you.

Hamel and Stargazer are on dance teams! Though they are not on the same team (as Hamel does ballet and Stargazer does traditional) they are both in the same club and will oftentimes be found together dancing in the same room!

Bai Yi does track because she is speed.