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CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?—please, don't leave me

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request by @goblinjnr

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, grieving, angst, suicide

A/N: it's very fucking sad so beware

~~

Her eyes shut tight as her husband pressed a loving kiss onto her lips. Y/N's body involuntarily relaxing into his hands, causing Tommy to smile through the kiss.

”Mrs. Shelby, are you cold? I can see goosebumps on your skin” He teased, leaning forward as he grazed the skin of her neck with his nose, causing her to let out a sigh.

”Very funny” She responded, pinching his side lightly with a grin. ”That's what happens to a woman when her husband finally decides to put business away and give her affection instead.” Her voice was also teasing, as her own gaze completely drowned in his intense blue orbs.

Pulling her even closer, Tommy's nose brushed against hers in a promise of a kiss.

”So I'll have to consider doing this more often.”

Leaving last, strong kiss on her lips Tommy took a step back.

”Do what you have to, and come find me.” Y/N asked, squeezing his hand lightly, her expression relaxed and almost dreamy seeing him in such a good humour.

Bowing lightly, Thomas answered.

”Don't go too far, I'll join you soon.” His voice had an undertone of worry to it, his eyes becoming slightly more cloudy at the obvious allusion.

Giving him a weak nod, Y/N agreed, understanding exactly what he meant.

Don't go anywhere on your own, it's dangerous

Turning around, Thomas slowly walked back to his office, his steps echoing throughout the corridor as the warmth of their lovely encounter disappeared under the weight of reality.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, her heart picking up speed as her hand fell to her belly, causing more internal pain than anything. The mask she had to wear around him was becoming heavier with each passing day.

But she couldn't tell him. Not when the prognosis were so hopeful the last time they visited the hospital together. Not after seeing him gain back the spark he lost for so long.

Letting out a sharp exhale, Y/N turned around, slowly walking back to their bedroom. Wincing quietly she made her way through the corridor before settling on a bed lightly.

The day they found out was the worst day in her life. Rushing to the doctor so hopefully, once she noticed her stomach... Growing. After trying for a baby, could it finally happen? Y/N wondered back then, showing Tommy the swelling on her stomach.

Putting his hand over her belly, he was the happiest man in the world, dimples on his cheeks revealing to their full extent as he smiled so brightly, a rare sight but how beautiful she felt. A family, of her own.

A girl? A boy? They wondered the day before her visit. Chatting away endlessly about names, clothes and toys for a little Shelby.

A heavenly happiness that lasted no longer than three days, before they got crushed by the diagnosis.

Stomach cancer

Thomas' hand fell limp by his side, as Y/N froze completely. It took a longer minute, followed by ”I'm so sorry” from the doctor before tears appeared. Falling faster and heavier, each one a nail to her poor heart, wiping away every dream they managed to talk about in the last days.

All hope, gone, just like that.

...but it wasn't over just yet, as Dr. Wellerman explained the path they will have to go through. The risks of chemotherapy, additional tests and needed medication.

Tommy tried to stay strong, so badly, despite the white colour his face turned. Nausea took over his mind as he listened to each word, listening to the doctor explaining her survival rate. He needed to be strong.

So he was, carrying the weight like a world champion, never letting her carry it alone.

”Don't cry” He murmured in the worst nights, rocking her back and forth in his arms, sitting on the floor by the bed. ”We will bring you back to good health, and then have children. Little copies of our own, eh? A girl with my nose and your smile.” He spoke quietly into her ear, staring blankly at a wall. Whispering beautiful words she so desperately needed to hear, keeping her heart from breaking.

With each week they were both feeling worse, Y/N's physical state worsening visibly throughout the chemotherapy. The pain she felt in her abdomen could be compared to the flames from hell, reaching her ruthlessly and blooming the horrible thought she tried to push away so badly.

I want to die already, her mind would whisper cruelly, hating the way her husband's bones became more visible. His sunken eyes which lost all colour, almost as if he was the one with tumour eating away on his body and mind.

It wouldn't be much different then, because the pain he carried seeing her slowly fade away was easily the most difficult battles he had to fight.

A couple years back, Thomas would never expect to even think that, but the war in France was nothing compared to the unfair war he chose to fight everyday, holding onto his wife at all costs.

On the worst days, he would silently cry against the door of their bathroom, begging her to let him in as she cried so loudly.

”Don't look at me, I'm disgusting!” Y/N kept repeating, looking in the shattered mirror at her reflection. She was a shadow of her old self, her almost completely bald head mocking her, along with the colourless eyes that looked back.

”Y/N, please. Don't shut me away” His voice was breaking, despite the attempts to stay strong. Minutes later he would be on the floor by her side, kissing her temples and holding so tightly to not let her drown.

”You're beautiful, Mrs. Shelby. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” He talked, looking her in the eyes, his deep, honest voice never ceasing to bring her out of misery even just for a few seconds. Rough fingertips grazing over her delicate, pale skin. ”So beautiful I just had to marry you.”

A deep silence following his gentle tone, as his fingers drew random patterns on her skin.

”Am I dying, Tommy?” She asked quietly, her voice so fearful as she held onto his shirt, head resting on his shoulder. Thomas was almost sure she could physically hear his heart shattering at the question.

”No,” He replied confidently, getting her to look him in the eyes. To see the lack of hesitation and the fire he had in him, as her own was slowly getting smaller. She was losing hope. ”You're not dying. I wouldn't let you leave me, after all, eh?” He said, small, weak smile appearing on his lips and reaching her eyes.

”I love you so much” She whispered, slowly nodding off to sleep against his heartbeat.

Y/N remembered every and each of those days when he's been the lifeline. The only reason she was getting up and fighting against the cruel faith, slipping from death's embrace every day, almost like his love was keeping her alive.

...and it worked. Tests started coming back better than before, the cancer responded well to the chemo, allowing life to slowly seep back into their reality.

Y/N could never forget how happy it made them. Made him. The way he laughed and joked, and touched her looking, oh the way he looked at her. Like nothing else mattered, as he brought her flowers and loved every moment they had. Thomas grew to appreciate her presence so much, even the business wasn't able to get a hold of his mind as often anymore.

Life was a dream, until it wasn't.

The pain and swelling grew, sometimes making it difficult to move her legs even. Y/N held onto the thought that it was temporary, that everything was okay, so she didn't tell him. Couldn't bring herself to share her worries, seeing the way he lived and not just survived anymore.

So the secrets began, every letter from the hospital started coming to the rented storage she kept away from everyone. Tests getting more worrying until one, particular one, killed the hope completely.

The cancer no longer remained in her stomach, now spreading to the liver, lymph nodes and lungs, crushing the potential survival rate to 3%.

”Oh God” She cried at first, howling so loudly her throat grew sore and voice weak.

But it wasn't the worst. The worst was pretending around Tommy, forcing herself to smile and walk and talk as lively as before.

Be there for him, and try hard enough to smile so it would reach her eyes, because else he would know.

Each day was harder as the pain grew stronger. Eventually she had to start shaving her head every few days, to hide the fact she stopped the chemotherapy.

The pain was too much. The first time was easier, as she mindlessly shared the misery with Tommy. Carrying it together was easier, but with how much he loved her, seeing her in that state was killing him more than cancer was killing her.

So she pretended. Smiling, shaving her head and making sure to keep her expression stoic as the swelling burned hellishly.

So here she was, sitting on the edge of their bed, both hands on her belly in hopes to ease the pain. Unfamiliar pain, one so strong she couldn't breath at all.

”Tommy” She managed to whimper out, fingers wrapping around the edge of the nightstand so hard, her knuckles turned white. Slowly lowering herself to the ground, Y/N felt her legs giving out as she fell down with a loud thump, starting to cough.

Barely opening her eyes, she noticed the drops of crimson red fluid dirtying the clean, wooden floor. Her mind turned hazy, feeling completely out of it as more and more blood splattered the floor.

Only then did she barely register the fast, loud steps approaching.

”Y/N!” Thomas boomed loudly, rushing to her side. His face was completely pale, his shaky hands wrapping around her chest as he pulled her up, completely panicked. ”Frances! Frances call the ambulance!” He screamed in a frenzy, leaning forward to try and help. ”Y/N, I'm here, I'm here.” He choked out as her eyes became cloudy, breaths coming out in short bursts. ”Y/N! Look at me, please fucking look at me!” Tears steamed down his face at the suddenly terrible state she found herself in. She looked at him, but couldn't see.

As he cried, and screamed, pulling all the old medication she used to be taking from her nightstand, spilling them by his side and looking for the particular one that used to help with breathing problems, Y/N was halway gone.

Physically she couldn't see, struggling to breathe enough to keep her brain functioning yet the only thing she could think of was him.

Please, don't take me away. Who's going to protect him from the self-destruction his heart holds?

”Please, don't leave me” He cried out weakly, pushing his forehead against her collarbone, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Hiding.

The memory of his happy, blue eyes was the last thing she registered, feeling as if he gently eased her into sleep, taking away all the pain. In reality, Thomas couldn't hold in the animalistic howling that ripped from his throat while he held her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth as the sound of an ambulance pulling up by the Arrow house came to his ears.

From this moment, there was nothing.

***

She was gone.

He lost count of the amount of hours since it happened. Thomas didn't know if it was a night or a day, as he forced the maids to cover every source of light in the house before sending them away. The alcohol combined with opium in his system made him see the most beautiful things in the dark, memories shining so brightly.

His eyes rolled back at the scent of her, as he was holding her nightgown to his chest. Blood was trickling from his fingers, dirtying the pink material because of the destruction he brought upon the Arrow house once left alone.

Rocking back and forth in the middle of the room, he remembered the sight of his wife sitting by the vanity, laughing as she made him roll his eyes with her smart mouth. She fitted so perfectly, so perfectly with the scent he was feeling.

It was all that mattered, as long as he felt her presence around him.

In the next few days Polly threw away all the opium he had, trying her best along with her nephews to support him through the ripping loss. Only if he wanted that help, maybe everything would eventually be okay.

But for him, there was nothing before her, and nothing after her. The story was done.

Once left alone again, he let out a sigh, feeling the pounding headache. The noise was overwhelming, impossible to suppress ever since she was gone.

”I can hear them coming again” He whispered into the silence of his office, as the shovels dug against the walls from every direction. Getting louder with every passing minute. ”They want to take you away from me, darling” His voice was rough from the lack of using it. Opening his eyes, Thomas looked at the portrait hanging on the wall. You and him. Like like he promised. His eyes on the painting were far from reality, not resembling the dark irises, swallowed completely by madness which took over his mind without change. ”I won't let you leave me” He repeated the line from the past, lips wrapping around the familiar words as he pulled out the pistol from his holster. Lazily pressing the muzzle against his head as his lips turned upwards into a heartfelt smile. ”I'm coming, sweetheart.”

His loving words were followed by a loud bang, as the bullet ruthlessly ripped through his skull and brain, only to get stuck in the old furniture in another room.

His body went completely limp as the unlit cigarette fell onto the desk, becoming the last sound of their lively love ever heard in the wall of the Arrow house.

A house which became a cemetery for the undying love, and future that would never come.

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @honeymoon8 @chaimaarouaine11 @hatethis29 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @preparedfruit @emptyvoidofmine

After Hours

Part 9

Previous part here

……………………………………………………………………………

How long was he there?

How much did he see?

Has he been there before?

Did he know it was me onstage?

What is he thinking?

The questions that she had no answers to were swirling around in her head nonstop, and as Y/N kept reliving the moment she and Robert’s eyes had met outside the club, she felt like she was going to die both from embarrassment and from the nervous anticipation of when they’d see each other tomorrow.

Of course, she was completely unable to sleep, instead worrying about how Robert was going to react, what she was going to say to him, and how this would affect them.

It couldn’t be that big of a deal, right? It’s not like she’d done anything wrong. And while it’d only been earlier that same day, she had told him she had another job.

As she remembered that, Y/N groaned and pulled her pillow over her head. She was positive that this was not the kind of job Robert would have imagined her having when she’d told him that.

But what was he doing there? In all the time she’d worked at Plume, she’d never seen him there before. Had he been there but she’d just never noticed? Had he seen her other times, but never said anything?

As she got ready for work the next morning, Y/N’s heart was pounding the whole time. Of course, the easy thing to do would just be to call in sick, but Robert would know she was just avoiding him if she did that. And despite how awkward it would be, she decided it’d be better to just face him and address it than dodge the situation. She couldn’t avoid it forever, and she prayed that it wouldn’t be anything that would throw things off between them too much.

She could only hope that it would end up being something they would laugh about.

•.•.•.•.•

“So, with the selection of our school for the grant, the Dean would like to recognize Fischer Morrow at the upcoming alumni dinner.”

Sitting at the large table in the boardroom, Y/N was only half listening as the meeting with the board and the representative from the School of Arts continued. The meeting began first thing in the morning, and Y/N and Robert had yet to connect.

Sitting across from each other at the table, their eyes had met several times, but Y/N couldn’t read the look on Robert’s face, and she’d quickly looked away each time for fear that he’d see her blush. She could sense a vibe from him though, and she was nervous, as he seemed to be…she didn’t know what, exactly, but it wasn’t what she usually felt from him.

He was very much his business self today, all authority, serious, a firm tone, and brief answers. She couldn’t help but think it had everything to do with the fact that he’d seen her last night, and she now worried that his opinion of her had changed.

It shouldn’t have. He knew her well enough to know that her working at Plume didn’t mean she was suddenly a different person, or so she thought. She just had to find a moment to explain things to him.

When the meeting finally came to an end after what felt like an eternity, Y/N’s heart began to race again. Everyone rose from their chairs to leave, and she knew she had to try and speak to Robert now, because she just couldn’t wait until later.

Fortunately, someone had stopped him to talk on the way out of the meeting, and so he and Robert were still standing near their chairs at the table as everyone else filed out of the room. Y/N discreetly made her way nearer to them, lingering close enough to tell when their conversation would be over, but not hovering. Her heart began to race again as the two men started to wrap up their conversation. Once they’d shaken hands and began to move towards the door, Y/N stepped forward, a little surprised that Robert clearly didn’t plan on staying behind to talk to her — she knew that he knew she was still there.

“Robert?” she spoke up before he’d made it to the door. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Why was she so nervous? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

Turning his head over his shoulder, Robert finally acknowledged her.

“Sure, but you’ll have to make it quick,” he said very matter-of-factly. “I have another meeting in fifteen minutes.”

Finally, he fully turned to face her, and Y/N took the remaining steps to close the distance between them, stopping in front of him. He looked at her not with the warmth he usually did, but with the chillier business persona he used when things were serious.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N spoke.

“Are you upset with me?” she asked him quietly.

“No,” he replied, but his attitude didn’t have her convinced. “Should I be?”

“Listen, I know it was probably a surprise for you to see me there last night,” she began, both of them knowing exactly what she was talking about, not needing to elaborate.

“A bit,” he agreed simply.

“Had you, I mean, were you…have you been there before?”

“No,” Robert lied, shaking his head. “But a friend of mine has been, and he’s considering investing to open another location. He asked me to check it out and see if I’d be interested in going in on it with him.”

Y/N nodded slowly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, I’d heard about that possibly happening a while back,” she said.

Robert shifted and put his hands in his pockets as he stood up straighter.

“So, when you didn’t want to make plans last night, I went there instead and finally checked it out,” he said.

Y/N shook her head and frowned.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to make plans with you,” she said adamantly. “But I had to be there last night. They were expecting me.”

“I’m sure they were,” Robert said coldly, his expression condescending.

Y/N frowned again. Her heart pounding once more, she could tell she was losing him, but she wasn’t even sure exactly why. Why was he so angry?

“Robert,” she began again, shaking her head, “I’m…I mean, I realize you must be wondering a million things, but I—”

“Can I just ask one question?” Robert suddenly said, cutting her off.

“Umm,” Y/N’s heart was racing and she felt like she was being interrogated for a crime she didn’t commit. “Sure.”

“Do you choose the songs you perform there?” he asked, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, unsure where he was going with this.

“Well, yes,” she said slowly. “Why?”

Robert shook his head and made a face of dismissive judgment.

“Just wondering,” he said. “Obviously, you must have chosen them because you can relate to the songs based on…personal experience, right?”

For a moment, it was completely silent in the room. But as Y/N processed what Robert said and his implication, he saw her expression slowly change from nervous and confused, to pained and shocked. And then the silence was suddenly broken when the loud smack of her hand slapping across his cheek echoed through the room.

Robert barely had time to register the change in Y/N’s expression before he felt the sharp sting of her palm across his face. When her hand had lowered and he looked at her again, she gave him no chance to say anything before she looked down and pulled her planner out of the stack of work documents in her arm. Shifting, she then dropped everything but her planner onto the table, the sound of which echoed in the room almost as loud as the slap she’d given him had.

Looking up again, Y/N met Robert’s eyes a final time.

“I quit,” she said to him.

Then she turned and grabbed the door handle, opening the door and walking out without another word.

@nyxxie-pooh @xsweetcatastrophe @allie131313 @febris-amatoria @an-eclectic-of-mass-destruction

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That feeling when your favorite writter still aint post the next chapter...

Im jp yall, i just be talking shit lol

⚠️🛑 Sniff Check 🚨⚠️

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⏬ You may continue scrolling at your leisure ⏬

Buddy taken on a Galaxy S3 with a fisheye jelly lens attachment

OMG LOVING IT!!!

🎅🏼🎄 Christmas One Shot 🎄🎅🏼

On The Naughty List

Emmett x Y/N from Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

“Ok, guys, go and get your sleds out of the garage. Dad’s gonna take you sledding with your cousins and Uncle Greg after hockey practice.”

Y/N was checking the progress of the final sheet of Christmas cookies in the oven as she spoke to Henry and Max over her shoulder. As she turned around, she noticed the large smattering of flour on Max’s forehead, and her smile only widened more when she locked eyes with Henry right as he was licking the last of the frosting off the spatula. She couldn’t help but laugh as his cheeks turned red at being caught.

“You better hope there’s still enough of that left in the other bowl, mister,” Y/N said, pretending to be stern.

“There is; I checked!” he replied, still looking guilty.

Smiling again, Y/N walked around the island after setting the oven mitts down, stopping in front of the boys. As she looked down at Henry and lifted a corner of her apron to his face to wipe some stray frosting off the corner of his lip, he spoke again.

“Can we go over to Aunt Stacy’s after sledding?” he asked as he looked up at Y/N. “Connor got the newest Minecraft game for St. Nick’s Day and he said we can play it with him and Nate.”

“You’ll have to ask Uncle Greg when you see him,” Y/N replied, releasing her gentle grasp on Henry’s chin after wiping his lip clean. “Aunt Stacy and I are taking Sadie and Morgan with us to the mall, and you guys will probably get back before we do."

"Ok," Henry replied.

After cleaning up Henry, Y/N moved over to wipe the flour off Max's forehead, and then she began brushing the stray sprinkles on the counter into her hand, shaking them out into the sink. As she did, she heard the garage door opening, signaling Emmett's return from work. Despite it being Saturday, he'd had to run over to the shop and switch out a car battery for a customer.

"Dad's back, so you better hurry," Y/N said to the boys as she turned around from the sink. Then, just as she finished, Sadie could be heard babbling loudly from upstairs, having awoken from her nap.

"Max, how about you go and get the sleds?" Y/N continued. "Henry, honey, can you go up and get Sadie? I've gotta take these cookies out of the oven."

The boys agreed to their respective tasks, and Y/N turned to the oven as the back door opened. Nearly colliding with Max on his way to the garage, Emmett then took off his coat and headed into the kitchen to find Y/N slipping her hands into a couple of oven mitts, the smell of the cookies wafting through the house.

"Hey," she said to him in greeting as she quickly met his eyes before turning to the oven. "That took longer than usual. Everything go ok?"

"Yeah," Emmett replied as he stopped at the island and leaned against the counter. "Their battery was totally fried. Had to wait a while for it to cool off before I could replace it."

"Oh, wow, well, good thing it wasn't anything worse," said Y/N. But as she saw Emmett prepare to sit down at the kitchen table, she spoke once more.

"Don't get too comfortable," she warned him as she turned to place the hot cookie sheet on top of a trivet. "The boys are just getting ready to go and then you're meeting up with Greg and the kids at hockey practice, then sledding."

Groaning, Emmett sat down at the table anyways and leaned back in the chair.

"Can't we just skip all of that? Or send them by themselves?" he said, but not really meaning it, and Y/N giggled.

"I warned you that signing them up for hockey was gonna be a pain in the butt," she said, smiling at him. "Weekend practices are always more inconvenient than weeknights."

"Rubbing it in my face isn't helping," Emmett replied jokingly, and Y/N smiled. Removing the oven mitts, she grabbed a cooled cookie from earlier off a platter and walked over to Emmett, stopping between his spread legs and handing him the cookie.

"I'm sorry," she said to him with a smile as she handed him the cookie. "I know it's not easy to deal with when your wife is always right."

Raising an eyebrow and giving her a look, Emmett then reached out and took the cookie from her hand, but instead of eating it, he set it down on the table and then reached out and grabbed Y/N's hips instead, pulling her closer in front of him and holding her there. She squealed in surprise as she reached out and grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

"Don't push it, princess," he said as he looked up at her.

Giggling again, Y/N lifted a hand to Emmett's head and smoothed back a lock of his hair.

"You should ask Ted to take some of the weekend calls," she said to him, referring to his employee at the shop. "He keeps saying he wouldn't mind, and it doesn't happen that often."

In response, Emmett nodded his head.

"I know. I'm thinking I'm gonna have to. I didn't want to make him do that, but on the days where we already have a lot going on, it'd be helpful. You still meeting up with Stacy at the mall?"

"Yeah, unless you wanna finish up the Christmas shopping and I can take the boys to hockey," Y/N said with a smile, knowing that would be a hard "no" for Emmett. He hated going to the mall, especially when it was crowded during the holiday season.

"That's a hard pass," Emmett said with a shake of his head, and Y/N smiled. "But the next time I wanna sign the boys up for something, change my mind, will you?"

Humming out a laugh, Y/N picked up the cookie Emmett had set down on the table and placed it in front of his mouth, and he took a bite of it before slipping his hands to the back of her waist and pulling her closer. But as he did so, his hands slipped under her shirt slightly, touching her skin, and when he did, she yelped and jumped back.

"God, your hands are freezing!" she said, pulling the hem of her shirt down further and adjusting the apron strings.

"I didn't bother turning the heat on at the shop," Emmett replied.

"You have got to be cold-blooded, I swear," Y/N said as she moved back to the island to start taking the cookies off the baking sheet. "It could be ten below and you'd still say you were too hot."

Smiling as he watched her, Emmett then noted the apron she was wearing — a red one decorated with white lace-edged accents and a fabric belt made to look like a little Mrs. Claus dress. As he watched her for a moment, he couldn't help thinking how sexy she'd look in that and nothing else.

Standing up from the chair, he walked over to the island and stopped behind her, leaning forward and lightly pressing himself into her back as she continued to handle the cookies.

"I'm getting pretty hot right now," Emmett said, the volume of his voice lower as he grabbed Y/N's waist and tugged at the edges of her apron. "This little number's got me thinking certain things. The only problem is you're wearing something underneath it."

Feeling Emmett behind her and hearing the volume and tone of his voice, Y/N smiled to herself as she slowed her movements. Then, setting the spatula down, she turned to face Emmett when he pressed a kiss to her neck.

"Really? A Mrs. Claus apron is what gets you going?" she said to him with an amused smile as she grabbed his upper arms, his hands still on her waist.

"What can I say? It puts me in the holiday spirit," Emmett replied, and he pressed his crotch against hers as he pushed her back against the island.

Giggling, Y/N replied, although she admittedly was getting hot herself.

"Well, you better tell your 'spirit' to cool off, because Max is waiting in the garage and Henry's on his way down with Sadie right now," she said.

Groaning again, Emmett pressed another kiss to Y/N's neck before reluctantly letting her go and backing up, Henry being heard on his way down the stairs with Sadie, who was still babbling happily.

"Don't tuck that away just yet," Emmett said quickly before Henry entered the room, his voice still low and a mischievous look in his eyes as he gestured to her apron.

Smiling and shaking her head with a roll of her eyes, Y/N then turned to move around the island and take Sadie from Henry, preparing to feed her before they left for the mall.

After placing a kiss on Sadie's head, Emmett got ready to leave with the boys, and Y/N gave them each a parting hug as they headed out the door. She and Emmett confirmed that they'd communicate later on about when they'd all get back home, and then they shared a quick kiss before she confirmed with him that they'd decide what to do about dinner once they knew whether or not the boys would be going over to Stacy's.

After strapping Sadie into her carseat and getting behind the wheel, Y/N smiled and shook her head to herself again as she thought of what Emmett had said about the Mrs. Claus apron. But, she had to concede...it actually could be pretty sexy with nothing underneath...

The afternoon had ended up stretching on much longer than either Y/N or Emmett had anticipated. Henry had gotten hurt during practice when his glove had come off when he'd fell and slid across some jagged ice, and he got a pretty gnarly cut on his hand. But he'd still insisted that he wanted to go sledding, and so after being checked out at the first aid station at the ice rink and being bandaged up, Emmett had still taken the boys to meet up with Greg and his boys at the park. By then, it had gotten late enough that they all went to get a bite to eat afterwards, and then he'd followed Greg home to drop Henry and Max off to spend the night with Connor and Nate.

Respectively, Y/N and Stacy had been delayed at the mall with the girls due to it being even busier than they'd anticipated, every store they visited having extremely long lines. They'd also just ended up grabbing a bite while they were out, and with a text from Emmett confirming that the boys were staying at Stacy's for the night, Y/N had proceeded to just immediately begin to put Sadie down for the night upon arriving home.

She heard the garage door opening with Emmett's own arrival home just as she was closing Sadie's bedroom door behind her, and after heading back downstairs, Y/N stepped into the bathroom just as she heard Emmett walk in through the back door.

Entering the house, Emmett removed his coat and boots, and then walked into the kitchen, the smell of cookies still lingering in the air. After quietly calling out for Y/N, she replied to him from the bathroom, saying she'd be right out, and Emmett headed into the living room and exhaustedly dropped himself onto the sofa.

Resting his head back against the cushion, Emmett closed his eyes and relished the peace and quiet as he sat with the room softly illuminated by the lights of the Christmas tree. But after a few moments, he was brought out of it when Y/N quietly called for him from the kitchen.

"Em? Can you come here for a sec? I need your help with something."

Opening his eyes, Emmett stared up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply before lifting his head and standing up. He'd never refuse to do anything for Y/N, but at this point in the evening, he hoped she wasn't going to ask him to start wrapping presents, signing Christmas cards, or anything like that. He was ready to check out for the night.

Upon entering the kitchen, Emmett looked and could see just Y/N's hand gripping the edge of the refrigerator door as she stood behind it, clearly retrieving something from the fridge. As he stopped at the island, Emmett waited for her to tell him whatever it was she needed his help with.

"Can you just help me get all those cookies in the Tupperware?" she asked him from behind the refrigerator door. She outstretched her hand to point to the Tupperware sitting on top of the island, and Emmett replied with a "Sure" before beginning to box up the cookies.

Once she knew he was occupied, Y/N finally stepped out from behind the refrigerator door and closed it, then stepped across the floor in her bare feet to stop across from Emmett at the island. While his head was still down, she spoke again.

"Thanks, babe, I've gotta get those all packaged up to drop off to everyone on Monday." She kept her eyes on Emmett as she spoke, and she waited until he looked up to continue. When he did, she finished. "I'll get you some more parchment paper to line the containers."

As Emmett looked up, it took him a minute to register what was off about what he saw. Y/N was standing across from him at the island in the apron she'd had on earlier, but something was different. After a moment, he realized that her arms were bare beneath it, and when he looked more closely, it almost seemed like she didn't have a shirt on underneath. But he was absolutely not prepared for what he saw after she'd spoken again.

"I'll get you some more parchment paper to line the containers," she said, and as she did, she turned around and lifted her arms up for the cabinet above the stove.

Upon her turning around, Emmett was met with the site of her gorgeous, naked backside beneath the apron, the strings around her neck and waist the only pieces of fabric obstructing his view. As he realized she was completely naked beneath the apron, his heart rate increased and his eyes raked over her, his gaze lowering down her back and landing on the flawless skin and the beautiful, luscious rounds of her gorgeous ass. As she rose on her tiptoes to reach into the cabinet, he caught sight of more of her bare thighs as they came into view from across the island. Once she'd lowered back down with the box of parchment paper in hand, she slowly turned around, and as she did, Emmett could also see the profile of her perfect, plump breasts through the sides of the apron, the front of it barely wide enough to cover her nipples as she turned to fully face him once more. With each second, Emmett registered more and more exactly what was going on, and he could quickly feel his blood rushing south to his cock.

As she stood across the island from Emmett and turned her back to him, Y/N smiled to herself, but maintained a neutral tone as she spoke and took the box out of the cabinet. Upon turning around, which she did with intentional slowness to allow Emmett to take in the sight of her, she continued to behave as if nothing was out of the ordinary, lowering back down to the balls of her feet and setting the parchment paper down on the counter.

"Sorry we're doing this now, but the mall was just so crazy busy that I couldn't get home any earlier," Y/N said, moving to place a few cookies in an empty Tupperware and feeling Emmett's eyes on her, knowing that by now, he'd realized what she was up to. Still, she continued her game. "Luckily, tomorrow, we can just relax."

Emmett still had said nothing, but when she looked up at him and their eyes met, Y/N could see the fire in his gaze.

"Once you finish up that one, can you do one more?" she asked him innocently, and then she looked down again to resume moving some cookies into her own Tupperware. After a moment, she turned around again to give Emmett another view of her ass as she pretended to be reaching for something near the sink.

While her back was still to him, Y/N heard Emmett shift and then begin to slowly walk around his side of the island to hers, all the while remaining silent. After turning back from the sink, she reached for the lid of her Tupperware, still acting completely innocent, when she felt the heat of Emmett's body as he came to a stop directly behind her. Standing there, he still said nothing, but Y/N smiled to herself again as she heard him breathing heavily through his nose, something he always did when he was aroused but trying to maintain his composure.

Unbelievably turned on by the sight of Y/N's naked body beneath that sexy little apron, Emmett's cock was painfully stiff as he made his way over to her. Knowing she was playing this little game and intentionally riling him up, he took his time, moving slowly and remaining silent in order to get Y/N just as worked up as he was. He knew she was expecting a reaction, and he'd give her one, but not without causing a few anticipatory shivers to run through her first. She loved this back and forth between them as much as he did, yet she never learned her lesson, much to both their enjoyment.

Still standing behind her, trying to control his breathing, Emmett continued to hungrily admire Y/N's bare ass for another moment before he finally stepped forward and pressed himself against her, his hardened bulge pressing into her naked ass through his pants. Still, she kept moving as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on, and it wasn't until Emmett reached out from behind her and grabbed her forearms that she finally stilled.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" he asked her lowly, his voice deep with arousal.

"I'm just finishing off these cookies," she replied, her voice sweetly innocent as she answered him over her shoulder. "Is that a problem?"

Releasing her forearms, Emmett then backed up a step and lowered his hands, bringing them to Y/N's backside and smoothing his palms over her soft, taut skin and relishing the feel of her curves. Squeezing each of her cheeks in his hands, he then leaned forward once more, speaking lowly in her ear as he continued to squeeze and caress her bottom.

"The only problem I see is that you just got bumped off Santa's nice list," Emmett growled, raising his hands upwards and around to Y/N's front, sliding his palms up her torso beneath the apron and coming to a stop at her breasts, cupping each of them in his hands and then pinching her nipples as he finished. "Because what you're up to right now is extremely, extremely naughty."

After he spoke, Emmett massaged Y/N's breasts and thrusted his hips forward into her ass several times, allowing her to feel exactly what she was doing to him. Biting her lip and then smiling to herself, Y/N responded by wiggling back against Emmett's cock, feeling the rough texture of his jeans on her bare bottom. As Emmett then pinched her nipples again, she additionally felt the slickness of her arousal building between her thighs.

"I thought you liked a naughty girl?" Y/N said to him, her tone sensually teasing. And when she felt Emmett lower his hands from her breasts to the strings of the apron tied at the small of her back, her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, I do," Emmett replied, his voice still dangerously low as he spoke and untied the apron from behind her. "But you see, being put on the naughty list means you don't get any presents. Is that what you want, princess?"

The apron now untied at her back, Emmett raised his hands to her neck and lifted the apron off her, dropping it on the floor and leaving Y/N completely naked before him. When he planted his hands on her waist, she lifted her own hands and laid them atop his, speaking over her shoulder as she wiggled her ass against his cock once more.

"How about just one present?" she said to him, and then she lifted Emmett's hands and placed them on her breasts again. "Even though I'm naughty, there's one present that I really...", she ground against him again, "....really...", she wiggled once more, "...want."

At that, Emmett squeezed her breasts roughly before then dropping his hands and grabbing her hips once more, turning her around to face him, her back pressed against the island.

"You're pushing your luck, princess," Emmett said then, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers as he spoke. "You're just moving your name higher and higher up on that naughty list."

Y/N smiled seductively and then leaned forward the tiniest bit, bringing her lips in contact with Emmett's as she skimmed them over his mouth teasingly but didn't quite kiss him.

"Well, since I'm already on the list, I may as well make the most of it," she said. Then she lowered her hands to Emmett's waistband and slowly began opening his jeans. "But you didn't answer my question: don't I deserve even one present?"

Lifting his shirt up and over his head, Emmett dropped it blindly to the floor before then helping Y/N push his jeans down his waist and stepping out of them. She then tugged his boxers down and he stepped out of those as well, and Y/N's palm immediately wrapped around Emmett's stiff, warm cock. As she began slowly pumping him in her hand, he answered her.

"I'm gonna give you exactly what you deserve, princess, but trust me when I say that by the time we're done, your name will never be able to get off that list."

Running her thumb over Emmett's tip, she leaned forward and placed a sensual kiss on his neck as he hissed out a breath at her touch.

"Fine by me," Y/N said against his neck, "so long as I get this one present." She stroked him again in emphasis as she spoke, and after she did, Emmett turned her around once more and bent her forward over the island, her ass arched up towards him as he moved her.

Just before he slipped his cock between her wet folds, Emmett leaned forward himself and swept Y/N's hair over her shoulder as he spoke in her ear.

"Lucky for you, my hands are warmer this time."

Being on the naughty list definitely had its advantages.

Wasn’t sure who all to tag for this one, so I kept it pretty minimal. Sorry!

@vervainandspritz @meister95 @teawonderfultea-blog1 @an-eclectic-of-mass-destruction @xsweetcatastrophe

@nyxxie-pooh @beastofburdenxo @toobusyshrimping @hairica @allie131313

More people would believe if you didn't delete your account back then, you know that?

I'm aware. Around the time when the post dropped, I was already in a very dark place in life. A lot was happening and my BPD was making it all even more difficult. Because I wasn't able to stay stable enough to make ANYTHING better. I argued with Red, and began getting medicated.

While writing was my only way of coping besides smoking weed and drinking alcohol, so I didn't stop doing it. Made another account where I dropped a fic and it all continued. Soon after Red and Cas got in touch with me, and in about a week we set things straight. A post that was a "clarification" appeared later but it didn't get traction at all.

So yeah. I'm aware technically I could have handled these things better reacting immediately, but in practice I couldn't.

Now I'm here, and ain't going anywhere.

Plié, Jeté, Relevé (Ballet Master!Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!reader)

A/N: Here you go my lovelies! I have literally never done ballet in my entire life, so any knowledge of this has come from watching tiktoks of ballerinas, movies with ballerinas in them, or my best guesses… anywaysssss, I hope you enjoy it! 

Also, would highly recommend watching the performance of Still Life at the Penguin Cafe on youtube, the music and the dancing is *chefs kiss* 

Summary: You were ready to admit that you hadn’t been at your best the past week or so, but surely you hadn’t been so bad as to deserve this much wrath from Mister Murphy… 

Word count:  3,750 

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mean!Cillian, SMUT, dub-con bc of the power imbalance (?), fingering (technically?), humiliation (not as a kink tho), only reader orgasms, depiction of toxic teaching environment, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

If anyone out there believed in the stereotype that all Irish people were happy and jovial then they clearly hadn’t met your ballet master. The man may speak with a lilting musical accent but there was not a thing jovial or happy about him. The master was harsh, verging on cruel. If anyone was caught slacking even the littlest bit, something that would go unnoticed by the rest of the troupe, his voice would crack like a whip through the studio. 

Recently, that whip had been directed at you. You knew you weren’t doing your best. You had hit a rough patch in your entire life. You had been late more times than ever before, more times than you ever would usually be, more times than you would like. And your dancing had been affected as well. Your posture wasn’t straight enough, your pliés weren’t deep enough, your toes not pointed enough. Everything was going wrong, and while you had hoped it wasn’t noticeable, Mr Murphy never failed to find every SINGLE one of your mistakes. 

Today differed in no way. You had dilly-dallied a little too long while getting ready in the morning, only to end up running late for rehearsal. It was no more than five minutes, but from the start of training it was the rule that all ballerinas must be lined up by the barre at exactly ten o’clock every day. For every minute you were late, the worse your punishment got. Usually if someone hit the five minute mark, they went home and sprained their ankle on purpose for an excuse. 

At four minutes, you had run into the hallway outside the studio and thrown your bag onto the ground, disregarding the sound of your water bottle rolling away and one of your keychains cracking under the weight of your things. At five, you were throwing the door open and running inside, slipping into the back of the line and getting into first position. 

Mr Murphy paused in his speech to gaze at you. You stared straight ahead, refusing to look directly at him. Slowly, his eyebrow rose, scrutinising you with a frown that made shame curl in your stomach and tears make themselves known behind your eyes. He slowly brought his hands together, rubbing them as he sighed and began shaking his head. 

“Kind of you to join us,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he made his way closer to you, stepping leisurely, dragging out the fear that made your throat hurt. He stood a few feet away, staring at you in that impenetrable way of his, ice eyes sharp and painful wherever they gazed. He clapped his hands once. “Girls, turn and look at Ms. Y/L/N.” He waited until each of them had turned in their spots, some craning their heads to the side to make sure they were looking at you lest they somehow disobey him. You could see the pity, the sympathy, the smug triumph in each of the girls’ eyes, the frowns and subtle smirks, and you could do nothing other than keep staring ahead of you as your hands and knees suddenly began to tremble. “What is wrong with her?” 

He didn’t ask it in a rude or incredulous way, but as if you were a diagram in a textbook, and this was simply an exercise the students were completing. You were sure your shame was visible on your face, the embarrassment turning your spine to liquid. One of the girls put her hand up, near the front of the room, and you only recognised her for the little kiss-ass she was once she spoke. She had always been that way, desperate for Mr Murphy. Always at the front of the line, always gleeful at the downfall of others, always ready to point out any mistakes. And you were always happy to watch her desperation help her in no way whatsoever. A lot could be said about Mr Murphy, but favouritism was not something he had ever displayed. Whichever ballerina was doing well, recognisably well, was given her dues, and it was left at that. 

“She’s not wearing her tights and leotard, or at least, she’s wearing sweatpants over them. Her pointe shoes are dirty, and her hair isn’t in a bun.” You could almost imagine her satisfied little smirk when she finished speaking, that evil little smile that you had always wanted to punch off her face. One swing, you thought, just one swing… 

“Correct,” he simply responded, threading his fingers through each other and raising his eyebrow at you again, as if confused and annoyed at you for not doing something. “Leave, get your shit together, and then come back inside. If you have not returned within ten minutes, don’t bother returning to rehearsal ever again.” He nudged his chin in the direction of the door and you nodded obediently, eyes downcast as you stood up straight and slowly walked back out. 

When the door was closed behind you once more, you stood silently for a minute, eyes clenched shut and hands curled into fists at your sides. You pressed out a scream behind your pursed lips, teeth clenched so hard your jaw began to hurt. You slammed the heel of your hand against the side of your head again and again and again until your shoulder hurt a little from the motion and your brain felt sufficiently jumbled. Your chest was heaving and you were overwhelmed with rage. You wanted to kick something, to throw something, to go back in there and rip that bitch’s hair out of her bun. You resolved to pulling your pointe shoes off and lobbing them across the hallway as hard as you could, letting out another clenched scream before walking all the way down to pick them up and bring them back. 

You stood in front of your bag and took three deep breaths. You picked up your water bottle from where it had rolled between another two of the ballerinas’ bags, and took huge gulps of water until you felt a little less sweaty with anger. You checked the time on your phone to make sure you hadn’t wasted your ten minutes, then set about carefully pulling off your joggers, folding them up, and placing them inside your duffel. You pulled out a new pair of pointe shoes, cursing yourself for not having prepared them in time and preemptively wincing at the blisters you knew you were going to get by the end of rehearsal. You walked down to the bathroom at the end of the hall in the pointe shoes, hoping to at least break them in a little bit with the short time you had, and used the mirror to quickly pull your hair into a bun, securing it with pins in a practised dance you had learned from years of repetition. You checked yourself once more in the mirror and then looked down at your phone before sprinting full on back to the room and sliding through the doors. You made it just in time. 

Mr Murphy glanced at you as you slipped into position at the back of the line, following the exercises he had been calling out to the ballerinas while you had been out. He methodically looked at every inch of your body, from your pointe shoes to your pink tights and black leotard, from the careful set of your bun to the determined set of your brow and sheen of sweat on your temples. He didn’t say anything directly to you, and you took it as a win. 

At the halfway point, you were all allowed a little break to drink water and have a rest before you switched from exercises to rehearsals for your next performance. You were all practising for your various roles in a performance of ‘Still Life at the Penguin Cafe’, and though you would have to wear a huge mask of a ram on your head, you were ecstatic for the performance. While it wasn’t technically a solo, you were the centre of the piece, being the only one not dressed as a penguin. Now, everything felt so precarious. You couldn’t quite be sure Mr Murphy wouldn’t take the role from you after the past two weeks spent in a slump, and the worry was becoming your ever-present companion. 

Just as the girls were all leaving the room to get water and lounge around on the floor of the hallway, Mr Murphy cleared his throat and snapped his fingers at you. 

“Ms. Y/L/N,” and he pointed at the spot right in front of him. It took everything within you not to sprint to the spot. You took careful, measured, steps and stopped a few feet in front of him, spine straight and head held high. You weren’t sure where to look. You could never meet his eyes, something in your soul was opposed to it, so you chose a spot on the wall just next to his head. 

“You will stay for another hour at the end of the session to make up for your failures this morning, understood?” He raised both his eyebrows, hands on his hips. You closed your eyes, trying not to burst into tears like a child throwing a tantrum on the spot. You nodded, whispered a ‘yes, sir’ in a clogged voice, and waited until he dismissed you to walk out of the room. 

You sat down by your bag with a sigh, arms slung over your knees as you cradled the water bottle close and pressed your face to it. You closed your eyes and allowed your head to dip down as some of your friends came to sit around you, offering pats of sympathy and words of comfort. You tried to smile, nodded in thanks, but you just wanted to curl up into a ball and never get back up. 

The next few hours were spent going through each section of the dance. You felt lucky that you didn’t get to the Ram piece, you were sure you couldn’t hold it together long enough for that, only to be doused with cold water at the thought that you needed to stay longer afterward. 

When rehearsal was over, Mr Murphy dismissed everyone right on the dot. He didn’t acknowledge you as the girls started leaving, the chatter slowly beginning to rise as they reached the door. For a moment you wondered if you could get away with leaving with everyone else, but just as you reached the door he called out “ten minutes at most, Ms Y/L/N, then I want you back in here.” Your bones seemed to disappear and you thought you would collapse to the floor in a heap of mushy flesh. Instead you nodded and wobbled your way outside to chug what was left of your water bottle, refill it, then chug the contents again as tears of exhaustion slipped from the corners of your eyes and mingled with the sweat dampening the hair by your temples and ears. 

The ten minutes were up far too quickly and you stood with a groan, heading to the door once more. You gazed at the room from the door, the light hardwood floors, the wall of mirrors and the bar spanning the length of the room, the huge windows letting in swaths of natural light. You often forgot how beautiful the space was. 

You walked slowly to where Mr Murphy stood, typing something on his phone and moving the speaker to face the room again. You stood before him, hands clasped and eyes downcast, waiting for instructions. For a while, he didn’t say anything. He was no longer on his phone, his hands hanging by his sides, and he stared at you. Every few seconds you glanced, trying to glimpse what was going to happen, but he just continued watching you, stoic as ever. 

You could never tell what he was thinking. Never once had you been able to guess at his thought process, to figure out what was going on in his head. Maybe that was one of the reasons he intimidated you so much. 

He walked closer, so close the toes of his shoes almost touched the toes of yours and you gulped, staring at the contrast, the black and the pink, the background of wood. His hand came up and he tapped up under your chin with the side of his index finger, waiting for you to lift your head. When you did, your entire face felt hot under the skin. He was so close, you could see the freckles splashed on his skin, the careful set of his cheekbones and jaw. You gulped. His eyes were so much more terrifying up close. 

“You’ve been given a gift,” he began, slow and firm, “your ability, your natural rhythm, that is a gift. Unless you put in effort to finetune this gift, it goes to waste. Do you understand what I’m saying?” You nodded but he shook his head once. “Speak.” 

“Yes sir,” you breathed out quickly, gulping when your mouth was closed again. 

“I’m not sure you do, though,” and it felt like the hammer falling. His eyes seemed to harden a little, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “The past two weeks all I have seen is a sloppy, unprincipled, uncommitted dancer who deems merely showing up a success.” Each word was a stab to some part of you, and it took everything not to wilt completely to the floor. “You have been given one of the more difficult roles in the performance, and I once believed you deserved it. For the life of me, I cannot remember why.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you closed your eyes, throat bobbing as the despair that felt inevitable finally began to land. 

He went silent, and that felt worse somehow. The backs of your eyelids began to burn and you clenched your hands tighter around each other, hoping the little pain it brought would distract from the tears. You berated yourself in your head. You yelled in your mind that this was a pathetic display, that it would be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done if you began to cry in front of him. He would think less of you, it would only confirm what he believed; you were weak. When you opened your eyes again, one traitorous tear slipped out and down your cheek. You could feel the hot, ticklish track it made down the skin. If you didn’t know better, you thought you saw Mr Murphy’s eyes soften. 

He breathed out, long and tired, and reached up to gently wipe the tear away with his thumb. Your breath caught in your throat. His hand was warm. Your chest felt tight. His skin was soft. You stared into his eyes. He left the side of his hand against your face, as if allowing himself to feel the skin. Something in your stomach writhed impatiently. Everything seemed to have changed within a second. Some deep seated urge whispered in your ear to open your mouth and lick his thumb. You shivered. 

“Turn around,” his voice was low, rough, and you almost moaned at the sound. You gulped again, but obeyed almost instantly. You heard some shuffling, and then the music started, the slow long notes interspersed with the quick little strums, a beautiful, almost joyful piece of music. Then Mr Murphy was pressed right against your back, and suddenly the music was secondary. His chest, firm, solid, was moulded to your back. You could feel the soft fabric of his black shirt, the puffs of his breaths against the back of your neck. Your entire body shivered. He was warm, like a heater on a middle setting, and if you weren’t so tense, you would melt against him. You could feel his nose against your head as he bent slightly. You could feel his lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispered “relax.” You tried, forcing your muscles to loosen like you would before a performance. 

His hands trailed down your arms, his fingertips running down your biceps, then your forearms until you shivered against him again. When he reached your wrists, he hooked his own hands under them and began raising them in time with the music. You turned your head to the right, watched his hand raise your own, your lips parted and breaths heavy. You couldn’t move past the feeling of him pressed to your back. 

You almost missed the cue to move, almost, and pulled away from him slowly, carefully, using the measured steps required by the music. You left your right hand in his, just the barest touch of your fingertips against his, the illusion of contact as you moved to the left, feet lifting high. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, and suddenly you enjoyed the feeling in a sick, scary way. You walked forward until you were in line with Mr Murphy, still an arm’s length away before he stepped forward and your arms moved to a waltz position. He settled into the space, gripping your hands firmly in his. He was pressed as close as he could be, closer than your actual partner would be for the dance, and you set your eyes on his face. Your pulse thrummed in your ears, you were in your element. 

You went through all the steps of the dance like you had been born knowing it. Your bodies were like water as they moved, smooth, graceful. You hadn’t felt this intune to the music in a long time, hadn’t felt this much like a dancer in a long time. You could almost see the crowd in front of you, the blinding lights, the smooth fabric of the dress. 

At the final step, Mr Murphy gripped your hand and spun you into him, changing the ending of the dance. You gasped as you leaned back into his chest. His head was bent down, pressing his face into your hair. You were panting, torso moving up and down quickly but trapped in the confines of his arms crossed over you. You leaned your head back a little, pressing the curve of your skull into the curve of his neck as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head. The music was fading out, and the only sounds in the room were your mingling breaths, heaving into the air of the room. 

His left palm pressed against your stomach, firm and insistent, but you couldn’t be bothered to look down. It seared into your already boiling skin and you closed your eyes. You tuned into the sensation of his hand slowly sliding down, bit by bit, inching down over your stomach then pressing against your pelvis. You gasped as you felt his fingertips brush over the leotard just at the top of your pussy. Your hand moved behind you, gripping his sides, clenching into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against the side of your head, and you didn’t stop him. His hand moved farther down, pressing against the softness atop your core. Gently, his index finger moved to the centre line and began pressing in. You lifted up on your toes a little when you felt the pressure through the fabric, the indent of his finger pressing against your clit. You were hot and wet, he could feel the heat emanating from your core against his hand.

He kept his finger pressed there until you became restless, impatient, pressing your hands a little harder against his ribs. Slowly, keeping the pressure, he moved his finger down until he was pressing against your hole. The warm tendrils of pleasure slowly undulated up your insides. He repeated the motion, up then down and pressing a little harder against your hole. 

You breathed out heavily, shakily, and bent your knees to press a little harder into the feeling. 

Up, down, press. Up, down, press. He circled your clit through the fabric, pressing against the pulsing little bud. Up, down, press, drag up, drag down, press. You were panting into the air, face contorted, mouth up and head tilted up, resting against his shoulder. Your eyes were screwed shut, hips moving to chase the motions. He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against your ear, held you tighter against his body. 

You were both standing in the middle of the large studio, bathed in the early evening light. Your hands clenched a little harder against his sides. The warm tendrils were lasting longer, becoming more frenzied, curling up into your stomach and making your hole flutter. His right hand moved up and cupped your breast, gripping firmly and burning the heat of his hand into the flesh. 

You were engulfed by him, wrapped up in both his arms as he pressed his fingers harder and quicker against the seam of your core, moving up and down, pressing and releasing. He ran the edge of his thumbnail against the fabric over your nipple and your pelvis shook. You writhed in his arms at the spark it shot to your core, at the electric pulse it created and ultimately pushed you over the precipice. A moan, a high-pitched whine shot from your mouth, echoing in the room. You pressed yourself so hard against him he almost lost his balance, moving one foot back to keep the two of you upright. Your hands hurt from how stiff they became clenched into the fabric of his shirt. 

Slowly, he released the pressure against your core. He grazed his finger up until he could press his hand to your stomach again. He left it there and the two of you heaved breaths in sync. You began to flutter your eyes open, still lost in the blood rushing through your head. His right hand came up and gripped your chin, pushing it so you faced to the left where his head had dropped down. He leaned back a little, you tilted forward a smidge, your eyes met. Your lips were still parted, his mirrored. Then he surged forward, pressing his mouth to yours, his nose sliding into the crease between your cheek and nose. He tasted warm and minty. His lips were plush and cushiony soft. He pulled away and you looked into his eyes again. 

Neither of you said a word.

Taglist: @4ria790

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