burntheedges

[burntheedges]

The Gingerbread Matchmaker

Rating: Teen? If even, but I still appreciate MDNI. Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Words Count: 4,500 Summary: You're the owner of the struggling bakery Sweet Nothing, and you're quickly running out of money—and patience. Your town's annual gingerbread house competition is your last ditch effort to save everything you've worked so hard on. Too bad you quickly discover that you're a baker—and not a contractor. Enter, Sarah Miller, offering her dad's building skills. Warnings: fluff, Hallmark Christmas movie vibes, Sarah Miller the matchmaker, I believe in a world where Joel Miller is happy, Christmas vibes, a lot of baking, not beta read

A/N: Happy holidays everybody! This idea planted in my head a few nights ago and I just had to get this out to y'all. Thank you to @saradika for the gingerbread dividers!

Masterlist

You're a whirlwind of aprons and flour-dusted hands as you flit around Sweet Nothing Bakery, your labor of love. The display before you blooms into a colorful bouquet of cupcakes, each one baked then frosted with meticulous care.

Only you, the hopeless dreamer who has always believed that one good chocolate chip cookie can instantly improve a bad day, would decide to pack up your whole life, purchase a long-closed-down bakery sight unseen, and move to a cozy suburb outside of Austin that you’ve never even visited before.

And here you are now, your eyes flickering toward the door every few minutes. You've poured everything into this place – your savings and your dreams. The bell above the door remains silent, though.

"Maybe it's just another off day," you mumble to yourself. Your wrist twists, bringing the face of your watch into view for the third time in ten minutes.

As if on cue, the door creaks open, and your heart leaps. But it's only Mr. Bowe from the music shop next door, his gaze sweeping over the cupcakes before he offers a sympathetic smile. "Just looking at all of the pretty pastries, my dear," he says.

You nod with a practiced grin that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"Let me know if anything tempts you," you reply, already turning back to rearrange a tray of lemon cupcakes.

"Will do," Mr. Bowe assures you, though you both know he won't. He never does. With a smile and a nod, he's gone, leaving you alone again.

Damnit. This bakery was supposed to be a beginning, not an end. You can't let it crumble in your hands.

The sun begins to set as you tally the day's earnings—or lack thereof. Your palms press against your eyes when you realize the sum total barely covers the cost of ingredients. Your shoulders slump as you count and recount, you lose every time.

With a deep sigh, you flick off the lights one by one and climb the narrow staircase to your apartment.

You’ll try again tomorrow.

The morning sun pours through the bakery's front windows. You're lining up croissants in the display case when Mr. Bowe’s kind voice catches your attention.

"Have you heard about the Gingerbread House Contest?"

Your ears perk up, and you lean closer. "No, I haven't. Tell me more."

"Well, every year, Cedar Park holds the contest right in the town square. It's quite the spectacle," he explains. “It draws quite the crowd."

"Sounds fun," you muse.

"Indeed. Last year, the winner's gingerbread house was featured in the newspaper. Gave their little shop a real boost."

You straighten up.

"Maybe I should give it a shot," you say, more to yourself than Mr. Bowe.

“I’d love to see what you come up with.”

You don your apron, your sleeves rolled up to your elbows. The familiar sound of the mixer whirring calms your nervous heart. The bakery smells of ginger, cinnamon, and allspice. For the first time in weeks, you actually feel a glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—you’re going to be okay.

Rolling out the first batch of gingerbread, you press shapes into the dough—walls, roofs, and tiny doors.

You've got this. Or so you tell yourself, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea while you watch the oven bake your hopes and dreams.

Your hands are steady as you lay out your tools—offset spatula, rolling pin, and piping bags. You prepare yourself to transform from a baker into an architect.

Or—so you thought—your gingerbread homes begin to resemble earthquake victims, walls crumble and roofs slide. All you can do is laugh in disbelief. You mastered croissants at the age of twelve, you knew how to make macarons before you knew how to drive. How in the hell are you failing at gingerbread houses of all things?

Determined, you eye the next batch in the oven. This time, you’ll double the icing, maybe whisper sweet nothings to the dough, and cross your fingers for good luck.

You barely notice the jingle of the front door bell over the crash of another wall meeting its demise.

"Wow, looks like a gingerbread massacre in here," a sweet voice cuts through your frustration. You glance up from your baked goods ruins and spy Sarah Miller smiling at you, curiosity lighting up her face as she surveys the scene. You straighten up, self-conscious under the gaze of your guest.

"Ah, well, it's not usually this… chaotic," you offer with a sheepish grin, trying to brush off the mess littering your workspace and apron.

Your eyes meet Joel, Sarah’s handsome dad standing just behind her. Your breath catches in your throat, a common occurrence whenever you see him in your shop, standing tall and broad-shouldered, rugged with bronzed skin. His strong jawline is dusted with stubble, his full lips sit under a well-trimmed mustache, and his eyes—a warm dark brown—crinkle at the corners as he takes in the chaos of your kitchen with a slight grin.

He runs a hand through his short, dark hair. You try not to stare at his arms, muscular and tanned. You’re left speechless again by him, your eyes roaming from his work-worn hands to the easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He exudes strength and capability—you feel ridiculous in your current predicament—covered in flour and crumbled gingerbread buildings.

"Looks like you could use a hand," he says, his voice is a low rumble that sends a shiver through your body.

"Or maybe a bulldozer," Sarah adds.

"Maybe so," you respond, feeling the tension ease out of your body at their lighthearted banter. “What brings you in today?"

Sarah bounces on her toes, her curls bobbing. "We’re early for my piano lesson next door and I wanted to ask you about helping with my bake sale—" She glances around at your gingerbread graveyard. "Maybe we came to the wrong place?"

You laugh, running your hand across your forehead and wincing when you realize you've just dusted it with flour. "Oh no, I promise I'm usually much more competent. It's just this gingerbread house contest has me all flustered."

Joel's eyebrows raise. "The gingerbread contest? The one being held this weekend? That's a big deal around here."

"Yep. So I've heard," you sigh. "I thought it would be a great way to get some publicity for the bakery, but…" You point helplessly at the crumbled remains of your attempts.

Sarah's eyes light up. "Dad! You could help!" She turns to you, grinning. "My dad's a contractor. He builds real houses. I bet he could help you make an awesome gingerbread house!”

You blink, surprised by Sarah's suggestion. Joel rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. "I don't know about that, baby girl. Building gingerbread houses isn't exactly building a home."

But Sarah doesn’t back down. She turns to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Dad's being modest. He's amazing at building things! You should see him build LEGO!”

You look around at your kitchen, littered with the remains of your failed attempts.

“I—guess I could use the help,” you shrug, glancing over at Joel.

He hesitates, his eyes darting between you and Sarah, the internal debate playing out on his face. “I suppose I could take a look,” he sighs, a hint of a smile appearing.

“Yes!” Sarah cheers, clapping her hands together.

Relief and excitement rush through you. “Thank you,” you earnestly say. “I promise I’ll repay. Free cupcakes for life?”

He laughs a deep, warm sound. “Let’s see if I can actually help…”

Joel moves closer to inspect your gingerbread casualties, you catch the smell of his cologne—woodsy, like pine and campfires. You try to focus as he examines the graveyard of broken cookie pieces, his brow furrowing in concentration. God, he’s handsome.

"You need to think about load-bearing walls, proper supports—”

“It’s cookie dough, not concrete,” you retort with a smile.

“What if we change the shape?” Joel suggests. “Maybe something less—grand than a gigantic gingerbread mansion.”

You nod, your mind racing with possibilities of gingerbread construction.

“Ooh! I have an idea!” Sarah pipes up with excitement. “What if we made the clock tower in the town square?”

“It’s smaller, we’d need less actual structure pieces, maybe we could rely more on your decorating than building skills then?” Joel says thoughtfully.

“That’s actually… not a bad idea,” you admit, your eyes lighting up as you consider the possibilities. "I could use royal icing to make the details on the clock face," you muse.

Joel nods. "And I can help with trying to make sure it stays upright."

"Team Gingerbread!" Sarah cheers, pumping her fist in the air.

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through your chest for the first time in a quite awhile.

“So, when do we start?” Sarah asks excitedly. “Now?”

“No, baby girl,” Joel says with a chuckle. “We can’t start right now. You have your piano lesson.”

"But Dad," she whines, "this is way more important than piano!"

"How about we start tomorrow?" you suggest, glancing at Joel. "After the bakery closes? That way, I can prepare some fresh gingerbread and we can really get started."

"Sounds like a plan. What time do you close up shop?"

"Seven," you reply, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at the thought of spending more time with him.

"Perfect," Joel says. "We'll be here."

Sarah bounces on her toes, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can we bring anything to help?”

“Patience,” you wink.

Joel chuckles, a sound you could get used to hearing.

“Please, pick something out to take with you,” you say gesturing to the display case.

While Joel and Sarah peruse your variety of baked goods, you take the opportunity to steal glances at him. His strong profile, the gentle way he interacts with his daughter, his broad shoulders. You shake your head, trying to escape your reverie over the handsome contractor as you bag up the treats they’ve chosen.

“A chocolate chip cookie for the little lady, and a cinnamon roll for dad,” you say, handing the bag to Sarah.

"See you tomorrow! We're gonna make the best gingerbread tower ever!" Sarah says, as they turn for the door.

“I sure hope so,” you giggle at her enthusiasm.

Joel lingers for a moment at the door, his eyes meeting yours. “See you tomorrow,” his deep voice rumbles through you as he leaves.

The next day, you're up before dawn, determined to perfect your gingerbread recipe. That, and you couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Joel again.

By mid-afternoon, you've settled on the perfect blend - a dough that's sturdy enough for construction.

As closing time nears, your stomach flutters with nerves over seeing Joel again. You're just finishing up filling the piping bags with royal icing when the bell above the door chimes.

"We're here!" Sarah's voice rings out, her curls bouncing as she practically skips into the bakery. Joel follows behind, with a soft smile as he takes in the scene.

"Wow, it smells amazing in here," he says.

You lead them to the workspace. "I've got everything laid out. Shall we get started?"

Sarah claps her hands excitedly. "Let's do this!"

Joel listens intently as you explain the pieces you’ve baked for the clock tower.

"Okay, I think I see how we can make this work," Joel says, reaching for a piece of gingerbread. "We'll start with a solid base, then build up the walls using these larger pieces as supports."

You find yourself mesmerized by Joel’s hands as he begins; strong, capable, yet incredibly gentle as he handles the gingerbread.

You blink out of your focus, remembering you have a job to do—and Joel’s daughter is right next to him.

"I'll start on the decorations," you say, reaching for a piping bag filled with white royal icing.

"What can I do?" Sarah asks looking around at all of the accoutrements needed to build the tower.

You smile at her enthusiasm. "How about you sort these candies by color? We'll need them for the details later."

And just like that, the bakery feels a little less quiet, a little less empty.

As the clock ticks later, the outline of the clock tower begins to take shape.

You catch yourself staring at Joel's strong hands as he carefully places the final support beam for the clock tower. Your eyes trail up his arms, past his broad shoulders to his handsome face—where you’re startled to find him looking right back at you, his brown eyes wide as he stares into yours.

"Earth to bakers!" Sarah's voice cuts through the moment. "Are we done for tonight?"

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. "Yes, I think that's enough for today. Tomorrow, we finish decorating," you reply, wiping your hands on your apron.

“It looks like it’s going to hold,” Joel nods, stepping back to admire your mutual handiwork before gathering his and Sarah’s things.

“Let’s hope!” Sarah says, carefully leaning in to assess a wall.

"Same time tomorrow?" Joel asks, his hand on the door.

"Wouldn't miss it," you reply, a bit too eagerly.

With one more day to go, you lean over the bakery counter, watching as Joel meticulously positions a candy cane-striped piece atop the gingerbread clock tower, using extra tenderness as he handles the delicate candy.

“Geez Dad, I haven’t seen you handle something so gently since you built that little green alien from that show you like,” Sarah quips, perched on a stool, legs swinging, her curly hair bouncing with energy. “It’s candy, not a thousand piece LEGO set.”

You stifle a laugh as you watch Joel's serious face crack into a reluctant smile.

"If only your smart mouth could decorate," he retorts, his voice low and warm.

Sarah's eyes light up mischievously, a grin spreading across her face. "Oh! I just remembered," she exclaims, hopping down from her stool. "I promised Mr. Bowe I'd help him set up his Christmas window display today. I can't believe I almost forgot!"

You and Joel exchange skeptical glances. "Since when do you help Mr. Bowe with his window?" Joel asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Since… now?" Sarah replies, already backing towards the door. "It's important to help others, right Dad? You always say that. I'm sure you two can handle the rest of the decorating without me. I think you two make a great team! If you need me, I'll be next door!"

Before either of you can protest, Sarah darts out the door, the bell jingling in her wake.

All of a sudden, the bakery feels much smaller, much more intimate, the air sits thicker between you and Joel.

You clear your throat, reaching for a piping bag filled with white icing. "Well, I guess we should keep going," you say, your voice sounding unnaturally high.

Joel nods, his fingers skimming yours as he takes the piping bag from your hand. A jolt of electricity passes between you at the contact, and you quickly pull away, knocking over a container of sprinkles in your haste.

"Oh, shoot," you mutter, dropping to your knees to clean up the mess. Joel kneels beside you, helping to gather the scattered sprinkles.

You both reach for the same pile, your fingers brushing against each other. This time though, neither of you pulls away.

You look up, meeting Joel's, brown eyes, his intense stare searching your eyes as if he’s trying to read your thoughts.

Time stands still, the smell of cinnamon, ginger, and your bakery dissipates, now all you smell is Joel’s woodsy cologne. Finally, after watching him from afar for months, separated by the bakery display case, always getting to see the small glimpses of him with his daughter and the sensitive heart he keeps buttoned up beneath his flannel shirt, he’s so close. He takes a deep breath, leaning in, closing the distance between you. Joel’s lips meet yours, gentle and tentative at first, until he cups your cheek, and you melt into him, quietly moaning at the first taste of the cinnamon and coffee on his tongue.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders, sinking into his warmth, steadying yourself as he wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you closer.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. Joel rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he whispers.

“Me too,” you admit, feeling heat creep into your cheeks.

“I think my daughter may have had an ulterior motive in leaving us alone,” he chuckles.

You laugh softly. "She's a smart kid."

"Too smart for her own good sometimes," Joel agrees.

"We should probably get back to decorating," you say reluctantly.

Joel nods, standing and offering you his hand and pulling you up.

You stand shoulder to shoulder with Joel at the counter, Joel’s presence now a comforting warmth beside you, as you both reach for a frosted windowpane.

"Here, let me," he says, taking the delicate piece from you. He gently handles the sugar glass with a gentleness you’re now well aware of, and glues it to the clocktower.

“It looks great,” you say, closing the distance between Joel.

Joel’s eyes lock with yours, leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. Your chin tilts up, wanting to taste the sweetness of his lips again…

Suddenly, the bell above the door chimes loudly, shattering the moment. The two of you spring apart, both breathing heavily.

"I'm back!" Sarah's cheerful voice rings out. "Mr. Bowe says hi and—" She stops short, her eyes darting between you and her father, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

Flustered, you take a step back, your elbow accidentally knocking against the edge of the table. The gingerbread clock tower wobbles precariously, and time seems to slow as you watch in horror.

But Joel is already in motion, lunging forward and reaching out to steady the creation. A collective sigh of relief fills the room as the gingerbread clock tower stands unscathed.

"Nice catch," you breathe out.

He offers a humble shrug, but the slight twinkle in his eye tells you he's pleased.

"Oh my god Dad! That was awesome!" Sarah chimes, rushing over to inspect the nearly-catastrophe. “Is it done? It looks amazing!”

“I think it is, except for one more piece,” you say, pulling out two surprise gingerbread cookies.

The first cookie is unmistakably Sarah. Her curly hair is captured by swirls of chocolate icing. Her bright brown eyes are recreated with the help of tiny candy pearl dots. Her wide smile is a perfect arc of white royal icing. You made sure to include her favorite part of green Chuck Taylors and stack of beaded bracelets.

Joel’s cookie is a little simpler, his stubble is recreated with finely crushed Oreos, his short, dark hair made with chocolate icing. He’s even complete with a tiny flannel shirt constructed with red and brown icing.

Two sets of brown eyes widen as they take in the miniature versions of themselves.

“These are incredible,” Joel says softly. “Really.”

“Well, you two are my most frequent customers, and I couldn’t have done all of this without your help,” you admit, smiling at Sarah.

Sarah beams, carefully picking up her cookie-self. "Can we put them on the tower? Like we're looking out the window or something?"

"That's a great idea," you nod, reaching for icing to secure the cookies in place.

As the three of you work together to position the two cookies just right, you feel contentment wash over you.

Just a few days ago, the bakery felt so empty and daunting. But now, as you watch Joel help Sarah put on her jacket before they both take one last look at the completed gingerbread tower, you feel hopeful for the future of the bakery—and the gingerbread competition tomorrow.

You’re tired—you barely slept last night, you yawn as you carefully load the gingerbread tower into your car, praying it survives the short drive to the town square.

The morning air is crisp as you step out of your car, waving at Joel and Sarah as they make their way towards you. Joel has a shy smile, his deep brown eyes lit with something akin to fondness as he approaches you.

“Ready?” he asks with a nod.

“As ready as I can be,” you sigh.

You and Joel carry your collective pride and joy across the town square with the help of Sarah leading the way to the competition area.

"This is it!" she exclaims, waggling her fingers in front of the table like a magician. You swallow nervously when you see the talent of your competitors.

"Wow, look at that castle," Sarah gasps. Joel doesn’t even look over, his focus remaining fixed on your shared creation, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Ours is better," he states matter-of-factly.

“You’re right,” you agree with a smile.

As the judges make their rounds, you try to calm your nerves as your foot nervously taps against the pavement and you try to catch your breath. Joel seems to sense your anxiety, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch steadying you, silencing your self-doubt.

"Hey," he says quietly, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze. "Whatever happens, we did good."

"Thank you," you breathe out.

And then they're before you—the judges—with their scrutinizing eyes and nods of approval. You and Joel still hold hands, both of you not making an attempt to pull away. One of them leans in close, inspecting the intricate icing lattice-work that had taken you hours of painstaking focus.

"Exceptional detail," one judge comments, pointing to the two gingerbread figures of Joel and Sarah at the base of the tower.

"And the structural integrity is impressive," another judge remarks. Now, you squeeze Joel’s hand.

"Thank you," Joel says.

The judges move on. The three of you look at each other, with unspoken hopes of victory. Joel still doesn’t drop your hand.

"And now," the announcer's voice catches the crowd’s attention, "for the winners of this year's Cedar Park Gingerbread House Contest!"

A rush of adrenaline flows through your body as your heart beats against your chest. Sarah grabs your other hand, forming a chain of nervous anticipation.

"Third place goes to The Gingerbread Castle by the Carpenter family!"

You breathe out the breath you’ve been holding. Sarah bounces next to you, Joel stands still and calm next to you.

"Second place is awarded to…" the announcer pauses. "The Gingerbread Ski Lodge by the Millers!"

Your heart pounds so hard you feel like you’re going to pass out. You try to focus on the soothing feel of Joel’s thumb stroking the back of your hand.

"And now for the grand prize winner of this year's Cedar Park Gingerbread House Contest is… The Gingerbread Clock Tower by Sweet Nothing Bakery!"

Time seems to slow down. The judge's lips move, but you can’t hear them over your heart beating. You only realize what’s happening when Sarah lets out an ear-piercing squeal and Joel's arm wraps around your waist.

Sarah jumps up and down and Joel pulls you close, planting a kiss on your cheek.

You feel like you’re floating as you walk to the stage and accept the grand prize ribbon. The crowd stares at you, cameras taking your victory photos, but all you can do is stare at Joel, a wide smile of support making his eyes disappear behind the crinkles at the sides.

As you step off the stage, you spot Mr. Bowe, who rushes over to you, his eyes twinkling with pride. “I knew you had it in you, my dear,” he says, patting your arm. “This will do wonders for you and your bakery.”

The realization hits you like a wave - you've won. Your bakery is going to be okay. More than okay, even. Tears of relief and joy prick at your eyes.

Joel notices the tears in your eyes as you rejoin him and Sarah at the table. He pulls you in for a hug. “Hey,” he says softly. "You did it. I knew you could."

You bury your face in his chest. "No, we did it," you respond, your voice muffled against the soft flannel of his shirt. "I couldn't have done this without you and Sarah."

When you pull back, you see Sarah beaming at you both, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Does this mean we get free cupcakes for life now?" she asks cheekily.

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. "Absolutely.”

You weave through the throng of customers, carrying a tray laden with pastries. Gone are the quiet days of just you and your empty bakery. Sweet Nothing Bakery is now the bustling heart of Cedar Park’s downtown business district. Now, instead of quiet contemplation about your’s and your bakery’s future, your business is home to a line stretching out the door and a phone ringing off the hook.

You turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED, now exhausted from being busy all day, no longer overwhelmed from the worries of a failing business.

The jingle of the bell above the door interrupts your focus on counting the profits of the day, you look up and spot a familiar face.

“Long time no see,” you smile.

“It’s been a busy week for me with the holidays coming up,” he says, looking around at the empty display cases. ”Seems like your week was busier.”

He approaches the counter, it’s only been a week since you last saw him, seeing his dark brown eyes again makes you realize how much you’ve really missed him.

"I've been baking non-stop since we won the contest. I can barely keep up with demand."

Joel's lips quirk up in a half-smile. "I noticed the line when I drove by earlier.”

“I can’t thank you enough for all of your help, I couldn’t have done it without you��� or Sarah.”

He smiles before cleaning his throat.

"So," he says, a hint of nervousness sounds in his voice. "I was thinking… maybe we could celebrate our victory properly? Maybe you’d like to grab dinner sometime?”

Your heart skips a beat and you can’t stop the wide grin that spreads across your face.

“I’d love that,” you reply. "But what about Sarah?"

Joel chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Already taken care of. My brother was quite excited to learn that I finally got the nerve up to ask the cute girl from the bakery out. I think Sarah has been filling him in about everything. I think she might have been plotting this.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She’s tenacious.”

“Tell me about it,” he nods with a grin. “So, that’s a yes?”

“Absolutely,” you respond, hope filling your heart.

[burntheedges]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 44

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy Folks!

Welcome to the 44th Spreadsheet Digest. It's quite short this week because I've been reading a book and doing last minute Christmas shopping.

As always, if you want to be on the digest, tag me in your work. I will try to read it. I am so behind on my TBR I'm actually scared to look at my mentions... but still tag me please.

Honey, You're Familiar a Dieter one shot by @murder-wife

Stella Stone moved from Hollywood a decade ago following her divorce to fellow actor, Dieter Bravo. She returns when she is nominated for an Oscar and is soon face to face with their contentious past.

angst, smut, unprotected PIV, oral sex, one face slap, no age gap, leaving one or two things untagged for spoiler reasons, you know how I do.

Shadows a Din one shot by @burntheedges

you were pretty sure the ship was haunted.

spooky vibes, flirting, feelings and smut, canon-typical violence (with a bounty), this is a tentacle monster fic and there is smut, so keep that in mind, it's exactly what you think it is, kissing, grinding, fingering, but not with fingers, p-in-v sex, creampie, cuddling, manhandling, except not with hands, if you get my drift, pet names (cyar'ika, mesh'la, good girl), no mention of details for reader other than wearing clothes and being a mechanic

Riduur in Training a Din one shot by @absurdthirst, @storiesofthefandomlovers

You arrive with the Armorer to take your place as Din Djarin's riduur, one that he had no warning of. Trained to be the spouse of the next leader of the covert - you will be dar'manda if he rejects you. And Din is horrified to learn that you have been trained for his pleasure.

Sexual training/grooming, mentions of creeds and honor, cults, playing fast and loose with Mandalorian traditions, removing helmets, forced weddings, nudity, masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), loss of virginity, fingering, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, humiliation, dishonor, pregnancy

but he's the one I want a Joel one shot by @wheresarizona

All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch.

DBF!Joel Miller, slightly possessive Joel Miller, pre-Outbreak, age gap, explicit consent, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, spit as lube, overstimulation, sex on stairs, body worship, slight body insecurity, getting caught, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, Die Hard is a Christmas movie debate)

Luster a Joel one shot by moon_mint (AO3)

Just my humble contribution to the fine genre of Joel Miller stepdad AUs. Slaps fic like I'm a used car salesman. This baby has grief and trauma! Stepcest! People not knowing how to process their feelings! Messed up families! Teenage hormones! Adult hormones! All in the safety of fiction!

No Outbreak AU, Stepfather!Joel, stepcest, Parental Death, Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, degradation kink, Angst, PIV Sex, Daddy Kink, Blowjobs, Bad Parenting, messed up and toxic family dynamics in general, Age Difference

how do you sleep? a Joel one shot by @thriftedtchotchkes

joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

Crash a Marcus M series by @moonlitbirdie (ezrasbirdie on AO3)

Harboring a secret crush on her step-father would be enough to make any girl a little crazy. Years after your mother leaves him, however, Marcus Moreno is still the one you go to when you need saving.

Step-cest, Step-cest adjacent, Step-dad!Marcus Moreno, Age Difference, Missy does not exist, Mommy Issues, Daddy Issues, Manipulative Reader, manipulative marcus, Smut, Angst, Masturbation, Sex Toys, dead dove, Spanking, Dubious Consent

Ma meilleure ennemie an Oberyn one shot by @sanarsi

Your families hate each other but you are young and in love.

forbidden love, hurt/comfort, soft!Oberyn, so much feelings, arguing, young dumb and so much in love

The Graduate Pero one shot @absurdthirst, @storiesofthefandomlovers

From the very first day in his class, you manage to piss Professor Tovar off. Thinking him antiquated as the history class he teaches. Verbally sparring with him until things turn physical in his office, you start hate fucking your professor every chance you get.

Insults, rough sex, hate fucking, verbal sparring, power imbalance, age gap (everyone is legal), squirting, fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (male receiving), slight exhibitionism, threat of being discovered, hurt feelings, angst

Happy Reading!

[burntheedges]

the real secret to zuko's redemption arc is the month he spent working in public food service

[burntheedges]

Just one more

This is my Secret Santa piece for @artsy-girl-76 I hope you'll like this little treat with our dear detective. You gave me a perfect excuse to dive in and write him for the first time and I had lots of fun.🤭♥️ And a huge thanks to my bestie @thundermartini for always being so supportive♥️♥️

pairing: Tim Rockford x fem!able bodied reader summary: Tim has one more present for you tonight word count: 1200 tags/warnings: established relationship, angst for a second, fluff, and a bit of spice

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

If a moment deserves to have bestowed the title of being perfect, it would be this one. Not unusual -the action done many times before at his place or yours- but tonight, cuddling with Tim under a blanket in your childhood home's favorite room, surrounded by tall bookcases full of books, and the colorful Christmas decorations -bits of green, red and gold sprinkled in perfect balance- has a different hue. Sitting on the leather couch, you've spent uncountable hours reading -imagining universes and living adventures- at a precise distance to bask in the hearth warmth and bathe in its light, your bellies full after the Christmas dinner and sharing one last drink before bed, reveling in the hush only broken by the crackling noises of the fire. Remembering the day you've shared, full of laughs and happy times, finally introducing your man to your family, is perfect, almost, but not.

Meeting the parents for the first time is not a meaningless thing. You'd been anticipating anxiousness and stress, even if unneeded. 

By the giggles you got from the female faction of your family with the first photos you showed of Tim, of what you call his slutty pose -unaware of getting his picture taken, his expression carefree, smirking, too concentrated on talking to a fellow detective to notice what you were doing, his broad back framed by his leather shoulder holster, his weight off balance, favoring the side his hand was perched on his hip, while the other, resting on his thigh, holds his black-rimmed glasses that drive you crazy- you knew it wouldn't take them much to fall for him, even less when they saw the gentleman he is. Just as your dad had fallen fast thanks to Tim's stoicism and honesty. 

But the source of your joy, your Tim, becoming a little thorn of unrest stuck on your ribs, his smiles feeling somehow forced, with a shade of aloofness directed at you, hadn't been on your plans.

“Tim?” You get no response. His focus, absorbed by the flames, only breaks once you leave his side, sitting straight to look at his face. “Tim. There’s something wrong?”

“What?… No, Honey…” He doesn't fool you, his tone flaring your skepticism, a shield to camouflage your uneasiness until it sinks. Reality over conjecture. His evasion, the tilt of his head obscuring his eyes, shifting, revealing nerves, bashfulness coloring his fidgeting, destroying every ounce of fear. “I have one more present for you.”

“Oh,” you mutter, surprised, excited, tracking his movements, curious about what he's hiding in his pocket. While the memories of how the day had begun, the sun high in the sky once you'd managed to abandon the sheets, and the opened presents before coming to your parents' place -his expression discovering the jumper he's wearing now, touching the softness in the dark green wool, the weight of his choice, the necklace, the small Virgo constellation finding a home on your neck- fly around your mind as you let him grab your wrist and put something in your palm.

“Keys?” Your eyebrows become drawn together, puzzled, inspecting the two keys, recalling the ones he offered you a few months ago, “but you already got me a set." 

“I know, but those are the spare ones. These are yours. I made them for you.” There's an unvoiced question in his statement -foreboding of more to come- sneaking into your mind, claiming to be answered, pairing with the wish you've been harboring, expanding as the relationship deepened, confessing love, accompanying the unwavering happiness, and the realization that he is the one. “I hate it when you’re not there. The house feels so empty and haunted. It smells wrong. I miss you so much. Your smiles, your laugh, hearing about your day, cuddling under the covers…”

You start to move, his speech forgotten as you straddle him, obeying your intentions, the push on his chest to rest on the backrest, ensuring your balance with his hands on your hips, massaging them, gently escorting till you're sitting on his lap, staring at him with a glint of mischief crossing your eyes. “But my lease doesn't end until next year”

“I’m sure your cousin would help you with that.”

“Mmmm….” He's right, his memory impeccable as always -her wish to find a new place has been one of the conversations at the table.

“You gonna make me beg.” You nod, unashamed, relishing in the moment, the power, wanting to hear the words, your touch traveling to his curls, burying your fingers, scratching, stealing a groan from his chest.

“Say it.”

“Move in with me.” He doesn’t make you wait. He never does, ordering more than asking -one you don’t mind obeying, eager to do so, causing a grin so big it hurts as your forehead rests against his, treasuring the instant, and your thumbs sketch the corners of his lips.

“Yes.” 

It's a whisper, a secret offered, flooded with love, irresistible, snapping the stillness, exploding as you dive, meeting him halfway with the same fervor, lips dancing together, tasting and playing, tongues chasing seamlessly, sharing breaths and moans, gluing your chests as your pelvis grinds against him.

“Fuck!” Tim halts your thrust, cursing, squeezing your ass -keeping you in place. 

The blanket tangled with his feet disrupts his attempt to rise with you in his arms, changing the path, your bodies spilling on top of the rug, your squeal devoured by his grunt, not interrupting his caresses, his wandering hands growing bolder, seeking skin, his mouth leaving tingling sensations as it roams, creating trails, bitting and licking your neck, hinting no intent to stop.

“Wait, here?”

“Why not? I’ve always wanted to make love in front of a fire.” The boyish charm in his voice is endearing. The darkness and power mixed in it break your train of thought. “Everyone’s sleeping, and the door is closed. We’ll be quiet.” 

His kisses don't cease as he talks, pledging, strokes of heat not pushing or forcing, just distracting, stirring desire inside you. But your silence puts a halt, driving him to move backward till he's kneeling between your legs, carefully observing you as you've grown used to, patiently waiting for what you want to say, noticing all the clues your body and expressions give him, ready to quit or do what you need.

He's a vision with tousled hair peppered with grey, a smirk promising trouble, and stubble you yearn to feel on your skin. His jumper askew, revealing a glimpse of his belly. His large hands caressing your skin -their strength still evident in the gentleness of his graze. Ensnaring you with his thighs, sturdy and commanding, supporting his weight, and his bulge, hard, big, barely contained behind the fabric of his jeans. Arousing, turning you into a mess, your core pulsating, already wet for him, munching your lip to swallow the mewl trying to escape, already gone, wanting it as much as he does, yielding, taking off your shirt, doomed beyond salvation. 

Dragging him with you, capturing him with the pendant resting amidst your breasts, exposing the lingerie you've been concealing, your style but a tad raunchier than usual, a bit see-through. Temping. Enticing. Baiting. Watching the tension in his shoulders rise, his pupils dilate in hunger, black overpowering the brown.

“Do your worst, Detective,” you command, conscious of what it will do to him, making him growl as he attacks, your giggles becoming moans, destroying any care that's not him, the pleasure, and the bliss of knowing you'll get to wake up next to him every morning.

No pressure tags (because there was interest on my WIP Wednesday) @mermaidgirl30 @mothandpidgeon @milla-frenchy @604to647 @maggiemayhemnj

@aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @schnarfer @jennaispunk

[burntheedges]

Fairytale of Dieter Bravo: A Christmas Rivals AU

80’s Dieter Bravo x f!reader

A very special Rivals AU gift for @ozarkthedog for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub Holiday gift exchange! Thank you @sp00kymulderr for organising us 🖤

Rating: fluff & yearning but my whole blog is over 18’s only please Summary: Dieter Bravo is fresh out of rehab and spending Christmas 1987 with his cousin Declan in the Cotswolds. Word Count: 3,200. Content: Lots of flitting between Dieter/reader POV. Heavy on the 80 references, drugs, alcohol, rehab, so much smoking and swearing. Allusions to smut. A kiss. Reader is married so… infidelity. Reader is a horse girl with strong thighs, but otherwise minimal physical descriptions. A lot more pheasants than I was expecting. Always somehow Fleabag coded. A/N: Dearest Ozzie, I really hope you enjoy this ever so slightly bonkers trip to 80’s Cotswolds for a Dieter Bravo Rivals AU! I had so much fun writing it 🖤 thank you so much to my darling @toomanytookas for the beta read and to @secretelephanttattoo for the mega brainstorm! Where would I be without you guys?! Note: There is a reference to Ozzie fantastic Rivals fic, which you can read here: known acquaintances (Declan O’Hara x afab!reader / Rupert Campbell Black)

Heathrow, December 1987 

Declan’s ancient car is horribly hot, the air stuffy from the overworking heater and the overwhelming musty scent of old cigarettes. Dieter is boiling in his enormous fluffy coat, beads of sweat gathering at his temples and under his arms. He cranks down the window, shoves his head out into the freezing air for a few seconds before stuffing himself inelegantly back in. Hopes that will stop the nausea that’s swirling around his gut. 

Declan takes a long drag on his cigarette, glances over at Dieter for half a second, “Jesus wept, man, you look fucking terrible.”

“I’ve just been on a plane for eleven hours, Declan, how would you like me to look?” Dieter huffs, sparks up his own cigarette using the sad looking car lighter, the evidence of a thousand cigarettes tracing the rim. 

“I can smell the whiskey on you, D, I thought you’d just been to rehab? Wasn’t that the whole point of coming over here for Christmas, away from the temptations of LA?” Dieter enjoys the soft Irish lilt of Declan’s voice, even if he’s not so keen on the slightly admonishing tone.  

He simply grins in reply, licks at his lips as if to taste the remnants of the booze there, “Maybe fourth time will be the charm, cousin!”

“To be fair, I don’t think I’d be able to manage an O’Hara Christmas sober, might be best if you are on the sauce. Just none of the hard stuff please, we have a strict no powdering of noses when the kids are at home.”

Dieter lets it sit there, makes no promises, stares out of the window at the passing cars, the stream of lights almost festive as they join the waves of Christmas traffic on the M4. Declan taps on the steering wheel, shifts slightly uncomfortably in the tattered leather seat, glances at Dieter with a concerned side eye. It’s going to be a long journey down to the Cotswolds. 

Dieter is sure Declan is once again mulling over whether having his wayward cousin to visit for the holiday was in any way shape or form wise. At least he’s staying in a little cottage over the hill and not actually at the house, so he’ll have a bit of space to relax into himself. Nothing quite like a good festive rot in his favourite bathrobe.  

Dieter brings up his eyes to meet his cousin’s, they share that same deep dark brown of their grandfather’s, a mix of mischief and seriousness all at once, “I must say Declan, your moustache is looking glorious.” 

He roars with laughter in response and Dieter hopes, hopes, that this will set the tone for his visit. 

There’s a satisfying crunch of snow beneath Dieter. He takes a long drag on his spliff, wiggles his arse a little, making sure he’s formed a perfect Dieter-sized snow angel in the hillside. The low sun is almost blinding, even with his Ray-Bans on he can’t really make anything out except a clear blue sky and the occasional pheasant. Or what he assumes is a pheasant. He’d almost jumped out of his skin when he’d first heard the weird call they make. The English countryside really is something else.

At least there’s acres of quiet, not a soul to be seen in the large field next to the little cottage he’s staying in. He can snow angel and smoke to his heart's content, empty his brain of the constant whirring that accompanies his dreadful, soulless life in LA. He feels like a little woodland creature, communing with nature and all that shit. He’s at one with…  a fucking horse?  

Dieter startles as the very large chestnut horse that is suddenly blocking out the sun's rays starts nibbling at his somewhat soggy coat. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” 

“You alright down there?” The voice is clipped, almost abrupt, a rollie cigarette hanging lazily from unamused lips. 

“Fuck, yes, I was fine before your horse started devouring me.” 

“Harry was just checking you were still alive, darling. We smelled you from about half a mile away.” 

Dieter squints, he can’t quite make you out. You’re more of a dark shape, the outline of a riding hat paired with a high pony that swishes each time you move your head, a short Barbour nipping in your waist. He props himself up on his elbows, wiggles his eyebrows at you in a way he hopes is alluring enough that you won’t stomp on him with the horse, who is still giving Dieter a very hard sniff. He gives Harry’s nose a pleasing scritch.  

“Finest Moroccan hash my angel, the squidgy brown stuff. A Christmas Eve Eve treat to myself.” 

“You staying at Heather Cottage?” Dieter nods, continues to stroke at Harry’s soft snout, rests his head against it for a moment, letting his breath fall in time with the beast’s. You’re watching, curious, perhaps even a tiny bit charmed, and your head tilts questioningly, “You’re the actor?” 

Dieter huffs dramatically, “The actor? I’ve got an Oscar.”

“Yes, yes very good. I vaguely recognise your face from the Hello magazines they have at the dentist. Didn’t you just get married? Sure there was a big flashy spread.” Your disapproval is very evident, the way you enunciate flashy sets very firmly that such things are to be avoided. 

Dieter sulks slightly, “That was nearly six months ago. Divorced now anyways... I think.” Dieter’s mouth pulls down and he scratches at his own chin, tries to remember if he did actually sign those papers. 

“I can offer you a lift back to the cottage, but you’ll have to climb up here. Think you can manage it?” 

“You didn’t see Silver Dust Redemption? Spent most of 1984 on a horse filming it. And in full leather chaps.” 

You watch as Dieter stands up enthusiastically and you slip your feet out of the stirrups, securing one hand on the saddle and reaching the other out to him. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head, tucks his spliff behind his ear, brushes off some of the snow and casts some seriously big brown eyes in your direction.

If you were a weaker woman this is where you might have felt a twist in your stomach, a flutter of those butterflies you’ve heard so much about, the ones you were supposed to have felt when you’d been introduced to your husband all those summers ago. You dismiss such treacherous thoughts, focus instead on how pleasingly firm this man’s grip is, his large hand engulfing yours. You’re surprised by how agile he is and the ease at which he mounts the horse, swiftly tucking himself behind you. The bulk of him, it’s oddly comforting. 

You know he felt the wedding ring on your finger, that his touch held onto it for a second too long. 

“Don’t be shy…”

“Dieter.”

“Don’t be shy, Dieter, hold on tight. I think Harry fancies a canter to the cottage.”   

You feel his thighs tighten against you, arms slipping around your waist, and there is a thrill hidden within you, a spark that ignites as Harry launches into a trot and you both move as one with the rhythm of his increasing pace. It’s been a long time since you’ve been so instinctively in tune with someone else, odd that it should be a strange American who was lying prone in the snow only minutes ago. A little surprise Christmas gift for you perhaps.  

Once you’re at the cottage, you make sure Harry’s bridle is looped round the front gate, a stash of hay there for him to munch on. It’s beyond freezing in the cottage when you walk through the door. 

“Dieter, I have a sneaking suspicion you’ve let the AGA go out?”

“I’ve what-the-what now?” 

You march up to the ancient oven, placing your palm flat on the hot plate and find it stone cold. You click your tongue, “Did Declan not teach you how to feed it?” 

“You’re still talking Latin to me, angel? I’ve got to… feed the oven?” Sure, Dieter vaguely remembers Declan asking if he knew how to work a range cooker, but he’d been such an awful mix of hungover and jetlagged he’d just sort of grunted a reply and Declan had left him to crash out on the sofa. 

“Right. Well, can you light a fire at least? We’ll catch our death if we don’t get it warmed up here. I assume that the hot water is connected to the AGA as well, so you won’t be able to have a bath or wash up unless we get this sorted. Come on, Dieter, quick sticks.”

Dieter shuffles to the sitting room, trying to hide the smirk that’s spreading across his face as he sets up the kindling. Transpires he rather enjoys you telling him what to do. From his view by the fireplace, he watches as you confidently pull out an ash-filled grate from within the oven, marching out to the backdoor and flinging the ashes into the snow. You’re very business-like, it’s quite charming. An air of sense and sensibility that permeates your being, although there’s a wryness that sits at your tongue. Dieter has a gut feeling that there’s something mischievous that lurks beyond the surface, a girl that used to climb trees with the best of them, could probably take him in a fight. He gets lost in how strong he imagines those horse riding thighs are, how he’d quite like to be trapped between them whilst you showed him some West Country girl tricks. The fire starts smoking and he coughs as it hits the back of his throat, quickly bringing him back down to earth from this reverie. 

He busies himself tending to the fire and tries to remember all the processes from the wilderness rehab his agent forced him to go to in ‘83. Pretty successful as far as his visits to rehab go; learnt how to light a fire, shagged a really stunning brunette with anger issues but didn’t form weird attachment issues, took him six whole weeks to start drinking again. Which reminds him. 

“There’s a bottle of Bollinger in the fridge if you need some sustenance?”

“Oh yes, don’t mind if I do. Let me just get this bugger lit for you first.” 

Much swearing later, you announce the AGA is once again lit and take Dieter through everything he needs to do to keep it that way. 

“You simply must riddle it twice a day.” 

Dieter waggles his eyebrows, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

You bash his arm, not softly, “I’m being serious. And you understood about filling up the coal and emptying the ash? Yes?”

“Yes, yes, it’s like a pet. I shall tend to it.” 

With the fire successfully roaring (you may have had to rescue it several times despite Dieter’s protests he had it in hand) and the AGA heating up, the cottage no longer feels like an actual ice box and the two of you are sat by the hearth drinking the fizz and eating the only other thing Dieter has in his fridge; Taggy has inexplicably left an orange with sticks of cheese and pineapple in there, in the shape of a hedgehog. It tastes disgusting and delicious all at once, and Dieter can’t stop eating it. 

You’re quizzing him on the village rumours that Declan is having an affair with his new housekeeper and that Maud isn’t coming home from London for the holidays.   

“I never liked her, she tried to make a move on me when they visited me in New York, was bit much really. Even for me…” Dieter pops another piece of pineapple in his mouth, ponders for a moment, “But he’s technically still married, I think.” 

“Aren’t we all.” Your expression is wry, only the slightest twitch of your cigarette betraying anything other than amusement. 

Dieter’s eyebrows quirk, “Are we?”

“I believe so. You possibly to that bright young thing from the glossy magazines, me to a terrible borish old thing. Who does grace the pages of Tatler every so often, I’ll admit.” You flick off the cigarette ash abruptly with your thumb before taking another long drag, “Obscenely wealthy. Loves his dogs, just not people very much. Barely tolerates me.” 

Dieter throws back the last of his champagne, reaches his hand up to your jaw, holds it firm, “I’d more than tolerate you, my angel. I’d worship you.” 

You laugh, what else is there to do? 

“Look I’ve got to get Harry back to the stable and rugged up. But I’ve noticed you’re missing something… so…” you pause, waiting to see if you’re really going to say what you’ve been thinking since you walked into the cottage. “So, I’ll pop back here in an hour or so if you’ll be in? Just a little Christmas gift. Nothing wildly exciting.”

“I’ll keep the fire burning.” 

You smile. A real one, one that reaches your eyes and catches his, cements this fizzing connection that hangs in the air, an undeniable awareness. Longing, desire, sex. It’s all right there, in the upturned corners of both your mouths, in the single dimple that adorns his face and the way his hand is still at your face, thumb gently caressing your chin. 

Dieter is curled up under a rug and agog in front of the tiny, ancient wood panelled TV when you walk through the front door again. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this before?”

Your nose scrunches up, “What, Eastenders?” 

“It’s… it’s bonkers.” He attempts a Cockney accent, “Alright, Princess?” Before you have time to mock him, Dieter suddenly remembers himself, leaps up and turns the TV off, presses a kiss onto your outstretched hand, eyes glinting, “Did you bring my present?”

You bark a laugh in response, “You’ll have to help me get it out of the Land. I’ve got some food to heat up as well, though you might need something more than cheese and pineapple.” 

“You’re an angel.” 

“We’ll see about that.” 

The Land Rover is parked directly outside the front door and a picture-perfect Christmas tree is poking out the back. Dieter gasps, he’s never had a real tree before, let alone one with actual fresh snow on it. 

You’re suddenly coy, a slightly bashful look on your face as Dieter beams at you, full Cheshire Cat mode activated, “You are an angel! This is spectacular! Magnificent! Glorious!” 

“Shhs now, it’s just a little thing. We have some on our land, thought it was a shame for you not to have one?”  

Dieter is almost incredulous, “And you chopped it down for me?”

“And I chopped it down for you.” 

Doeter impulsively pulls you in for a kiss, just a light brush of his plush lips against yours, but a kiss, a thank you, a promise all at once, “That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

You stay like that for a moment, bathed in both darkness and starlight, just holding each other against the cold. You take in his handsome face again, rub your nose against his, let your lips find his once more, your fingertips tracing the scruff of his beard. 

Eventually, you pull away and he reluctantly lets you. 

“Right. You get the tree, I’ll get the Le Creuset out of the front. It’s just a pheasant casserole, we’ll need to pop it on the AGA to reheat. You can be in charge of peeling the spuds for the mash.” 

You don’t quite snap back into business mode, you’re softer, a gentle warmth seeping through, but Dieter is pleased you haven’t stopped bossing him. He finds he’s eager for it, awaiting his next instruction. 

He throws the tree over his shoulder, trails after you, “You won’t be missed?”

“Oh no, my husband is out at the Pig & Fiddle with sweaty Andrew and his lackeys. He won’t be out until close and he always gets absolutely arseholed with HRH, I’ll probably find him passed out in the roses tomorrow morning.” 

“HRH? Actually, no, I don’t care. I don’t want to hear about these people. I want to hear about you.” 

Dieter feels as if he may have entered into some kind of dream, a strange place where reality has become a hazy, soft space that he doesn’t normally exist within without the use of hardcore hallucinogens. Yet here he is, relatively sober, mostly full to the brim with your brilliant pheasant casserole and a healthy dose of Bollinger, and he’s scared to grasp onto this too hard in case it slips from his grip. Fretting that all of this might disappear in a puff of cigarette smoke. You, in the firelight, tucked into him, folded into him a way that feels just right, all woollen socks and rosy cheeks and forgotten wedding rings. He would like to exist like this forever, in this stolen togetherness, a heady mix of soft touches and electric sparks. 

He’d seriously contemplated asking you to run away with him when he’d watched you tying velvet ribbons on the tree, swearing profusely every step of the way and looking more devastatingly beautiful than he’d ever seen anyone look. He finds he’s running away with himself, already mentally calling his agent about you being his plus one at the Oscars, imagining buying you a ranch out in the sticks so you can both play cowboys. He has got to calm down, slow these racing fanciful thoughts, and focus on enjoying the sensation of you curled up on his lap by the roaring fire, Bruce Springsteen And The E Street Band’s Merry Christmas Baby playing on the radio. 

He whispers into your ear, “I’ve never met anyone like you.” 

Your hands are playing with the almost curls at the nape of his neck, you give one a not entirely gentle tug, “Don’t be silly, I’m ten a penny round here. Can’t throw a Cotswold stone without hitting some posh totty.” 

“No, I’m serious. I think you’ve put some kind of spell on me, I’m thinking of stealing you. Forever.”

You turn ever so slightly, let your lips find his. The divine tickle of his moustache has you wondering what it would feel like to have him kiss your body, what it would feel like to have him between your thighs, reaching for where you need him most. It’s a sign you need to leave. A cold stomp back to the Land and a drive across the fields will calm this burning that Dieter has lit within you, a fire that needs to be tempered before it catches, before things can’t be undone.  

“I can’t promise forever, but I’ll be at Declan’s New Year soiree. Will that do?” 

Dieter sighs, breaths you in, “I guess it will have to, for now.”

Tagging in a few Dieter fans/peeps who may enjoy this madness, as always just shout if you’d rather be taken off:

@mothandpidgeon @whocaresstillthelouvre @readingiskeepingmegoing @ghotifishreads @jessthebaker

@amanitacowboy @devineconjuring @guiltyasdave @hellfire-state-of-mind @missredherring

@milla-frenchy @yxtkiwiyxt @burntheedges @katareyoudrilling @yopossum

@perotovar @rulexofxnines @sixhours @sawymredfox @thundermartini

@covetyou @luxurychristmaspudding @pascalssbabyy @magpiepills

All images from Pinterest and dividers from @saradika-graphics

[burntheedges]

This idea was inspired by the lovely @joelmillerisapunk thank you so much for tagging my two Joel fics on your post 💜

I only just started my tumblr at the end of November, with the intention of just being a silent reposter but I started getting ideas and I wanted to put them down into words, now I feel like I've found my community here and I get to interact with some truly talented and amazing people. Thank you to every single one of you and my followers 💜

This is a mix of prompts, mini fics, drabbles, one shots and ongoing series'.

Most of them are smut (Quelle surprise the clue is in the username) but all of them are absolutely incredible reads and some of my favourite fics this month.

Joel Miller

Never made it as a wise man - @almostempty

Joel Miller X Reader

Summary: Joel solves your car troubles for free, and you try to return the favor with a homecooked meal. When you accidentally interrupt his jerkoff session, you take a chance and help him out.

So much to lose - @auteurdelabre  

Joel Miller X Reader

Summary: Newly settled into Jackson city and forced to go on patrols with the miserable Joel Miller sets off a chain of events and encounters that have you questioning everything, including your own heart.note: Featuring Dark!Joel 

Dirty old man - @mssalo

Joel Miller X F!reader 

Summary: You were assigned as Joel Miller’s caretaker, but he’s a perverted old man who just can’t keep his hands off you. And the truth is, you don’t mind one bit—in fact, you want more.

PTOLEMAEA - @lovely-vamp-princess

Cryptid!Joel Miller/F!Reader

Summary: Trails of blood have been appearing around Jackson that lead to gruesome crime scenes. The bodies only seem to appear in the middle of the night after Joel mysteriously disappears for hours at a time.  You aren’t the only one with growing suspicions about the surly older man.

Bad Santa - @baronessvonglitter

sleazy mall Santa!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Frantically seeking relief during the Christmas rush, the Santa at your local mall is the last person you'd expect to help.. and the only one who can.

The last piece of us - @absurdthirst

Joel Miller X F!reader

Summary: When the world ends that night, Joel has to make a choice between you and his daughter. You encouraged him to save Sarah and twenty years later, he finds out that you survived that night when he sees you in Jackson.  

Smooth Operator - @penascigarette

Joel Miller x f!phone sex worker

summary: you accidentally send a picture of yourself to joel which results in a video call

It feels like hope - @itwasntimethatdidit40

Summary:Hot Priest!Joel Miller x f!reader, no outbreak

How quickly can you take your clothes off, pop quiz - @joelmillerisapunk

Joel Miller x reader 

Summary: The enemies to lovers/one bed/forced close proximity/light grumpy x sunshine/patrol partner fic no one asked for.

Somewhere only we know - @josephquinnswhore

Joel Miller X Female Reader

summary: joel has been the only constant in your life since you’ve been at Jackson. But you don’t know if you deserve him despite his persistent efforts. 

Javier Peña

Neighbors - @gothcsz

Javier peña x f!reader

Summary: what it's like living next door to javier peña. Explicit. Minors DNI. 

Unscripted desire - @gothcsz

Javier peña x f!reader

summary: you’re a camerawoman that shoots pornos. javier peña is the pornstar you can’t stand. why is it that you’re always so affected by him? Explicit. Minors DNI.

Office hours - @itwasntimethatdidit40  

modern!Javier Peña x f!reader 

Summary: You should concentrate on work. But you can't do that with the charming bastard you share the office with in front of you. Why not find a more fun way to spend your office hours?

Like a fever - @pedgito

Javier Pena x reader

summary: this is my own entry for the summer lovin' challenge, somehow torturing myself further by writing a fic amongst all my other wips and helping organize this challenge. there's sweaty javi p and office sex, that's all you need to know.

Nobody wants to be alone on Christmas- @morallyinept  

Javier Peña X F!reader

Summary: You discover your boss Javi will be spending the night alone, working on the cartel case on Christmas Eve, so you extend a kind offer for him to join you for some Christmas dinner. 

Christmas in the city - @punkshort

Javier Peña x f!reader 

Summary: As if your holiday season couldn't get any worse, you get lost on your way to the first day of your new job. Lucky for you, a handsome and flirty stranger finds you on the verge of tears and walks you to your office building, turning your day around instantly.

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officer - @javierpena-inatacvest

Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader

Summary: After Javi brings home a pair of handcuffs from work, your plans for the night start to look very different. 

Lunch break - @joelmillerisapunk  

Javier Peña x coworker f!reader  

Summary: Javi edges you at work   

Din Djarin

Vices - @baronessvonglitter  

Din Djarin x OFC x bi! f!Reader x OMC 

Summary: You're not one to be shy of your vices, but a night with a mysterious woman has you and your work partner Din chasing new highs.

I'll Be Yours If You'll Be Mine - @dindjarindiaries

Din Djarin X Reader 

Shadows - @burntheedges

Din Djarin x F!reader

summary: you were pretty sure the ship was haunted.

Ezra:

The Pit - @morallyinept

Ezra X F!Reader

Summary: Ezra and you stumble into an ominous pit on a prospecting mission for coveted azure diamonds on the Narillan moon, and find more than you bargain for.

Frankie

All the things we never said - @javierpena-inatacvest

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: You and Frankie Morales have been best friends since the 6th grade. You swore to each other that there would never come a day where life would be better without the other one in it. But as you grow up, you've learned the hard way that sometimes, just friendship isn't enough.

Marcus Pike:

The gift - @morallyinept

Husband!MarcusPike x Wife!Reader

Summary: Marcus buys you a naughty Christmas gift that you wear to his parents' Christmas lunch, and you both find it hard to stay composed at the dinner table.

Dieter Bravo

Sleezy Santa - @morallyinept  

Sleazy!Dieter Bravo x Menace F!Reader 

Summary: Have you been naughty or nice? Sleazy Santa Dieter will find out... Come sit on his knee, baby, and tell Santa what you really want for Christmas. If you've been good, he might just give it to you. T'is the season to be sleazy...

Bright lights - @moonlitbirdie (only on AO3, you'll need an account)

Dieter Bravo x NDAfab!Reader

Marcus Acacius

III - @gothcsz

Marcus Acacius x Fem!Reader x Lucius Verus Aurelius

Summary: Lucius Aurelius, the stepson of wealthy and renowned architect Marcus Acacius, falls in love with you, Marcus's personal assistant. However, you're already in the midst of a tangled affair with his stepfather. 

Mutli fandom: 

I gave you my heart - @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

Dieter Bravo x f!Reader x Lucien de Leon

Summary: You and Dieter attend his parents annual Christmas party where you unexpectedly run into your ex, Lucien de Leon. As events (and drama) unfold, you're soon wondering if you are making the right choice about your future. 

Paris, Texas - @almostempty  

joel miller x javier peña x f!reader

Summary: 2 Texans, 1 Lady 🎀 The joel x javi x reader threesome

[burntheedges]

Just realized I’m moving in two weeks, I am not ready

[burntheedges]

love a man dripping in blood

[burntheedges]

2024 Year in Review

A little year in review inspired by @jolapeno's fave things she's made this year! If you see this consider yourself tagged <3

Firstly, every fic I've read this year can be found here, and themed outtakes from the spreadsheet can be found here. By far, my favorite thing to do in this fandom is READ!!

My favorite 2024 things I made

Dave York

Only Good Girls - Dave reminds you why you should always be a good girl for him. 

You're So Dark - There’s only one thing you really want out of this conference – your research adviser, Dave York. 

Dieter Bravo

Scotty Doesn't Know - Scotty doesn't know you're hooking up with Dieter

Dirt - A twist on a scene from saltburn with our dear boy Dieter

Scandal - You get locked in a closet with Dieter at the Oscars

Ezra

Ravage - “Oh birdie… I could just eat you.” OR Saltburn-style hate as consumption

Javier Peña

Bittersweet - You're perfect to him, but he's not good enough for you and never could be.

Joel Miller

Something in the Orange - Something in the Orange tells me you're never coming home

Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Handlebars - Logan teaches you to ride a motorcycle.

Make it Hurt - You spar with Logan and end up fucking on the training room floor.

apologies if you've already been tagged

taggies: @pedgito @chaotic-mystery @hauntedhowlett @murder-wife @catchallfangirl @justagalwhowrites @beardedjoel @guiltyasdave @burntheedges

[burntheedges]

reblog this for good luck

[burntheedges]

what if I swoon? what then? 🥺

🎄 A Very British Christmas 🎄

A Marcus Pike x reader ficlet

He's relocated to the UK. Why? Because of you, of course!

You spend Christmas week squashed together in the single bed of your childhood bedroom. The walls are a 90s time capsule of boy band posters and blurry photo collages. You're just glad your family has swapped out your Forever Friends bed cover for something less embarrassing.

Marcus spends the week in a state of almost permanent confusion. He really needs to watch more British sitcoms for research.

What is a pantomime? Some sort of Disney drag show?

Why does he need to wear a paper crown at dinner?

Pigs in blankets are not what he expected. And neither is the gravy - it's brown.

Driving around the housing estate for a 'Christmas light safari' is apparently the height of entertainment.

He cuts a slice of your grandmother's Christmas cake before Christmas, and she almost throws him out of the house. He's only saved from banishment by deploying the word ma'am at just the right moment - you'll never forget seeing a ferocious 92 year old woman actually swoon.

He thinks it's cute when you give him his own coloured highlighter to mark what TV shows he wants to watch in the Radio Times. Sure, the TV has a built-in programme guide, but where's the fun in that?

It's all so very different, so very British, but then so are you. And it's worth being here, being crammed into a tiny boiling hot pub and sipping on a pint of flat, warm ale before you excitedly pull him through the crowd by the hand. It's worth it all just to see your face as you introduce him to your school friends with your eyes twinkling proudly as you say, "Guys, this is Marcus."

Marcus Pike masterlist

Tagging a few loves who are with me or humour me in the Pike Puddle:

@jolapeno @morallyinept @schnarfer @msjarvis @toomanytookas

@maggiemayhemnj @5oh5 @sin-djarin @tuquoquebrute @grogusmum

@medellintangerine @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @purplerain0 @harriedandharassed @nerdieforpedro

@604to647 @imdrinkingpedro @ishabull @burntheedges @katareyoudrilling

@yopossum @thelightsandtheroses @goodwithcheese

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 10

Din Djarin x f!reader | 3.4k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: The gala is two weeks away, and your practices with Din are heating up.

a/n: Annnd we're back! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: don't read the tags this week if you want to be surprised, a bit of angst, fluff, touching, dancing, intense dancing!!, so intense!, full body touching, is that a thing, like chest to chest, kissing, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos)

Chapter 10

Your next rehearsal with Kuiil was much better. He was effusive with praise, clearly pleased that you had dealt with the problem.

The success buoyed you through the rest of the week and through the weekend of performances of Cinderella. You were dancing the spring fairy for the first time, and you were just happy to have that little extra push that made it feel like you were floating across the stage.

But the week after Cinderella, it finally sank in that you had three weeks until the anniversary gala. Just three weeks until the pas de deux had to be done and performed on stage. You shivered at the thought.

With only the gala before you, that was all you focused on in rehearsals, both with Kuiil and without. You and Din began to live and breathe the choreography in a way you hadn’t had time to so far, so much so that you sometimes talked about it in the morning after class, or over lunch. It felt good to devote so much time to it, but every moment alone with Din seemed to stoke your crush. 

On a Wednesday afternoon, with two and a half weeks to go before the gala, Kuiil finished the choreography. You all smiled when you finalized the last movement, a tricky lift that hadn’t been working quite right until you’d suggested adjusting the turns that led into it. 

“Excellent,” Kuiil praised as Din guided you back onto your feet. “Let me see it once more, and then we will run t​​hrough the third movement again.”

You nodded and took up your position a few feet away from Din. At Kuiil’s signal, you started your pique turn, finishing after two and half rotations, facing away from Din. You extended your leg behind you and felt him step up and grasp your ankle. In unison you collapsed backwards, his hold on you guiding you to follow him. As your leg and then body extended backwards, he reached forward and wrapped his arm around your waist. He spun you slightly forward towards the mirror, and then, with a sturdy grip around your waist, lifted you upwards. You extended one leg and bent the other at the knee, letting your torso fall backwards over his shoulder as he spun you in a circle.

As he came back to the front, he set you down and spun you so that you were facing him. Your arms swept upwards. He knelt with one knee on the ground and you fell forward, letting yourself be guided by his hands while keeping your body straight, arms framing your face. He supported you, guiding you downward until your foreheads almost touched. You held your position, eyes locked. Then with a swell of the music Din pushed you back upright, hands warm and broad on your hips. You extended your leg into arabesque as he settled you, and then pulled away a few steps.

You turned back to look at him, kneeling, and you let the moment stretch as you gazed at each other. He reached for you, and after a beat, you reached back before swiftly jumping into a traveling tour en l’air. He rose from his kneeling position and caught you just before you hit the floor. With his hands back in position on your hips, he lifted you upwards and you flipped over his shoulder, bracing yourself on the back of his thigh. He held you in place as you extended your legs upwards, your body straight and perpendicular with the floor, toes pointed towards the ceiling. 

After a moment in that position he pulled your legs back down and you flipped upright. Your bodies were pressed tightly together as you slowly slid downwards against his chest. The music slowed for a moment as he placed you lightly on one toe, your left leg extended behind you. You both paused for a moment before springing into action, bounding away from each other as the music picked up again.

“Brava!” Kuiil called before pausing the music. “Excellent. Well done. That was perfect.”

You were both breathing hard, you noticed. Din caught your eye and smiled. 

“Let us run it again. I will ask you to focus on this part and on the transition in the second movement in your practice tomorrow. You know the one.” You both nodded and moved back into position to run it again.

…

On Thursday, you and Din met up in the small studio at the end of the hall for your practice. He beat you there, as usual, and you shut the door behind you as you entered.

Din nodded at you when you greeted him. “Ready to work on our homework?” You teased, and he huffed a laugh. You smiled widely at the sound. 

He nodded. “Second or third first?” 

You considered the question as you put on your shoes. “Let’s focus on the third to start. That lift section is tricky, and I don’t want to be tired for it.” He nodded and turned to set up the music.

Before he joined you in the center, he stripped off his shirt. You blinked, thankful you had started to improve your poker face in these moments. 

“Alright,” he said, “is there any part you want to go over first?” 

You thought about it. “The tour en l’air, when you stand in time to catch me. Do you think we should practice just that?”

He nodded. “Let’s start there.”

And so you did. It felt good, though, and you found that it was easy to connect with each other the way you needed to. It felt right, like you were so in tune with each other you could just… find each other. Mid air.

He caught you once more and then set you down easily. “I think we’ve got that.” 

You nodded and grinned. “Ok. From the pique?” 

You both backed up into position and paused, taking a deep breath. On his cue you began your turn, repeating the same sequence that you had practiced so many times earlier with Kuill.

This time, when Din caught you out of the air, you realized how different it felt, when Din wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

He lifted you up and you flipped over, bracing yourself against the back of his leg as you extended your body upside down. Your chest and hips were pressed to his bare back and for a moment the feeling of his skin overwhelmed you.

But when he flipped you upright again, you realized you hadn’t known what it meant to be overwhelmed. 

He guided you downwards slowly, and as your body pressed against his, you couldn’t help but feel him. A movement that felt so routine earlier in the day felt suddenly intimate in a way you’d never felt with anyone before, while dancing. As your toe touched the floor, you realized you were standing chest to chest with Din, looking up at him, pressed tightly against him with his hands firmly grasping your waist.

You both froze. 

His hands twitched against your waist, briefly tightening his grip. He suddenly released you and you both stepped away sharply. You turned, sucking in a deep breath, and tried not to let any of what you’d just felt show on your face. 

After a moment, Din spoke from behind you.

“Again?” He asked, and you noticed his voice was much deeper than normal. 

You shivered. “Yes,” you agreed. “Again.”

“Let’s start a bit before that,” he suggested, voice still deep and almost gravelly. “From the chase across the floor?” 

You nodded even as you felt a tension climbing up your spine. Just before this moment, with the lift, Din chased you across the entire stage, echoing your movements, touching you lightly a few times before you could dart out of his grip. Then his character caught yours by the ankle and pulled you into the lifts.

You swallowed hard. “Yes, let’s start there.”

You stared at each other for a moment. He nodded, and you turned away to find your starting position, wondering why this suddenly felt so different. Was it that you were alone, without Kuiil? Was it his lack of shirt?

Was he feeling it too?

You took a steadying breath and fell into position. You looked at Din and he nodded. And so you began.

He turned and leapt behind you, and for the first time you could feel him coming, feel him chasing you. You felt your heart rate spike as you reached the opposite side of the floor. You twisted into your turn that led you to the center and the lift. 

When Din caught your ankle, you heard yourself let out a small gasp. When his arm wrapped around your waist to tug you backwards and then  lift you upwards, you couldn’t see his face, but you felt a fire begin to build at the base of your spine. He set you down and lowered you as he knelt, and when your eyes met his, it took everything in you to keep your position, relying on his strength to hold you up as you leaned so far forward. He set you upright, and you danced away. You turned away from him, and when you turned to look back before the tour en l’air, you almost froze.

His gaze burned into you. You’d never seen that look on his face before.

Your body moved as if on autopilot, launching you into the air so that he could catch you. You didn’t catch another glimpse of his face as he turned you upside down, but your skin felt hot everywhere it touched his. When he pulled you back upright, your head started to spin as he slid you down slowly against his chest. You distantly realized that he was guiding you downwards much more slowly than the music called for.

As your chest began to slide against his, your breath caught in your throat.

You let your eyes sweep over his shoulders, up his neck, along his jaw, and as your toe touched the ground, you met his gaze. You couldn’t lie to yourself in the face of the emotion in his eyes. An emotion he clearly saw mirrored in yours. 

Rather than resting your hands lightly on his shoulders, as you were meant to, you let your palms slide down until they were pressed against his chest.

You were so close to him, only inches away. He didn’t release his grip on your waist, and you didn’t move. After a moment simply staring at each other his grip tightened and impossibly, he tugged you closer.

No shirt, you thought to yourself, a bit wildly, as more of your body came into contact with his. 

He glanced down at your mouth. Your entire spine felt like it was on fire. 

And then the door to the studio opened, and you leapt away from each other instantly.

“Oh, sorry!” It was Sasha. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were in here.” She stepped back out, and you could see Diego, Jasmine, and Clara behind her in the hall. As the door shut behind Sasha you realized your heart was racing. You wanted to turn and look at Din, but you were too afraid to move.

He cleared his throat and you closed your eyes. “I…” he trailed off. You felt like you were frozen, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say. “I should get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You were so stunned by his words that you only just opened your eyes in time to see him disappear through the door.

Fuck.

…

You were dreading your rehearsal with Kuiil the next day, so much so that you almost wanted to skip morning class for the first time in your career.

You didn’t, but you really, really wanted to. 

With perfect timing, you stepped inside just before Alexa turned on the music, shoes already on, and scurried to your place at the barre. You ignored her look and didn’t let your eyes stray to the tall, dark shape at the barre to your left. You felt jittery and it was difficult to calm yourself enough to settle into the familiar motions of barre work. You forced yourself to breathe deeply in time with your movements, and by the time everyone moved to the side of the room to start going across the floor, you were feeling calmer.

Somehow you managed not to look at Din for the entire class. Afterwards, Adrian came to stand in front of you as you changed your shoes, effectively shielding you from view. You looked up and whispered, “thank you.”

He nodded and rolled his eyes. He’d already told you his opinion (“you should just corner him and kiss him”) and you’d already made it clear you weren’t taking his advice. But he was still going to help you avoid Din, if that’s what you wanted to do. And you definitely did.

Adrian tucked your arm through his as you walked down the hall. He made a beeline for the small break room and as soon as the door closed behind you, he spun around to look at you.

You were afraid to ask. “Did he…”

He frowned and shook his head. “Looks like you’re playing the same avoid-the-problem game. He didn’t look at anyone. At all.”

You sighed, and reached into your bag for your lunch. Adrian tried to take your mind off of it by talking about anything and everything except your upcoming rehearsal.

After lunch, though, you couldn’t avoid it, or him, anymore. 

…

You stopped outside of the rehearsal hall and took a deep breath. You can do this. You rose up on your toes in your street shoes and let yourself lean into the stretch. You can do this. 

You nodded, once, and stepped into the room.

Kuiil was standing by the sound system, and Din was standing over by the barre, stretching. HIs back was to you, but you didn’t like the look of the way he was standing, or the line of his shoulders. Your dread returned, like a sour feeling in your stomach.

Turning away from the sight, you found Kuiil looking at you. You could see that he had picked up on the tension in the room, and he looked confused. You suddenly realized that in your last practice with him, your connection with Din had been better than ever. It must be confusing, to leave practice one day on a high and then come back to… this.

You winced.

“Alright. Let us start with the first.” You winced again. You had a feeling Kuiil was starting with something more familiar because he was concerned. You were concerned, too.

You took up your starting position and as the music started, your stomach dropped. 

It was like January all over again. 

No. It was worse.

It was the most disconnected and disjointed you’d ever been. At first it was just awkward – you missed each other, you moved at cross-purposes rather than together. It felt like you were dancing separately, hearing different music. But then you actually missed a cue and when you turned, you found yourself tripping over Din. 

Tripping over him. When was the last time you collided with someone on stage? You could hardly believe it.

The music stopped, and you closed your eyes, resisting the urge to collapse and hide your face. 

“Well,” Kuiil said, sounding both frustrated and confused. “I can see that something is not right here.”

He paused, and you opened your eyes. Din was turned away from you, back tense, hands clenched into fists. Your gaze skittered away and found Kuiil. He was frowning.

“We do not have time for this. The Gala is in two weeks.” He looked between you. “I do not know what happened, but you must figure this out. Before I see you tomorrow.” He nodded once and then turned. You watched as he gathered his things and then walked to the door. 

He looked back at you once. “Tomorrow,” he repeated firmly, and then he closed the door behind him.

It was so silent in the room that you could hear his footsteps disappearing down the hall. You swallowed and forced your gaze back to Din.

He was still turned away from you, still tense. You felt something start to well up inside of you, something that felt horrible, and started to turn and walk towards your bag.

Din’s voice, soft in the empty room, stopped you in your tracks.

“Let’s run it again.”

You blinked, and turned to look at him. You couldn’t see his face, even in the mirror. “What?”

He turned, slowly, and walked towards the sound system without looking at you. “The third. Let’s run it.” And then he stripped off his shirt.

The tension in the room transformed instantly, from something horrible and wrong that put your teeth on edge, into something thick. Something deeper. Something alive.

You whirled, almost in a daze, and took up your starting position for the third movement. Din started the music, and without any further discussion, you started to move.

At first, your movements were hesitant. But then Din circled you and what was usually a glancing touch on your shoulder became a brand, and you sucked in a sharp breath. You sank into the movements together and the connection you’d found and then lost and then found again snapped back into place.

The third movement was all about coming together to create something new, and for the first time, you truly felt it as you danced with Din, alone in the studio. Your breaths came faster, your movements were sharper. You danced into and out of his hold, making him chase you, chasing him back.

And then he caught you, out of the pique turn, and wrapped his arm around your waist. You kept breathing only because you had years of practice, but you knew he felt the way your entire body shivered as he lifted you. 

He sat you down, hands firm on your waist, and spun you around as he knelt. As he guided you downward, your eyes met for the first time since Kuiil had left the room.

You didn’t freeze, but it was a near thing.

Din’s face, from what you’d seen earlier in the short glances you allowed yourself, had been expressionless all day. Hidden behind his mask.

But now it was open. It was raw. Your eyes met his and your heart started to pound in your chest.

Eyes dark, expression intent, he set you back upright, and you sprang away, overwhelmed. When you stopped you almost rocked in place with the force of your need to run away, but you turned back, following the choreography. He reached for you, and you answered by launching yourself into the air.

You jumped higher than you ever had before, but he caught you just as surely as he had every other time. He tilted you backwards over his shoulder, but then as he pulled you upright, you felt the air around you thicken again. Your body began to slide downwards against his chest.

Your hips brushed over his bare chest, followed by your stomach, and then your chest. You looked down at the same moment he looked up, and when your eyes met, you froze.

You were pressed to Din from hips to shoulders, arms stretched above your head. He had a firm grip on your waist, and your toe had not yet reached the ground. 

Suspended, held aloft in his arms, neither of you moved as the music continued well past the next part of the choreography. You ignored it. 

Slowly, so slowly you felt every inch of connection between your bodies, Din set you down on your toes. And then just like the night before, he pulled you closer. This time, though, his arms wrapped around your waist, strong and secure.

You let your hands come to rest on his chest, again, and resisted the urge to slide them upwards and into his hair.

You couldn’t stand the tension, and your voice escaped you without conscious thought. “Din?” you breathed.

His eyes danced over your face and then down to your lips. 

“Din…” you repeated, still hesitant. “I’m not imagining this, right?”

He shook his head and you thought your heart might pound right out of your chest. “No. You’re not.” A feeling, so familiar, began to swell inside of you and you started to smile.

And then, before you could think of anything else to say, he pressed his lips to yours.

...

prev | next

a/n: I do feel a little evil with that ending, lol. Find out what happens next next week! (yes, I'll post on 12/25) Also in my draft the unofficial title of this chapter is "THE practice."

pique turns: turns en pointe on one leg, often traveling

Cinderella: reader is dancing the role of Spring Fairy, one of five fairies in the ballet. I linked this cool video of Ji Young Chae in practice and on stage performing the role. Here's all of them.

I hope the lift section made sense! If not please tell me and I will help, haha. I figure linking it all again here doesn't make a lot of sense, but I tried to link to the exact moment in the video where they were doing something similar to what I described, if relevant.

[burntheedges]

thank you so much for the tags @pedgito @almostfoxglove @sunshinehaze1 appreciate y’all 🩷 also big thanks to dear @jolapeno for putting this sweet event on for us

What a year it’s been!!! I’m grateful I still get to write among so many of you amazing creators, you all inspire me. This year felt like I really got to connect with so many of y’all & getting to embrace new friendships is such a gift in itself. All the fun messages & giggling we’ve shared have kept me going and brought light into my days - so even when it gets a bit hectic here, I’m so thankful this place brought us together

Favorite Fics I’ve Written

You, My Golden Hour - Javi P x Cowgirl!Reader

this fic holds a special spot in my heart, it felt so cathartic and healing to write, plus Texas Javi P is such a dream

Game Changer - Baseball Pitcher!Joel x F!Reader

Getting to blend my love of baseball & my love of Joel Miller? This is one of those ‘embrace the self indulgence’ fics lol

Blood on Your Name - Evil Cowboy!Ezra x F!Reader

I wanted to challenge myself this year & Ezra to me is such a tricky handsome fella to write so getting to explore him in a Wild West setting was such a mini win when I finished this fic lol

What the Water Gave Us - Merman!Joel

My goal is to just monsterfy Joel Miller more & more plus I believe we deserve all the merman boyfriends so this was such a one fun to write

Fic Challenges

this was the most fic challenges I’ve ever done and I do want to take a moment to pat myself on the back & I’m beyond thankful to all the wonderful babes who hosted these

PPCU x MCR Prompt Challenge:

All the Trouble We’ve Seen - Max P x Witch!Reader

An Offering of Frith Challenge:

The Dark Dresses Lightly - God of Vengeance!Dave York

#MONSTERSMASH24:

Fire Starter - Dragon!Dieter

I’m gonna sound like a broken record player but I really can’t thank everyone enough, from reading to simply allowing me to share this space with y’all - my heart is beyond full & I hope the final weeks of this year are kind to us

no pressure tags: @perotovar @hauntedhowlett @quinnnfabrgay-writes @burntheedges

@saradika @lowlights @joelsgreenflannel @julesonrecord @beardedjoel @morallyinept @nothoughtsjustmeds @msjarvis

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @chronically-ghosted @haylzcyon @corazondebeskar @pedropeach @sp00kymulderr @amanitacowboy & to anyone else - if you’re seeing this, I want you to too your own horn too!! You’ve done so much & you should be proud like I’m proud of you!!

[burntheedges]

So… following Jo's @jolapeno lovely idea to create a list of our favorite things of the year, here are mine! Can I put my whole mastelist in here? Or would it be a tad too much? After all, I've only been creating things for less than a year. And looking back, I'm amazed at what I've done.

The year hasn't been perfect, it has thrown us a few curved balls causing trouble and hurt, but I'd say the good has surpassed the bad.

I know this is supposed to be about self-love and tooting ourselves, our creativity, imagination, love, and the effort put behind each piece. But I know all of mine wouldn't be here if it weren't for the amazing people I've found, so supportive, encouraging, sweet, and the right amount of crazy as me.

Here is the original post!

Favorite fics I wrote

It all started with a few thoughts I wrote after a few fat-shaming anons began to go around, and a rash decision to post them before I'd overthink it too much, and here we are now, after a couple of months, with 27 posts between drabbles and one-shots.

Sunrise This snippet might have things I'd change now, after how my writing has evolved in the past few months, but it will always have a special spot in my heart for being the first one. It Tastes of Magic It has Joel and one of my favorite movies (Practical Magic). I don't need more to feel super proud of the idea I concocted. But while writing it, I fell so much in love with this version of Joel and Sage it still brings me a smile when I think of them and how much people loved them too. Monsoon It was my first foray into a writing challenge, and Din was the one who accompanied me on this adventure. Touchstone The universe I was able to create in this Din one-shot still amazes me. I have trouble sometimes believing it was me who did it. Maple It wasn't the first time I wrote for Pero, but it solidified my love for this character I never expected to write and fall in love with. Plus, a sneaky fox does some mischief🤭 Branded Javier Peña always makes me so nervous. This character gives me some extra trouble while writing him, but a silly conversation ended up causing this, and I'm really proud of the result.

I don't want to end up putting all my stories on this list, but I couldn't leave it without including at least one of my Frankie stories, right? I couldn't decide between these two:

Mocha There's nothing like some sweetness wrapped in a bow during a lovely autumn afternoon. Imperfect perfection One of the joys of fanfiction is writing stories you'd like to read, and this one is the first one I wrote with this feeling after reading numerous amazing smut scenes and wishing I found one where the imperfections make it perfect.

Favorite moodboards I made

I love doing moodboards, putting together pictures, and giving the stories I treasure a visual of what their words made me imagine is a treat. Plus, between the brain rot they cause and Pinterest, I don't leave me much choice🤣These are the ones I feel like I nailed their vibe.

Honey Stained Hands @jolapeno Sweet Child O'Mine @macfrog Adrift With You @morallyinept Of Beskar and Kyber @penvisions

Npt! @jennaispunk @thundermartini @mrsmando @justagalwhowrites @whocaresstillthelouvre

@secretelephanttattoo @burntheedges @milla-frenchy @punkshort @almostfoxglove

@schnarfer @aurorawritestoescape @encasedinobsidian @sixhours @joelmillerisapunk

@beardedjoel @604to647 @yxtkiwiyxt @metaphoricgibberish @mermaidgirl30

[burntheedges]

love this idea from @jolapeno bc i am so awkward about tootin' my own horn.

2024 marks the year I started writing fan fiction as a creative outlet and coping mechanism for ::gestures to the outside:: Never did I ever expect to find such warm, lovely moots and have so much fun participating in fandom. And the utter talent and creativity (the fics! the gifs! the moodboards! the paintings! the sketches! like OMG y'all are incredible!!) blows my mind every day.

My favorite words and ceramic tings for 2024 below the cut. more info about Your Fave Things here

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Words

I know technically it needs to be a series that's finished, but it's my first fic, so it has a special place in my heart even if it's not done yet.

My favorite chapter to write from my Hold Fast Series (Frankie x f!reader) is either Ch. 5 - 5 Courses (because I got to flex my food writing chops) or the latest chapter, Ch. 7 - Coffee & Donuts because it was so fun to write.

Looking forward to writing more in 2025 and maybe get my Joel fic outlined and finally drafted.

Ceramics

Acacius Mug 1.0 helped me figure out the proper ink setting to print the decals and firing schedule/temps. While the kind of rustic look of this glaze is growing on me, I think future iterations will go with a white glaze to allow the images to pop more.

I have some ideas for a Joel mug (uh, I might have found some sheep overglaze decals so bby can finally have his sheep farm) and a Frankie mug for 2025. Next time I hit a follower milestone I will do a giveaway of this mug if you think ppl would be interested? Idk.

As for my other ceramics work, I finally had a moment (freaking 3 years in) where I like the work that I'm making. Excited to see it progress in the next year and try to sell my work more regularly.

Latest Functional Work

Alternative Firing/Decorative Work

npt: @katareyoudrilling @burntheedges @secretelephanttattoo

@intheorangebedroom @ohforficsake @evolnoomym

@copperhalfcent @toomanytookas @rebel-held @justagalwhowrites

@chronically-ghosted @maggiemayhemnj @pedges-world

@oonajaeadira @schnarfer @nerdieforpedro

@imaswellkid

[burntheedges]

he's making them back 🥰

Pas de Deux Chapter 7

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.4k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: How will your next practice go, now that you've talked?

a/n: so what will dancing together be like now? Posting early because I'm traveling later today. See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), fluff!!!, more talking

Chapter 7

By Monday, you were exhausted and most of you hurt, but you walked into morning class with a smile playing around your mouth.

You’d nailed Hermia, and you didn’t think you could feel better about it. Adrian had already tackled you in a hug the day before, after the third performance — thankfully already out of his glittery Puck costume. (Or Elena and Max, the costume heads, would have been pissed.) But he’d been amazing, too, and you told him so. 

As you put on your shoes for barre, you felt someone come up and stand next to your spot along the wall. You looked up and saw black shoes and black tights, and smiled.

“Hi, Din,” you said, looking up to meet his gaze.

His face was as expressionless as always, but you could have sworn the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly when your eyes met. It was small, but it was there.

“Morning,” he greeted you softly. “You were amazing this weekend.”

You grinned as you moved to stand. He offered his hand and you took it. “You saw?” You hadn’t seen him in the wings or the audience, but that didn’t mean anything — it was a packed house for all three performances.

He nodded, squeezing your hand before letting it drop. “Yesterday. I brought Grogu, too, he loved it. But we couldn’t stay after, so I couldn’t look for you to tell you how good you were. You captured her perfectly. I could feel her confusion and turmoil.” He turned to walk towards his spot at the barre and you moved with him. “It felt so… tormented. I could almost see her indecision.”

You smiled and ducked your head as you reached the barre. You grasped it in both hands and leaned into it a little. “Um, thanks.” You looked up at him and found his gaze was soft behind his mask. “It did feel good. I was really happy with it.”

He nodded at you. “You should be. It was beautiful.” He paused for a moment, looking at you, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response.

Din opened his mouth to say something else, but Alexa called out for everyone to start, and you started to move towards your spot at the barre next to his. 

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to catch your arm. “Can we meet tomorrow? After lunch. To rehearse.”

You nodded. “Tomorrow.” 

…

On Tuesday, Din told you he’d reserved one of the tiny practice rooms set aside for just that purpose. You promised you’d meet him there. As he stepped away, Adrian stepped up to fill the space. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Were you just lurking there, listening in?”

“Obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “What’s the practice room for?”

You laughed. “We’re going to work on the pas de deux, before rehearsal on Thursday.”

He waggled his eyebrows at you and you elbowed him. “Oof. Rude. It sounds like things are going better, then?”

You nodded. “I think so. We haven’t tried it again, yet, but I think it’s going to work better, this time.” You’d already told him all about your conversation with Din, leaving out the personal details Din had shared. You didn’t think he’d want you to spread those around.

“Good.”

Alexa called out to Adrian and you moved off, waving as you turned into the hallway. 

…

As you walked towards the room Din had reserved for you, you couldn’t help but notice how different you felt, compared to your walk to rehearsal, so full of dread the week before. 

You found the small room, tucked away at the end of the rehearsal hall and around the corner. You almost never came back here, you realized. 

Din was already inside, fiddling with the sound system.

“Hey, Din,” you said, smiling when he turned to look at you. You closed the door and moved to join him. “Did you go home for lunch?”

He nodded. “Grogu had a half day today, so I got to eat lunch with him.” He smiled — just a small thing, but the obvious difference from how he was in class warmed you. 

“That’s great,” you said, and sat to put on your shoes. “I’m sure he was excited to see you.”

Din made a small noise, and you looked up. He was smiling a bit bigger, and you realized he had laughed, just a bit. You grinned. “He was. He said he talked about the ballet at school and danced for his teacher.”

You laughed. “That’s so cute, oh my god.”

Din ducked his head and you thought you saw an even wider smile take over his mouth.  You looked down at your shoes to keep yourself from staring. He looked good when he smiled. (He looked good all the time.)

You cut off your own thoughts, moving to stand. “So, did you have something in mind for today?” You asked.

He nodded. “I was thinking, what if we talk through what we have so far? I’d like to hear how you think about it. What you’re feeling and how you want to show that. I think that would help me.”

You blinked. “Sure. I can do that. And I want to hear from you, what you’re thinking is going on in your character’s head. That’s how I usually start — what is she thinking? And how can I show that, in my body? Should it be obvious or subtle? And then the emotion can come out in so many different ways… but I always start from what she’s thinking.”

Din looked thoughtful. “I usually do think about that, too, but I guess I haven’t had as much freedom before. In terms of what I can do with it.”

That made sense, based on what you knew of CBC. But something about what he said caught your attention. “Din… what if we use that. In the dance.”

He tilted his head at you and leaned against the barre. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we know Kuiil wants our characters to learn from each other and then create something new together, right? Or form a new connection that affects each other.” He nodded. “Ok, so what if your character becomes freer or more open over the course of the performance?”

His eyebrows flew upwards. “Oh.” He sounded like he was as struck by the idea as you had been a moment before.

You nodded. “Yes! And so you could start from something more familiar and change, over the course of the dance. And that’s what we could work on. So you’re not starting from something so new, but instead growing towards it. Maybe we could even work that in, that my character is sort of drawing yours out? It would add to the back and forth between us, and the give and take. And I could even mirror you a bit, to invite you in! Your reactions could sort of waiver towards and away from the openness my character is inviting you to have. Right? Between acceptance and rejection. What do you think?” You ran out of breath, and you knew your hope for him to agree must have been showing on your face. Now that you’d had the idea, you were attached to it. It seemed perfect.

He looked down, and you bit your lip. “Din—“

But then he looked up, and he looked relieved. He nodded. “I like it. I think that’s perfect. And it will feel like so much less pressure. I think I was getting too in my head about getting it right from the beginning.”

“Oh, good! Ok, great.” You reached out and squeezed his arm. Almost immediately he covered your hand with his free one and pressed down gently. You couldn’t help but notice how big his hand was, as it covered yours, and you felt your face heat up and ignored it. You needed to get used to touching each other, anyway. “I think this will be good, Din. We can do this.”

You were standing so close, you realized, since you’d reached out to touch him and he’d held you there. You hesitated. “So, do you want to start by talking it through?”

He nodded. For a moment he didn’t move, but then he squeezed your hand again before releasing it and stepping away. “Let’s start from when we first see each other.”

You nodded and moved to join him in the center of the small room. As you began, you could feel it. This would work. 

…

Rehearsal on Thursday was so different, you could tell Kuiil was both surprised and over the moon with excitement.

From the moment the music started, you could feel it. You and Din were still dancing separately, still “meeting” each other in character, but you were working together. Something had shifted, since you talked and practiced and began to work together. And it might not be what it needed to be yet, but it was so much better than what it was before.

You could feel him moving across the space with you, and it was like a tentative connection formed between you that you could pull taut and release. It was almost like you were listening for each other, taking cues from changes in each other’s breath or even small movements. His body would echo one part of the music, and yours would follow another in response. You extended your leg, and something in the way he moved his shoulders responded to it. He turned, and you spun around, meeting him from a different angle. It felt good. It was new, but it was there. 

You ran through it once, and Kuiil looked like he might actually cry, or jump for joy.

“Oh, yes, yes!” He said, coming towards you in the middle of the room. He rested his hands on his hips and looked between you, smiling widely. “Yes, I knew it — I can see it forming within and between you. Well done, both of you. Could you feel it?”

You and Din both nodded, and he gestured widely with his arms. “Of course you could! The energy, you have found it. You are building it.” He nodded again. “I can see that you have talked, and settled more into your characters. Now we can truly get to work.”

And so you did.

…

February began to fly by, much faster than January, and with much more ease. You and Din found a rhythm together that actually worked. You were friendly, in the mornings in class, though he still hid behind his mask around the rest of the company. And then you started to become something more like actual friends when you were alone or rehearsing with Kuiil. 

Din seemed more comfortable with you than he had before, and that comfort allowed him to open up in a way you hadn’t seen him do yet in his dancing. Kuill began to focus on the second movement, when your characters circled each other, and you could see Din relaxing his form and beginning to open his movements beyond the emotionless technique that had been drilled into him at CBC. It was beautiful to watch — you were so impressed with him.

Two weeks later, rehearsals for Swan Lake had picked up, and so had your rehearsals for the pas de deux.

Kuill had just walked you through the crescendo of the second movement, which involved jumps, some partnered turns, and a complicated lift section. It wasn’t the first time Din lifted you in the choreography, but it was the first time you needed to rely on him and his support so completely, with two lifts and transition into a different hold. 

It wasn’t your first time being lifted by a partner, of course, but it was your first time doing something like this with Din. There was always a moment, when partnering with someone new, when you found out just how much you actually trusted each other. You didn’t need to be best friends to dance together well, but you did need to trust in the support of your partner. 

You shook out your arms and legs and rolled your shoulders. You trusted Din. He wasn’t hidden behind that expressionless mask anymore, not with you. I can do this.

Kuill started the music, and you twirled into action, leaping past Din. He caught your hand as you began to move away and spun you around him. You “fell” into a collapsed position over his arm, allowing the spin, and then he guided you upwards with light touches into an arabesque. He tugged you forward through traveling turns that crossed the stage, squeezing your hip just at the right moment to let you know when to stop. Finally you attempted to pull away, and he pulled you back and spun you in a circle into a tour jeté lift. As you landed he turned you again and lifted you upwards into a horizontal spin that finished with your hands resting on his shoulders as you stretched your legs into a fully extended split, perpendicular to the ground. You paused there, for just a moment, before he lifted you by your hips and then brought you back down gently. You sprang away instantly.

The music stopped, and you turned back to look at Din, breathing hard. You were both grinning. You froze, staring at how it transformed his face. He was beautiful. 

Kuill called out that that the lift was perfect, but that he wanted you to work on the build up to it. You almost couldn’t listen to him. You were too caught up in the feelings running through your body.

You’d never experienced anything like that before. The first attempt, and it was perfect — Din had lifted you seemingly effortlessly, and his hands had gone exactly where they needed to go. You’d communicated with each other through touch with ease. You had felt fully supported and able to truly perform to the music, even when in the air. You felt amazing. And you could see on Din’s face that he felt it, too.

“My dear?” Kuiil asked, stepping up beside you. 

You tore your eyes away from Din’s, finally, and realized you’d probably missed what he said. “Sorry! Again?” 

Kuiil nodded, and you ignored his knowing smile. He looked almost smug. “Again,” he agreed, and you stepped back towards Din.

When you looked at him again, you found he hadn’t looked away from you. “Again,” he murmured, echoing Kuiil. The look in his eyes made your breath catch.

It went just as well the second time. 

…

prev | next

a/n: such improvement!

Partnering: so in this chapter we get an extended partnering sequence. I tried to find moments that looked like what I was picturing for each piece, and they’re linked above (and they should take you to the right spot in each video) – the hand grab, the traveling turns, communication while partnering, a tour jete lift, and the lift into the split. I hope it makes sense! This video has a bit more about partnered turns (though they’re doing traveling ones here) and this one has more about what the guy is doing with his hands during those turns. I linked to different spots in this one a couple of times but the video overall is great because Mira Nadon shares some really interesting thoughts about what it’s like to work with a new partner. 

I’m going to talk more about Swan Lake next week because it’s more of a focus in the next chapter. 🦢

[burntheedges]

tag list! 🧡

@harriedandharassed @jupiter-soups @raspberrybesitos @auteurdelabre @anoverwhelmingdin

@myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123

@joelalorian @untamedheart81 @ashleyfilm @jessthebaker @jeewrites

@peekyourinterest @paleidiot @mithicakurogo @theclairvoyage @lizzie-cakes

@islacharlotte @syd-djarin @copperhalfcent @vabeachazn @spacedoutdaydreamer

@littlevenicebitch69 @secretelephanttattoo @pigeonmama @vickie5446 @sunnytuliptime

@glizzymcguirex @verymiraclemiracle @friskispunk @jennaispunk @darkheartgatita

@brittmb115 @bunniboo0015 @almostfoxglove @whocaresstillthelouvre @thesluttylittleknee

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @chrysochromulina @msjarvis @cuteanimalmama @djarins-cyare

@valkyreally @emmarose487 @eviispunk @lucienofthelakes

@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @inept-the-magnificent

and some who have expressed interest in ballet!Din - let me know if you don't want to be tagged: @the-mandawhor1an @mountainsandmayhem @ace-turned-confused @sawymredfox @mermaidgirl30

@ghotifishreads @schnarfer @whocaresstillthelouvre @kedsandtubesocks @yopossum

@maggiemayhemnj @beefrobeefcal

Pas de Deux Chapter 10

Din Djarin x f!reader | 3.4k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: The gala is two weeks away, and your practices with Din are heating up.

a/n: Annnd we're back! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: don't read the tags this week if you want to be surprised, a bit of angst, fluff, touching, dancing, intense dancing!!, so intense!, full body touching, is that a thing, like chest to chest, kissing, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos)

Chapter 10

Your next rehearsal with Kuiil was much better. He was effusive with praise, clearly pleased that you had dealt with the problem.

The success buoyed you through the rest of the week and through the weekend of performances of Cinderella. You were dancing the spring fairy for the first time, and you were just happy to have that little extra push that made it feel like you were floating across the stage.

But the week after Cinderella, it finally sank in that you had three weeks until the anniversary gala. Just three weeks until the pas de deux had to be done and performed on stage. You shivered at the thought.

With only the gala before you, that was all you focused on in rehearsals, both with Kuiil and without. You and Din began to live and breathe the choreography in a way you hadn’t had time to so far, so much so that you sometimes talked about it in the morning after class, or over lunch. It felt good to devote so much time to it, but every moment alone with Din seemed to stoke your crush. 

On a Wednesday afternoon, with two and a half weeks to go before the gala, Kuiil finished the choreography. You all smiled when you finalized the last movement, a tricky lift that hadn’t been working quite right until you’d suggested adjusting the turns that led into it. 

“Excellent,” Kuiil praised as Din guided you back onto your feet. “Let me see it once more, and then we will run t​​hrough the third movement again.”

You nodded and took up your position a few feet away from Din. At Kuiil’s signal, you started your pique turn, finishing after two and half rotations, facing away from Din. You extended your leg behind you and felt him step up and grasp your ankle. In unison you collapsed backwards, his hold on you guiding you to follow him. As your leg and then body extended backwards, he reached forward and wrapped his arm around your waist. He spun you slightly forward towards the mirror, and then, with a sturdy grip around your waist, lifted you upwards. You extended one leg and bent the other at the knee, letting your torso fall backwards over his shoulder as he spun you in a circle.

As he came back to the front, he set you down and spun you so that you were facing him. Your arms swept upwards. He knelt with one knee on the ground and you fell forward, letting yourself be guided by his hands while keeping your body straight, arms framing your face. He supported you, guiding you downward until your foreheads almost touched. You held your position, eyes locked. Then with a swell of the music Din pushed you back upright, hands warm and broad on your hips. You extended your leg into arabesque as he settled you, and then pulled away a few steps.

You turned back to look at him, kneeling, and you let the moment stretch as you gazed at each other. He reached for you, and after a beat, you reached back before swiftly jumping into a traveling tour en l’air. He rose from his kneeling position and caught you just before you hit the floor. With his hands back in position on your hips, he lifted you upwards and you flipped over his shoulder, bracing yourself on the back of his thigh. He held you in place as you extended your legs upwards, your body straight and perpendicular with the floor, toes pointed towards the ceiling. 

After a moment in that position he pulled your legs back down and you flipped upright. Your bodies were pressed tightly together as you slowly slid downwards against his chest. The music slowed for a moment as he placed you lightly on one toe, your left leg extended behind you. You both paused for a moment before springing into action, bounding away from each other as the music picked up again.

“Brava!” Kuiil called before pausing the music. “Excellent. Well done. That was perfect.”

You were both breathing hard, you noticed. Din caught your eye and smiled. 

“Let us run it again. I will ask you to focus on this part and on the transition in the second movement in your practice tomorrow. You know the one.” You both nodded and moved back into position to run it again.

…

On Thursday, you and Din met up in the small studio at the end of the hall for your practice. He beat you there, as usual, and you shut the door behind you as you entered.

Din nodded at you when you greeted him. “Ready to work on our homework?” You teased, and he huffed a laugh. You smiled widely at the sound. 

He nodded. “Second or third first?” 

You considered the question as you put on your shoes. “Let’s focus on the third to start. That lift section is tricky, and I don’t want to be tired for it.” He nodded and turned to set up the music.

Before he joined you in the center, he stripped off his shirt. You blinked, thankful you had started to improve your poker face in these moments. 

“Alright,” he said, “is there any part you want to go over first?” 

You thought about it. “The tour en l’air, when you stand in time to catch me. Do you think we should practice just that?”

He nodded. “Let’s start there.”

And so you did. It felt good, though, and you found that it was easy to connect with each other the way you needed to. It felt right, like you were so in tune with each other you could just… find each other. Mid air.

He caught you once more and then set you down easily. “I think we’ve got that.” 

You nodded and grinned. “Ok. From the pique?” 

You both backed up into position and paused, taking a deep breath. On his cue you began your turn, repeating the same sequence that you had practiced so many times earlier with Kuill.

This time, when Din caught you out of the air, you realized how different it felt, when Din wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

He lifted you up and you flipped over, bracing yourself against the back of his leg as you extended your body upside down. Your chest and hips were pressed to his bare back and for a moment the feeling of his skin overwhelmed you.

But when he flipped you upright again, you realized you hadn’t known what it meant to be overwhelmed. 

He guided you downwards slowly, and as your body pressed against his, you couldn’t help but feel him. A movement that felt so routine earlier in the day felt suddenly intimate in a way you’d never felt with anyone before, while dancing. As your toe touched the floor, you realized you were standing chest to chest with Din, looking up at him, pressed tightly against him with his hands firmly grasping your waist.

You both froze. 

His hands twitched against your waist, briefly tightening his grip. He suddenly released you and you both stepped away sharply. You turned, sucking in a deep breath, and tried not to let any of what you’d just felt show on your face. 

After a moment, Din spoke from behind you.

“Again?” He asked, and you noticed his voice was much deeper than normal. 

You shivered. “Yes,” you agreed. “Again.”

“Let’s start a bit before that,” he suggested, voice still deep and almost gravelly. “From the chase across the floor?” 

You nodded even as you felt a tension climbing up your spine. Just before this moment, with the lift, Din chased you across the entire stage, echoing your movements, touching you lightly a few times before you could dart out of his grip. Then his character caught yours by the ankle and pulled you into the lifts.

You swallowed hard. “Yes, let’s start there.”

You stared at each other for a moment. He nodded, and you turned away to find your starting position, wondering why this suddenly felt so different. Was it that you were alone, without Kuiil? Was it his lack of shirt?

Was he feeling it too?

You took a steadying breath and fell into position. You looked at Din and he nodded. And so you began.

He turned and leapt behind you, and for the first time you could feel him coming, feel him chasing you. You felt your heart rate spike as you reached the opposite side of the floor. You twisted into your turn that led you to the center and the lift. 

When Din caught your ankle, you heard yourself let out a small gasp. When his arm wrapped around your waist to tug you backwards and then  lift you upwards, you couldn’t see his face, but you felt a fire begin to build at the base of your spine. He set you down and lowered you as he knelt, and when your eyes met his, it took everything in you to keep your position, relying on his strength to hold you up as you leaned so far forward. He set you upright, and you danced away. You turned away from him, and when you turned to look back before the tour en l’air, you almost froze.

His gaze burned into you. You’d never seen that look on his face before.

Your body moved as if on autopilot, launching you into the air so that he could catch you. You didn’t catch another glimpse of his face as he turned you upside down, but your skin felt hot everywhere it touched his. When he pulled you back upright, your head started to spin as he slid you down slowly against his chest. You distantly realized that he was guiding you downwards much more slowly than the music called for.

As your chest began to slide against his, your breath caught in your throat.

You let your eyes sweep over his shoulders, up his neck, along his jaw, and as your toe touched the ground, you met his gaze. You couldn’t lie to yourself in the face of the emotion in his eyes. An emotion he clearly saw mirrored in yours. 

Rather than resting your hands lightly on his shoulders, as you were meant to, you let your palms slide down until they were pressed against his chest.

You were so close to him, only inches away. He didn’t release his grip on your waist, and you didn’t move. After a moment simply staring at each other his grip tightened and impossibly, he tugged you closer.

No shirt, you thought to yourself, a bit wildly, as more of your body came into contact with his. 

He glanced down at your mouth. Your entire spine felt like it was on fire. 

And then the door to the studio opened, and you leapt away from each other instantly.

“Oh, sorry!” It was Sasha. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were in here.” She stepped back out, and you could see Diego, Jasmine, and Clara behind her in the hall. As the door shut behind Sasha you realized your heart was racing. You wanted to turn and look at Din, but you were too afraid to move.

He cleared his throat and you closed your eyes. “I…” he trailed off. You felt like you were frozen, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say. “I should get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You were so stunned by his words that you only just opened your eyes in time to see him disappear through the door.

Fuck.

…

You were dreading your rehearsal with Kuiil the next day, so much so that you almost wanted to skip morning class for the first time in your career.

You didn’t, but you really, really wanted to. 

With perfect timing, you stepped inside just before Alexa turned on the music, shoes already on, and scurried to your place at the barre. You ignored her look and didn’t let your eyes stray to the tall, dark shape at the barre to your left. You felt jittery and it was difficult to calm yourself enough to settle into the familiar motions of barre work. You forced yourself to breathe deeply in time with your movements, and by the time everyone moved to the side of the room to start going across the floor, you were feeling calmer.

Somehow you managed not to look at Din for the entire class. Afterwards, Adrian came to stand in front of you as you changed your shoes, effectively shielding you from view. You looked up and whispered, “thank you.”

He nodded and rolled his eyes. He’d already told you his opinion (“you should just corner him and kiss him”) and you’d already made it clear you weren’t taking his advice. But he was still going to help you avoid Din, if that’s what you wanted to do. And you definitely did.

Adrian tucked your arm through his as you walked down the hall. He made a beeline for the small break room and as soon as the door closed behind you, he spun around to look at you.

You were afraid to ask. “Did he…”

He frowned and shook his head. “Looks like you’re playing the same avoid-the-problem game. He didn’t look at anyone. At all.”

You sighed, and reached into your bag for your lunch. Adrian tried to take your mind off of it by talking about anything and everything except your upcoming rehearsal.

After lunch, though, you couldn’t avoid it, or him, anymore. 

…

You stopped outside of the rehearsal hall and took a deep breath. You can do this. You rose up on your toes in your street shoes and let yourself lean into the stretch. You can do this. 

You nodded, once, and stepped into the room.

Kuiil was standing by the sound system, and Din was standing over by the barre, stretching. HIs back was to you, but you didn’t like the look of the way he was standing, or the line of his shoulders. Your dread returned, like a sour feeling in your stomach.

Turning away from the sight, you found Kuiil looking at you. You could see that he had picked up on the tension in the room, and he looked confused. You suddenly realized that in your last practice with him, your connection with Din had been better than ever. It must be confusing, to leave practice one day on a high and then come back to… this.

You winced.

“Alright. Let us start with the first.” You winced again. You had a feeling Kuiil was starting with something more familiar because he was concerned. You were concerned, too.

You took up your starting position and as the music started, your stomach dropped. 

It was like January all over again. 

No. It was worse.

It was the most disconnected and disjointed you’d ever been. At first it was just awkward – you missed each other, you moved at cross-purposes rather than together. It felt like you were dancing separately, hearing different music. But then you actually missed a cue and when you turned, you found yourself tripping over Din. 

Tripping over him. When was the last time you collided with someone on stage? You could hardly believe it.

The music stopped, and you closed your eyes, resisting the urge to collapse and hide your face. 

“Well,” Kuiil said, sounding both frustrated and confused. “I can see that something is not right here.”

He paused, and you opened your eyes. Din was turned away from you, back tense, hands clenched into fists. Your gaze skittered away and found Kuiil. He was frowning.

“We do not have time for this. The Gala is in two weeks.” He looked between you. “I do not know what happened, but you must figure this out. Before I see you tomorrow.” He nodded once and then turned. You watched as he gathered his things and then walked to the door. 

He looked back at you once. “Tomorrow,” he repeated firmly, and then he closed the door behind him.

It was so silent in the room that you could hear his footsteps disappearing down the hall. You swallowed and forced your gaze back to Din.

He was still turned away from you, still tense. You felt something start to well up inside of you, something that felt horrible, and started to turn and walk towards your bag.

Din’s voice, soft in the empty room, stopped you in your tracks.

“Let’s run it again.”

You blinked, and turned to look at him. You couldn’t see his face, even in the mirror. “What?”

He turned, slowly, and walked towards the sound system without looking at you. “The third. Let’s run it.” And then he stripped off his shirt.

The tension in the room transformed instantly, from something horrible and wrong that put your teeth on edge, into something thick. Something deeper. Something alive.

You whirled, almost in a daze, and took up your starting position for the third movement. Din started the music, and without any further discussion, you started to move.

At first, your movements were hesitant. But then Din circled you and what was usually a glancing touch on your shoulder became a brand, and you sucked in a sharp breath. You sank into the movements together and the connection you’d found and then lost and then found again snapped back into place.

The third movement was all about coming together to create something new, and for the first time, you truly felt it as you danced with Din, alone in the studio. Your breaths came faster, your movements were sharper. You danced into and out of his hold, making him chase you, chasing him back.

And then he caught you, out of the pique turn, and wrapped his arm around your waist. You kept breathing only because you had years of practice, but you knew he felt the way your entire body shivered as he lifted you. 

He sat you down, hands firm on your waist, and spun you around as he knelt. As he guided you downward, your eyes met for the first time since Kuiil had left the room.

You didn’t freeze, but it was a near thing.

Din’s face, from what you’d seen earlier in the short glances you allowed yourself, had been expressionless all day. Hidden behind his mask.

But now it was open. It was raw. Your eyes met his and your heart started to pound in your chest.

Eyes dark, expression intent, he set you back upright, and you sprang away, overwhelmed. When you stopped you almost rocked in place with the force of your need to run away, but you turned back, following the choreography. He reached for you, and you answered by launching yourself into the air.

You jumped higher than you ever had before, but he caught you just as surely as he had every other time. He tilted you backwards over his shoulder, but then as he pulled you upright, you felt the air around you thicken again. Your body began to slide downwards against his chest.

Your hips brushed over his bare chest, followed by your stomach, and then your chest. You looked down at the same moment he looked up, and when your eyes met, you froze.

You were pressed to Din from hips to shoulders, arms stretched above your head. He had a firm grip on your waist, and your toe had not yet reached the ground. 

Suspended, held aloft in his arms, neither of you moved as the music continued well past the next part of the choreography. You ignored it. 

Slowly, so slowly you felt every inch of connection between your bodies, Din set you down on your toes. And then just like the night before, he pulled you closer. This time, though, his arms wrapped around your waist, strong and secure.

You let your hands come to rest on his chest, again, and resisted the urge to slide them upwards and into his hair.

You couldn’t stand the tension, and your voice escaped you without conscious thought. “Din?” you breathed.

His eyes danced over your face and then down to your lips. 

“Din…” you repeated, still hesitant. “I’m not imagining this, right?”

He shook his head and you thought your heart might pound right out of your chest. “No. You’re not.” A feeling, so familiar, began to swell inside of you and you started to smile.

And then, before you could think of anything else to say, he pressed his lips to yours.

...

prev | next

a/n: I do feel a little evil with that ending, lol. Find out what happens next next week! (yes, I'll post on 12/25) Also in my draft the unofficial title of this chapter is "THE practice."

pique turns: turns en pointe on one leg, often traveling

Cinderella: reader is dancing the role of Spring Fairy, one of five fairies in the ballet. I linked this cool video of Ji Young Chae in practice and on stage performing the role. Here's all of them.

I hope the lift section made sense! If not please tell me and I will help, haha. I figure linking it all again here doesn't make a lot of sense, but I tried to link to the exact moment in the video where they were doing something similar to what I described, if relevant.