#endless pirouette

[m6rija]

⟡ ⠀teaser⠀⠀⊹⠀⠀ jiaoqiu, hoshinas, jouno, hyoga, pantalone & you

gn reader who finds teasing their partner endearing. minor kn8 spoilers. hyoga is soft, jouno is possesive, might be a tad suggestive for soshiro. written before the snezhnaya release.

jiaoqiu

it was common to see the two of you together in the kitchen, discussing delightful flavors and intricate recipes. your relationship was cemented by the wide culinary world, and you considered your relationship a serendipity brought on by that world— who knew that an acclaimed chef and a healer would end up together?

at least that's how it was for him, as you were keenly aware of those little words and actions you did just to mildly annoy your colleague, who saw these as simple tests put on your part for him to solve. something you ultimately used to your advantage to get jiaoqiu in your hands, who wouldn't complain.

lately, however, this dynamic would have begun to wane, after finding your partner unable to see you.

perhaps you were afraid that your monotone tone would not give away that it was a joke when you said something to him, in the absence of your face grimacing in amusement.

but the one with vulpine features was smart, and was aware of your change in behavior.

“i can feel you, your gaze on me." a soft smile would remain on his face as the man did something in the kitchen.

“you could hurt yourself cooking." you noticed his ears perk up, attentive to what you were saying.

he would tilt his head to the side, as he continued to do his thing in the kitchen. "you didn't used to be like this."

"it's normal for me to worry about you, it would be very cruel for me to switch the spices around or something." you crossed your arms, annoyance and confusion of the hand on your head.

“i wouldn't mind.”

“hah?” you frowned, taking one of the spices containers in your hand to then place it somewhere else— just for him to hear, as you would soon return it to its place silently.

“that's my spouse.” he cooed softly, velvety.

at that, you would form a thin line with your lips, while your hands took another container to this time —for real— change it completely. “i bet you won't be able to find them.”

your cheeks were slowly getting red, a small smile forming in your face.

“are you sure about that?”

“completely.” you laughed.

regardless of what happened, you'd give your partner a hand. after playing with him a little, maybe.

soshiro

separated by divisions, it was not particularly well known that a cadet from the sixth division maintained a relationship with the acclaimed vice captain of the third division. perhaps everyone thought that he would not get along particularly well with the members of the unit led by his older brother.

however, your closeness with soshiro would not go unnoticed by the observant new members of the third division— who watched attentively as, with a smile, you spoke to hoshina while keeping a distinctly short distance.

“it wouldn't be such a big deal if everyone knew” you commented, taking your food between chopsticks, sitting next to him. “i mean, i know you like to be discreet, but come on, it's been a long time.”

"y'know my position on workplace relationships" he sighed, eyes on yours "besides, it's not something that's inherent."

"oh, then you'd be very afraid that at this very moment i might kiss you, aren't you?" you laughed softly, aware of the curious glances the two of you had begun to catch since you sat down together.

the narrow-eyed one remained silent, though that trademark grin of his would not twist at any moment. even, he widened it to such an extent that one of his fangs peeked over his lower lip.

“we both know ya won't, sweetheart.”

you leaned in just barely, noses almost brushing and breaths colliding, intent on intimidating your partner. “are you afraid of cadets watching us kiss? you sound like a child, soshiro.”

though your breath was stolen in the second as the man would sink his fingers through your hair and pull you closer to him, finally bringing your lips together in a soft but steamy kiss, in which he would make sure to bite your bottom lip with his fangs a couple of times; culminating in laughing at your surprised expression.

“don't think i'll go easy on you, you've earned it.”

you were about to complain, but hoshina had left his seat.

“hey!” you called out to him, regardless of the heads you managed to turn at the scene the two of you were starring in— personally you didn't care what they thought, but you feared what soshiro would have in mind for you after this.

“see you in my office this afternoon, cadet.” he smiled at you as he walked away.

soichiro

the most famous, new and intriguing topic of the sixth division would be how a cadet who had just joined the division began to climb the ranks from one day to the next. it was said that they came from the third division, and that this person was the new dispute between the hoshina— they were arguing about “who could handle your military strength better” or something like that the members of both divisions imagined, since it was uncertain why the brothers mentioned you when they were discussing.

but it would be when soichiro would call you to his office that some cadets would approach the said space with the intention of listening to the conversation between you, curious even though they knew very well that what they were doing was an improper act and if they were caught by someone of high rank perhaps their jobs would be at risk.

“did i end up being a toy for you?” you would start, in a calm voice despite what you implied with your words. “it's not nice to wake up every day to messages from your brother, you know?”

“my brother talks to you more than he talks to me…?” a soft, comical tear would slide down one of the cheeks of the white-stranded one, who would cover his face as if his heart had broken.

“i've treated him better than you, it's only natural.” that was like a shot to the captain's chest, and his head was now buried in the surface of the table.

you would bring your hand to the man's hair and walk it over it with a certain delicacy, as if you were caressing a swallow. “but i have already made up my mind, and for that i would like to remain in the sixth division.”

soichiro would lift his head expectantly, your fingers now entwining through the loose hair on his forehead.

“i would like to be your spouse.” you stated confidently, looking attentively at the person in front of you.

it was a long few months of bickering. you had been arranged to marry the eldest hoshina— you were no more than a colleague the brothers knew and yet the youngest was completely opposed to the idea that one of his most valued cadets would be his older brother's spouse. in the end the brothers would end up fighting over your hand and it would be you who would decide who to marry, at their request.

“but it will be you who will inform soshiro of this.”

you watched as another faint tear slid down his face, and you were amused at the effect his poor relationship with his younger brother had on him.

jouno

a relationship as thorny as the people in it, members of the hunting dogs and with fangs as sharp as cobra— jouno and you shared similar tastes, habits and behaviors that isolated you from the rest of the group. sadistic, the criminals you caught would hang on to the thread of their lives while begging not to be disposed of.

it was easy to speculate that this facade was nothing more than something constructed for the job you had. but that couldn't be further from the truth, for your colleagues knew perfectly well that this behavior was your crude personalities.

as well as when his hand would sink to your hip as you whispered dirty lies in his ear in a low tone, bitter comments just to play with your boyfriend's jealous nature. his muscles would tense and his smile would become forced as he felt your body press against his, your hands placing themselves with tenuous delicacy on one of his shoulders to direct your lips to his ear— you were aware of how much he hated to hear another man's name slipping out of your mouth.

you were playing with fire, you knew it perfectly.

oh, but how you loved to do it.

you were returning from a mission you had been assigned with tecchou: your planning and implacable intelligence were the key to victory, while your colleague's strength and agility were indispensable when it came to fighting those against you.

you praised the brown-stranded man's assistance like a sugar-coated mantra— your ears were used to being drowned out by nasty opinions about him, so it was a pleasant surprise to find that he was just a simple man who exasperated your boyfriend.

however, that you sat at the meeting table next to him, shared smiles together with him and looked at him with such affection would cause jouno to give you a certainly bitter expression. and not only to you, but to tecchou as well.

“someone's in a bad mood” you whispered to the one who had taken a seat next to you, covering a soft chuckle that escaped your lips with one of your hands.

you were doing it on purpose, and jouno should be used to your antics by now— but it seemed he still wasn't, not at all. “it's only natural. i thought i told you i didn't like you doing that.”

“what thing?” you played innocent, noticing how jouno felt you lean into the man next to you. “see? he does this kind of thing often.”

“you should stop treating your partner like this.” commented tecchou, face showing almost complete disinterest in the conversation. to him, as well as the rest of your coworkers, it was obvious that you were simply toying with jouno, and it was best not to pry too much.

“i won't take the word of someone like you. stay out of other people's relationships.” growled back jouno, almost immediately.

“don't treat tecchou like that, sai.” you shook your hand, then placing it on one of the opaque-haired one's shoulders. you had drawn a pout, looking at your partner almost as if you were begging him. “he's just being a good friend, he's not as bad as you think.”

with his brow furrowed, he would let his head rest on his arm propped on the wooden table. “your next missions will be only with me. i don't want to see you alongside people like him.”

no matter how much you complained, certainly, you would only get a chance to be with tecchou in group activities. jouno was serious about taking care of what belonged to him.

hyoga

your hand was sinking into the pale hair of the man sitting next to you— quietly enjoying his meal, you watched him with a playful smile on your face. you didn't expect the most reserved man of all the people on board to confess anything about his relationship with you.

he had mentioned something to you about it being inherent if he wanted to depetrify you: probably someone would ask something about how you knew each other, since no one had ever seen you together— you had joined the kingdom of science as a double-faced agent but no one was aware of it, not even gen himself, who usually meddles in other people's business.

you didn't quite know why they hadn't brought you back to life before, but they probably would eventually regardless of whether hyoga said anything or not.

“were you so eager to see me that you couldn't wait a little longer?” you laughed, watching as his brow furrowed slightly. “surely they were waiting for a more suitable time to wake me up. i'm a warrior too, you realize?”

you would lean back against one of his shoulders, his plush garment kissing the exposed skin of your neck and face ever so gently— without expecting for him to comment any further.

“you are precious to me.” you heard, soft enough to be almost lost amidst the sound of waves crashing against wood.

you'd lift your head to look at him, completely surprised. it was rare that he would allow himself to say such gentle things, and it seemed that tonight he was in a particularly good mood.

“i can't believe i'm that important to hyoga.” you commented loudly, audible enough for people nearby to hear, and your partner's ears colored a soft red as he sank his face into his food to ignore what you were doing.

“ah, if only he would say it more often so i wouldn't doubt so much…”

“i love you.”

it was fleeting, but your heart stopped in that split second. you'd let out a smile followed by a laugh, watching as he buried his face under his mask after finishing his meal.

“make a wish, hyoga is being romantic!”

“he looked like a serious guy when we fought. i see he's someone weak in front of the people he loves.” moz commented with a chuckle, receiving a threatening look from the taller one.

the truth is, he was thinking about the uncertainty that followed his trip to america, and how deeply afraid he was of losing you.

so he decided it would be best to make it clear how he felt about you rather than regret not having done so.

pantalone

who would have thought that a simple designer would be deeply involved with the fatui. your workspace was nothing more than a small location on the cold snezhnaya, a cozy place that greeted with countless outfits and garments meticulously constructed with each of your clients' preferences in mind.

sunk among fabrics, intricate stitching and refined patterns, it had become complex for you to notice that a hand had taken place on one of your shoulders— the pressure it applied being so gentle and delicate. it was the scent of a cologne that would cause your concentration to waver and consequently you would notice the weight at your side.

upon verifying who it was after turning your head, you would turn off your sewing machine and leave your seat behind to properly greet the person now in front of you. “good evening, sir.”

his laugh, low but melodious, was the prelude to a warm-looking smile. “good evening, sweetheart.” he would then express his curiosity at how formally you were addressing him, despite being in a private space.

you would comment that the walls were thin— perhaps one of your staff could hear more than they should.

with your short steps accompanying your calm tone, you lifted with your hands the piece that the regrator must have come for. it was a suit of dark shades adorned with silver details, of a clean finish and stunning appearance.

“it's a shame not to be able to participate in such luxurious events” you remarked, the man in front of you paying attention to the attire that now rested in his hands.

your greatest pleasure has always been to see your clients wearing the pieces you worked for so long— you have never had the opportunity to see pantalone wearing any of them despite being his designer of choice, partially because he only commissioned things for specific events you could not attend.

“i've offered you several invitations and your response has been the same.” his smile never wavered, his eyes now fixed on you attentively.

you sighed, softly. “events organized for prestigious individuals are not my place.” you recited as usual the same words you used to decline his invitations.

you rested one of your hands on the edge of a desk made up of dark wood, fabric scraps hugging your fingers.

“it would be improper to question the guests of a harbinger.” the dark-haired one would mention that as he approached you.

“the regrator is bringing a mere designer as a guest? it wouldn't look appropriate.”

“it's you we're talking about” his distance was short enough that you felt trapped between his figure and the desk bathed in fabrics. “promoted by the fatui— the most renowned designer in snezhnaya. even remarkable people from other nations come to you, don't they?”

“you flatter me” you lowered your head, feeling small in front of him. “but i would still feel out of place.”

“then i will organize a gala you can call your place.” he cupped your chin with his hand clad in a black leather glove. “the guests would wear your works, everyone would have eyes for you.”

“i'm afraid if i take a large number of jobs, my time would be scarce to attend the event.” his hand would go up to one of your cheeks, his thumb dancing over your warm skin.

“then it will be as soon as you are finished.” his smile was serene, but you well knew he felt victorious holding you in the palm of his hand.

“i can't refuse, can i?” you laughed softly.

[childrenofcain-if]

D + MCs who do ballet? Classic they were a punk, they did ballet trope 🤭

How would it go if D somehow stumbled into MC dancing alone at a studio?

the music echoed softly through the studio, a haunting piece by rachmaninoff played on piano, filling the wide, empty space like smoke. it wasn’t the kind of music meant for performance—it was private, introspective, full of cascading notes that fell like raindrops on the skin.

you stretched your arms upward, your fingers trembling slightly before melting into the next move, a slow arabesque. the floor beneath your feet seemed alive, absorbing your every step and breath, your body moving as though the music was stitched into your veins.

the studio smelled faintly of resin and varnished wood, and the walls were lined with mirrors that reflected you in endless variations—an infinite string of dancers chasing one another in ghostly synchronization. the barre stretched along one side, but you weren’t touching it. you were in the center of the room, spinning lightly on the ball of your foot, every motion deliberate and delicate.

you were a swan, or at least that’s what you told yourself, gliding across the floor with a mixture of grace and control. but there was something raw beneath the practiced movements. dancing alone always brought out a part of you you couldn’t quite name, something wild and unpolished that made your heart beat a little faster.

outside the studio, D was grumbling to themself, rifling through their sheet music with a kind of irritated intensity. their classical music class had been predictably boring, full of lectures about bach’s counterpoint and unnecessarily complicated homework assignments.

“this is ridiculous,” they muttered as they stuffed the papers into their bag. “who cares how many times he modulates in a fugue? it’s like professor khan wants me to suffer.”

they were halfway down the hallway when the faint sound of music drifted to their ears, a piece they didn’t recognize but which tugged at something in them nonetheless. it wasn’t from their class, wasn’t the droning lecture about sonatas or fugues. this music was alive, sharp and sweet like glass catching sunlight.

D slowed their steps, distracted, and when they passed by the glass window of the studio door, they nearly walked into the wall.

they stopped. then they stepped back.

their gray eyes widened as they caught sight of you moving across the studio, your body arching and spinning in time with the music.

you weren’t even looking at the mirrors, weren’t watching yourself at all, as if you didn’t need to see your reflection to know you were beautiful. your hair was pulled back, a few strands escaping and sticking to your neck, and your face was focused, serene.

for a moment, D forgot to remind themself to breathe.

you didn’t look real, not in the fluorescent light of the studio or the sterile smell of the building. you looked like a painting, like something fragile and otherworldly that didn’t belong in the same space as the chipped tile floor or their scuffed sneakers.

“god, they’re unreal,” D muttered under their breath, and then snorted at themself. “get a fucking grip, rook.”

but they didn’t move away. instead, they opened the door slowly, slipping inside without a sound. you didn’t notice them at first, too lost in the dance, and D leaned back against the wall, their arms crossed as they watched you. their usual smirk softened into something unreadable, their practiced nonchalance dulled by the quiet awe in their expression.

when you finally stopped, mid-pirouette, and turned toward the mirror, you caught sight of their reflection. you jumped slightly, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“D?” you said, your voice breathy with surprise.

D pushed off the wall and took a few steps toward you, their smirk reappearing like a reflex.

“don’t stop on my account,” they said, their tone teasing but warm. “i was enjoying the show.”

your cheeks flushed, though you tried to hide it by rolling your eyes. “flatterer. how long have you been watching?”

“long enough to know i could never do that spinny thing,” D said, gesturing vaguely to the space where you’d been dancing.

you blinked at them, caught off guard, before laughing. “the spinny thing? you mean a pirouette?”

“sure, whatever it’s called,” D said, stepping closer. “i kind of wanna learn it.”

you hesitated, eyeing them skeptically. “you’re not exactly the most... graceful person, D.”

“hey,” they said, placing a hand over their chest in mock offense. “i’ll have you know i’ve got excellent rhythm. i just… don’t use it for dancing.”

you snorted but relented, gesturing for them to follow you to the center of the room. for the next few minutes, you tried to teach them the basics—how to balance, how to turn without tripping over their own feet.

D was, predictably, terrible. they stumbled more than once, their movements awkward and stiff, but you didn’t seem to mind. you laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. honestly, it didn’t seem like D cared much about looking foolish in front of you.

“i think i’m doing it,” they said at one point, wobbling precariously as they attempted a turn.

“you’re definitely not,” you said, laughing so hard you had to clutch your stomach.

“harsh,” D said, grinning despite themself.

but then, as you were correcting their stance, their hands brushed yours, and something shifted. the laughter died in your throat as D turned to face you fully, their gray eyes suddenly serious.

“you’re fucking amazing,” they murmured, their voice low.

before you could respond, they cupped your face in their hands and kissed you, their lips soft but insistent against yours. you froze for half a second before melting into the kiss, your arms wrapping around them.

the barre was behind you, cool against your back as D pressed closer, their hands slipping from your face to your waist. the kiss deepened, and for a while, the rest of the world fell away—the music, the mirrors, the studio. it was just you and them, tangled together, desperate and unthinking.

when you finally pulled back, breathless, you looked at them with wide eyes.

“what’s gotten into you?” you asked, half-chuckling.

D smirked, their forehead resting against yours. “i just couldn’t resist you, my sweet swan.”

you rolled your eyes, though there was no heat behind it, and pulled them into another kiss. when you finally broke apart again, D leaned in close, their breath warm against your ear.

“for the record,” they murmured, “i’m a much better performer in bed.”

you groaned, pushing them away playfully. “now you’ve gone and ruined the moment.”

“and yet, you’re still with me,” they said, grinning.

you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slipping your hand into theirs. together, you walked out of the studio, the music still echoing faintly behind you.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THREE ━━ Mia, The Menace

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.6K

❀ ━ warnings: none i think

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: sigh another filler i’m sorry guys next chapter is when things actually start happening ….. also will u guys pls lmk if y’all like this series so far bc i feel like i’ve been writing it so shitty i’m sorry 🫠

THE AIR in Jo’s family home feels warmer than she remembers, thick with the lazy ease of summer afternoons in Boston. She’s sprawled out on the couch in the living room, half in Asher’s lap, her back pressed against his chest. The TV hums in the background, some half-forgotten show playing on low volume, but neither of them is paying much attention to it. Instead, their focus is on Mia, Jo’s eight-year-old little sister, who’s commanding the room as she rehearses her dance routine.

The house feels bigger than it ever does when Jo’s parents are home, their absence leaving behind a peculiar stillness that’s only occasionally interrupted by Mia’s bursts of energy. Her parents are celebrating their anniversary weekend in Maine, indulging in some much-deserved quiet while leaving Jo in charge of their youngest child. Jo doesn’t mind; after all, it’s July—her off-month—and she’s back in Boston for a brief stint of home-cooked meals and family chaos before heading back to Storrs in August. Babysitting Mia, however, is proving to be a full-time job in itself—which Jo probably should’ve expected.

Mia’s energy is endless. Right now, she’s twirling and leaping across the living room, her movements surprisingly precise for a kid her age. She’s dressed in a sparkly leotard and pink tights, her hair tied in an elaborate bun she’d made Jo do before this—because, well, if Jo is good for anything, it’s doing hair. During summer sessions, half the team made her do their braids before practice—Paige especially, the blonde hopeless at doing her own—and Jo knows it’ll only get worse when the season starts up.

Jo tries to keep a watchful eye on her sister, but she can’t help but be distracted by her boyfriend. He’s absentmindedly tracing small circles across the middle of her thigh, and she can feel his heart beating against her back. When she glances up at him, she can’t help but grin at the softness of his smile as he claps along with Mia’s haphazard twirls, the way he leans into the couch—into Jo—like he belongs here. Which, he does. He always has.

“Joey!” Mia calls, her voice sharp and commanding for an eight-year-old. She pauses mid-spin to put her hands on her hips, her small frame vibrating with indignation. “You’re not watching!”

Jo blinks, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “I am watching,” she defends, though it’s not quite true. She sits up a little straighter against Asher, nudging him as if to say help me out here. “You’re doing great, Mia. Keep going.”

Mia narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Ugh,” she groans, glaring at her older sister. “Payton always gives me better advice. You just say, ‘good job.’ That’s not going to help if I want to be the best dancer in the entire world, Jo!”

Jo exchanges a look with Asher, who’s barely holding back a laugh. Payton, Jo and Mia’s older sister, is a professional dancer living in New York City—a career Mia idolizes. Unlike Jo, who’s spent her life on the basketball court, Payton is everything Mis wants to be: graceful, disciplined, and impossibly good at pirouettes. It’s a path Jo has no interest in, which is probably why Mia constantly reminds her she’s the least qualified coach in the family.

“Well, yeah,” Jo says with a shrug. “Payton’s a pro. She’s, like, me in basketball but with dance. I’m just here to cheer you on, don’t really know what to tell you’s right or wrong, Mimi.”

Mia just groans again, even more dramatic this time, launching into another leap across the floor. Asher leans closer to Jo, his lips brushing against her ear as he drops his voice to a whisper. “Tough crowd.”

Jo snorts softly. “You have no idea,” she murmurs back.

Mia finishes her routine with a fluoride, throwing one arm in the air as if she’s just landed a gold medal-winning move at the Olympics. Asher claps loudly, a grin inching across his face. “Amazing, Mee!” he says enthusiastically, though he’d say that even if her performance was outright awful. “You’re getting even better than Payton, I think.”

For once, Mia doesn’t respond with her usual sass. Typically, when it comes to Asher, Mia’s either teasingly threatening him or biting at him or calling him funny names—she’s a menace child if Jo’s ever met one. But instead, Mia actually smiles at the boy, her cheeks flushed pink from exertion. “Thanks,” she says cheerfully, and Jo stares at her in disbelief.

“Wow,” the point guard says, raising an eyebrow, impressed. “You smiled at him. And thanked him. I think that’s a first.”

“Progress,” Asher claims, smiling broadly down at Jo.

Mia, on the other hand, sticks her tongue out at her older sister before collapsing onto the rug, sighing dramatically. “I’m exhausted. Someone get me a glass of water.”

“Get one yourself,” Jo tells her, already pulling out her phone. She scrolls through her notifications lazily, her thumb pausing when Paige’s name lights up her screen.

PB 😱😱

Got a nike event in Boston tmrw morning

Soooo we’re hanging out after

No negotiations

Jo’s lips twitch into a smile.

Ma freshie 💘

obviously

what time?

Paige replies almost instantly.

PB 😱😱

Like noon?

Don’t bail jojo

Jo shakes her head, rolling her eyes to herself. Paige never fails to amuse.

Asher, whose chin is now pressed against Jo’s hair, his gaze on her text. He asks, “So, you and her are really tight now, huh?”

Jo shrugs, because, well, kinda, duh. “I mean, we do live together,” she says, as if that explains everything.

“Yeah, but she’s Bueckers,” he replies, saying her name like it means something. Which, even though Paige would say it doesn’t, it totally does. “That’s a huge deal. She’s, like, insane on the court. Seen all the highlights.”

Jo doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she lets her mind wander to the past month and a half—the morning runs, the late-night shooting, the quiet moments in their shared apartment, the not-so-quiet playful bickering. Paige isn’t just her teammate or her roommate. She’s… something else entirely. Someone Jo can’t quite put into words—an enigma, maybe. “She’s just Paige,” Jo murmurs finally, her voice softer now.

Asher grins. “I’ve gotta meet her sometime. Best introduce me soon, Jo.”

“You’ll like her,” she replies, confidence threading her voice. She can already picture how Paige would probably charm the hell out of him without even trying—she does it to everyone, after all. “She’s… yeah, she’s cool.”

From the rug, Mia sits up suddenly, as if she’s finally hearing the conversation, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Who’s Paige?”

Jo blinks at her. “My roommate,” she responds simply. “You knew that.”

“And teammate,” Asher adds.

“She knew that, too.”

Mia crosses her arms, her tone all business now, ignoring Jo’s last comment. “Is she nice?”

“Yeah,” Jo answers easily. “She’s great. Super chill, really funny.”

“Is she good at basketball?” Mia fired back.

Jo grins. “One of the best.”

“Bet she’s better than you.”

Jo throws one of the throw pillows on the couch at her sister’s head. “Shut up, Mia.”

Mia just giggles, dodging the pillow with ease. Asher laughs, shaking his head as he watches the two sisters bicker, more than familiar with it.

For all her teasing, Jo can’t shake the warm, almost buzzing feeling in her chest. She’s excited to see Paige tomorrow. For reasons she can’t explain, she’s missed her a lot these past couple weeks they’ve been away from campus. It’s probably just because going from basically spending every waking minute with one another to none at all is a little odd.

Probably.

THE JULY sun beats down on Boston, and Paige feels it’s warmth seeping into her skin as she walks along the tree-lined streets near the Commons. The Nike event she attended this morning went off without a hitch, just a casual appearance with some photos and a couple clips filmed that they’ll probably put into an add. But now, she’s got the rest of the day free. The thought makes her grin as she thumbs out a quick text to Jo.

PB 😱😱

All done 😊😊

Where u at?

It takes Jo less than a minute for Jo to reply, sending a pin for a location that’s about a half mile away. Paige starts walking, but a follow-up text rings before she’s even crossed the street.

Ma freshie 💘

mia and i are by the ice cream shop

hurry pls, she’s losing her mind

The next message is a picture of Mia making a ridiculous face, her lips twisted and one eye squinting in mock disgust. Paige snorts out a laugh right there on the sidewalk, the noise startling a couple walking by. She doesn’t care, though. The kid already seems like a riot, and Paige is oddly excited to meet her.

The stories Jo’s told her about Mia over the past month and a half come rushing back: the eight-year-old’s uncanny ability to get under people’s skin, her endless energy, and her knack for saying the wildest things at the worst times. Paige has been looking forward to meeting her, though she’s still not sure if it’s because she’s genuinely curious about the so-called “demon child” or if she just wants to see Jo in full big-sister mode.

When Paige rounds the final corner, she spots them immediately. Jo is standing near a brightly colored ice cream shop, her arms crossed, her face pinched in annoyance as she talks to a smaller figure—Mia, presumably. Mia, on the other hand, looks completely unbothered, her tiny hands on her hips as she talks back with the kind of confidence that only a sassy little girl could muster.

Paige slows her steps, taking in the scene with a grin tugging at her lips. Jo’s wearing a simple outfit—ripped jean shorts that show off her long legs, a tightly-fitted white tube top, and a Red Sox cap pulled low over her face. It’s casual, but there’s something about the way she looks so effortlessly good in it that makes Paige pause for half a second longer than she should.

Her stomach dips unexpectedly, and Paige frowns to herself. Relax.

Still, as Paige approaches, she can’t help but notice the way Jo’s tan skin seems to glow under the sun, how smooth her legs look. Paige shakes her head, forcing her thoughts back on track. Because, seriously, the fuck is she even thinking about?

Clearing her throat, Paige makes her presence known. Jo turns, her annoyed expression instantly replaced by something brighter—her eyes lighting up, a wide grin spreading across her face.

“Hey, JoJo,” Paige greets teasingly, the nickname rolling off her tongue before she can stop it.

Jo’s grin falters for half a second, and she slaps Paige’s arm lightly. “Quit calling me that.”

Paige smirks. “Nah.”

Before Jo can retort, Mia steps forward, her curious gaze fixed on Paige. The little girl is smaller than Paige expected, with a mop of dark curls and big brown eyes that seem to take in everything. Paige crouches down to her level, offering a hand.

“And you must be Mia,” she says warmly. “I’m Paige.”

Mia doesn’t take her hand right away. Instead, she gives Paige a long, exaggerated once-over, her gaze hard as she studies her. The blonde tries not to fidget, but it’s hard under the little girl’s piercing eyes. Jo wasn’t kidding; Mia’s got this quiet intensity that’s a little intimidating, even if she’s only eight years old and Paige is twenty.

Finally, Mia breaks into a grin and giggles as she takes Paige’s hand. “Hi,” she says, her voice lilting.

Paige relaxes, smiling back easily. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard lots about you.”

Mia tilts her head. “From Jo?”

“Yeah,” Paige remixes with a grin. “She talks about you all the time.”

Mia beams at this, clearly pleased, while Jo mutters something under her breath that Paige doesn’t catch.

Paige chuckles a little as she stands. “Sooo, ice cream, right?” she asks.

Mia’s eyes light up and she grabs Paige’s hand like she’s known her her whole life rather than a minute or two. “Yes! Best ice cream in Boston!”

Jo snorts, falling into step beside them, shoulder brushing against Paige’s lightly. “She says that about every ice cream place we go to,” she mumbles, though there’s an undeniable softness in her tone.

“It is the best,” Mia insist, her voice full of conviction.

Paige grins. “Guess I’ll have to see for myself.”

The moment they step inside the ice cream shop, Paige is hit with a wave of sugary air and the sound of chatter. It’s buzzing in here, bigger and more crowded than she expected, almost every table occupied, with kids laughing, parents corralling them. The line snakes almost to the door, and Paige glances down at Mia, who’s still clutching her hand tightly.

“Looks like this place is the best,” Paige observes, smiling down at the little girl. Mia beams back up at her, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Told you!” she chirps, voice triumphant.

Paige can’t help but laugh softly. She glances over at Jo, who’s scanning the menu above the counter. The sunlight streaming through the shop window catches on the stray wisps of Jo’s hair that escape from under her Red Sox cap. Paige tries not to let her eyes linger too long on the curve of Jo’s jawline or the way her tube top leaves the expanse of her collarbones and neck exposed.

Jesus Christ, she doesn’t know what’s wrong with herself today.

The line moves slowly, but Paige doesn’t mind. Mia fills the time with a steady stream of chatter, never letting go of the blonde. She tells her about her favorite ice cream flavor (superman), her least favorite vegetables (brussel sprouts), and their family dogs (a dachshund named Dory and a golden retriever named Murph).

Paige listens attentively, nodding and laughing at all the right moments. She’s used to this—her own siblings are just as chatty, and she’s always been good at humoring them. There’s something comforting about Mia’s unfiltered enthusiasm; it reminds Paige of home in a way that makes her chest ache just a little.

As they inch closer to the counter, the line passes by a display of candy shelves, and that’s when it happens. Mia freezes mid-sentence, her eyes locking into something with the kind of laser focus that only a kid ready for a sugar high can muster.

“Oh my gosh,” Mia breaths, pointing to a massive rainbow-swirled lollipop almost as big as her head. She finally removes her hand from Paige’s to start tugging at Jo, begging, “Joey, please, please, can I get it? Please?”

Paige blinks a little at the nickname. Joey. She’s never heard anyone call Jo that before—she thought the only one she had was the one she hates that the whole team’s started using for her (JoJo). But Paige thinks Joey’s cute. In fact, she files it away in the back of her mind.

“No. Definitely not,” Jo says immediately, shaking her head down at Mia.

Mia’s face scrunches up in exaggerated disbelief. “What? Why?”

Paige glances between them, finally seeing what Jo meant about Mia being a demon child. The girl’s dramatic flair is something else entirely.

Jo sighs heavily. “Because the last time we were here, Mom bought you one, and you threw it up on the way home. It was gross, Mia.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Mia whines, still eyeing the lollipop like it’s the holy grail.

“It was that bad,” Jo counters.

“But it tasted sooo good,” Mia insists, dragging out the words as she tugs at Jo’s arm again.

Jo raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Did it taste good when it came back up?”

Mia stops short, her small face scrunching up in thought. The gears are clearly turning in her head as she considers this. And just as suddenly as the argument started, Mia lets out a resigned sigh and steps away from the candy display.

“Fine,” she mumbles, sounding defeated.

Jo smiles to herself, clearly pleased, and Paige has to bite back a laugh at the entire sibling interaction.

“Nice save,” she says under her breath, leaning slightly toward Jo as they start moving forward in line again.

Jo glances at her, their faces closer than usual, though she doesn’t seem to notice. Her smile just widens as she responds, “You learn a few tricks when you’ve been stuck around her for eight years.”

Paige chuckles softly, watching Mia bound up to the counter like she’s on a mission, finally their turn to order. The little girl presses her hands against the glass case, scanning the vibrant tubs of ice cream with a dramatic level of intensity.

“I want Superman!” Mia declares, her voice brimming with excitement as she points at the swirled red, yellow, and blue ice cream.

“Please,” Jo adds, giving the employee a small, apologetic smile as she nudges Mia’s arm, giving her that older sister look that Paige can tell means—use your manners. The worker scoops a generous amount of the ice cream into a cup and hands it over the counter. Mia accepts it like it’s a trophy, her eyes and grin wide as ever.

“Can I just have a scoop of cotton candy, please?” Jo asks, her turn now, her voice casual like she’s not about to commit a culinary crime.

Paige can’t help but scrunch up her nose at the brunette’s order. Nasty. She doesn’t say anything—yet—but she stores the information away for later mockery. The worker hands Jo her cone, a garishly bright pink and blue swirl that makes Paige wince just looking at it.

When it’s Paige’s turn, she doesn’t even hesitate, ordering mint chip—her absolute favorite.

They pay quickly, before stepping outside into the warm air, each armed with their chosen flavor. Mia’s already half-covered in Superman ice cream and Jo has her head tilted slightly to avoid dripping the cotton candy monstrosity in her hand.

Paige glances at Jo’s cone and makes a face. “Cotton candy is crazy work,” she tells her, incredulous.

Jo raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What’s wrong with cotton candy?”

“Everything,” Paige answers, gesturing at the cone like it’s personally offended her. “It’s basically sugar-flavored-sugar. It doesn’t even taste like real cotton candy. It’s just—” She shudders dramatically.

Jo narrows her eyes at Paige’s cone in retaliation. “Says the person eating frozen toothpaste.”

Paige gasps, her hand flying to her chest in mock indignation. “Excuse me, mint chip is a classic. It’s refreshing. It’s balanced. It’s—”

“Minty,” Jo interrupts, wrinkling her nose. “Which is gross.”

“It’s not gross! You’re gross,” Paige fires back, grinning despite herself.

Mia, who’s been watching the exchange with wide eyes, suddenly pipes up. “Okay, I’ll decide!” she declares. She scoops up some of her Superman ice cream for good measure before pointing her tiny spoon at Jo’s cone. “Joey, let me try yours first.”

Jo bends down slightly to hold out her cone, and Mia takes a small bite. She lets it melt in her mouth, her face scrunching up like she’s debating a complex equation. Finally, she nods. “It’s okay,” she says, though she doesn’t look thrilled.

Jo looks affronted. “Just okay?”

Mia shrugs nonchalantly before turning to Paige. “Now yours!”

Paige kneels slightly to hold out her cone. Mia eyes it suspiciously. “Why is it green?” she asks, sounding almost fearful.

“Don’t worry ‘bout the color,” Paige tells her, waving off the question. “It’s good. Trust.”

Mia hesitates for a second longer before scooping up a tiny bite. She puts it in her mouth, and her face goes still. For a moment, Paige wonders if she’s about to spit it out, but then Mia’s eyes light up.

“This. Is. So. Good!” the eight-year-old squeals, practically bouncing in place.

Paige grins, holding out her hand for a high five. “Told you. Welcome to the winning team.”

Mia smacks her hand enthusiastically, ice cream forgotten for a moment. Jo, however, is standing off to the side, arms crossed and pouting like a kid who just lost her favorite game. Paige glances at her and immediately starts laughing.

“Oh, don’t be mad,” she teases, nudging Jo’s arm.

“She’s supposed to be on my side!” Jo grumbles, glaring halfheartedly at Mia. “I’m your sister!”

Mia sticks her tongue out at her, clearly unbothered. “You’re just mad because you have bad taste.”

Paige nearly chokes on her ice cream, laughing so hard she has to steady herself against a bench they’re stood next to. “Dang, Mia!”

Jo shakes her head, though the corner of her mouth twitches upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you little menace,” she mumbles, ruffling Mia’s hair.

Mia slaps her hand away from her head, beginning to bicker with Jo. Paige watches, quiet now as she bites into her cone. She finds herself unable to look away, a strange warmth blooming in her chest.

See, whatever that is, has to go. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t understand it in the slightest.

It just—has to go.

THE LIVING ROOM feels cozy in a way that Paige hasn’t experienced in a long time. It’s not her home, not her couch, not her family, but something about it wraps around her, soft and warm. The overhead light is off, leaving the room bathed in the dim glow of the TV. Colors flicker against the walls, shapes shifting across the furniture. Paige doesn’t know what movie is playing—something animated, she thinks—but it’s barely background noise at this point.

Jo sits a few feet away, her back against the armrest of the couch, one leg stretched out, the other bent slightly. Mia’s curled up fast asleep in her lap, her little head tucked under Jo’s arm, one of Jo’s hands running lazily through the little girl’s hair. The motion is slow and deliberate, like second nature, and it’s strangely captivating. Paige finds herself staring, watching the way Jo’s fingers disappear into soft brown curls, touch gentle.

Paige hadn’t planned to stay this long. After Mia had declared mint chip her new favorite ice cream and told Paige she could officially call her Mimi—a nickname that only her absolute favorite people can use—they’d hung out all day, walking around the Commons, then shopping, then getting dinner. After that, they were meant to depart, Jo and Mia going home, and Paige going back to her hotel. But then Mia had looked up at her with those big, pleading eyes, practically begging Paige to come back and watch a movie with them. And Paige is terrible at saying no to kids.

So, she came home with them, to their house which sits right on the outline of the city. The house isn’t massive, but it’s nice—nice enough for Paige to have faintly wondered how much money Jo’s parents make. But it’s still welcoming and cozy, and Paige feels comfortable here. She also likes that she’s got to see all the photos around—the ones of Jo when she was little, some more recent ones that Paige can guess are apart of her senior photos, and a couple of her with her sisters.

The only one that she didn’t enjoy seeing was that one. A nicely framed picture of Jo and her boyfriend sitting on the shelf directly to Paige’s right. They look happy in it. Too happy, in Paige’s opinion, though she doesn’t know why it bothers her so much. Maybe she’s got some sort of jealousy deep down in the part of her heart where her commitment issues aren’t veined around, an envy toward a stable relationship like that. But either way, there’s no reason for her to care. And yet, she doesn’t like it.

Paige shakes the thought away, focusing instead on the conversation. She and Jo have been talking quietly since Mia fell asleep, their voices hushed but easy. It reminds Paige of late nights back at their shared apartment on campus, how they’ll end up in the kitchen at the same time and somehow talk for hours without meaning to. Paige likes those moments more than she’ll ever admit, and this feels no different.

Their conversation drifts, flowing naturally, until Jo starts talking about her sisters. “I admire them, you know,” she says softly, her hand still moving through Mia’s hair. “Payton, especially. She’s… well, she’s incredible. Mia thinks she walks on water, and honestly, sometimes I do, too.”

Paige tilts her head, curious. Jo’s voice has a different quality now—still soft, but there’s something else underneath it. Not sadness exactly, but something close. “What about you?” Paige asks. “You’re incredible, too. And Mia clearly adores you.”

Jo smiles, but—for once—it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, but it’s different. Payton’s a dancer—like, a real dancer. She’s in New York City, with the ballet there. And that’s what Mia loves. That’s what they both love. And, y’know, they connect over it. It’s dance; it’s their thing.”

Paige frowns, the words sinking in. Jo rarely talks like this. She’s always so happy, so upbeat, so wrapped in sunshine that Paige sometimes forgets there might be anything else underneath. “You don’t feel connected to them?” she asks, her voice a little quieter now.

Jo hesitates, her hand pausing in Mia’s hair for just a second before continuing. “Not really,” she admits. “I mean, I love them, obviously. But… it’s hard sometimes. I’ve always been the odd one out, you know? The one who plays basketball while they dance. Sometimes it just feels like we’re on completely different planets.”

Paige doesn’t know what to say at first. She’s surprised—stupidly so, maybe, because she’s never considered Jo might feel this way. But, if she thinks about it, it makes sense.

“I get that,” the blonde finally says, soft but steady. “I mean, I’m so much older than my siblings that it’s hard to connect with them sometimes, too. But… for what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing. And I know Mia does too—whether she says it or not.”

Jo looks over at her then, and for a moment, Paige thinks she might forget how to breathe. There’s something in Jo’s eyes, something raw and unguarded, and it makes Paige’s chest feel tight. “Thanks,” Jo says quietly, barely a whisper.

The moment feels too heavy, too close, and Paige decides to lighten the mood. “So,” she says, changing the subject, her small smile curling into more of a smirk. “Mia calls you Joey?”

Jo’s smile returns, softer this time but more genuine. “Yeah. My whole family does. It’s a much better nickname than that JoJo Siwa shit y’all have come up with.”

Paige laughs, shaking her head. “Don’t shit on the JoJo nickname. It’s iconic.”

Jo raises an eyebrow, her smile turning teasing. “Iconically bad,” she corrects.

“Okay, fine,” Paige says, pretending to think. “But I like Joey more, too. It’s cute. Maybe I’ll start calling you that instead.”

Jo shrugs, but her smile widens just a little. “Anything’s better than JoJo.”

Paige grins, leaning back into the couch, though—for whatever reason—her heart starts thumping a little faster. She doesn’t know why she feels the way she does around Jo sometimes—why moments like this stick with her longer than they probably should. But for now, she doesn’t let herself think about it too much. Instead, she lets herself enjoy the quiet, the warmth of the room, and the easy rhythm of their conversation.

[dustpages]

Baby Blue Love

" Plié, plié, and a final pirouette." Mr. Lafayette instructed us to wrap up the endless last class of the week at the Opera de Paris.

Every step I took towards the dressing room was painful, my legs especially were wobbling given the intensity of this week's training. It was a year since I joined the Opera as a corps de ballet member, but it didn't make it any easier to cope with the sore muscles. 

I wrapped myself in my long puffed jacket and walked out of the Opera Garnier. It had rained all day long and the wind was hauling in the old cobblestone streets of the city, it was baltic.

I carefully descended the stoned stairs of the Opera, making my way towards the metro station. I couldn't bear to stay any longer than was necessary in that awful weather. 

The streets were almost deserted given the hour the training ended. I was concentrating on not falling on the slippery pavement when a feeble cry made me divert my eyes from my own feet. 

 I followed the sobbing sound finding just around a corner a small kid who was trying to protect himself from the wind. His face was angelic, his eyes were piercing blue and his hair was raven black and messy, it made him look like an abandoned puppy. He looked so helpless that my heart immediately melted. He couldn't be more than five years old.

The little boy stopped crying when he saw me approaching and looked at me curiously, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his dirty shirt. He had a blue blanket wrapped around him and some bread crumbs in his pocket. My heart sank at the sight of the poor thing. "Where are you from?" I asked him in my best French, even though he was not French. 

" I don't know." He said in a broken French accent, and then in a strong British accent. " I haven't got a clue."

I kneeled down beside him and gave him a soft smile. "Well, why don't you come with me? You can have some hot chocolate and we'll see what we can do."

His blue eyes lightened up at the mention of hot chocolate. "Really?"

" Of course." I said holding out my hand for him to grab. He held it strongly as if he was sure that I was going to be his saviour. I felt my heart clenching at the thought of him being all alone on the cold street. He was such a small creature, I wanted to protect him from everything, I wanted to keep him safe in my arms and never let go given that the world seemed to have already thrown him a 

 harsh blow.

We entered the metro and we found ourselves in a carriage, sitting on two seats. He kept shaking clearly intimidated by the people around us. I held his hand, which was freezing, trying to calm him down; it was pointless to do small talks in that context.

We reached our stop and I led him towards my flat, which was in the same arrondissement of the Opera.

I opened the door and welcomed him into my house, a newly renovated Haussmann flat with a Versailles parquet spreading all around. 

It was minimalistic furbished with white walls, and modern pieces of furniture. I pushed him inside, letting him warm up a bit. "You must be cold." I said unbuttoning my jacket, and giving it to him. 

I walked into the kitchen to make him some hot chocolate, it was the first thing that came to my mind in that situation. I knew nothing about him and I knew he would be hungry, but I wanted something warmer and sweeter than a normal meal.

When I returned to the living room he was sitting on my sofa, with my jacket on his shoulders. It was huge for him, it swallowed his small frame entirely, but it gave him a sense of warmth. He was so cute that I couldn't help myself but laugh at the sight.

I handed him the mug of hot chocolate and he devoured it hungrily, leaving some drops of the chocolate on his lips. I felt myself laughing again at the sight, I couldn't help myself he was the epitome of cuteness. 

" You are gonna stay here for the night, and tomorrow we will figure out what to do." I asserted composing myself. 

He just nodded at me. " Time for a warm bath." I took his hand in mine and led him to the bathroom. 

I filled the tub with water and added some bath salts, letting the sweet aroma fill the room. " Can you undress yourself?" I asked, feeling a bit embarrassed at the prospect of undressing such a little child.

" Affirmative ma'am." He answered and I left him in the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I went into the guest room and retrieved some of my old clothes, that I had left there for my occasional guests. I brought them back into the bathroom and knocked gently. "Are you done?" I whispered.

"Yes."

I opened the door. He was standing naked in front of me, his small body dripping with water. His hair was glued to his forehead, and he had some water drops still on his body. His blue eyes looked at me shyly; he had his hands covering his pelvis area. "Don't be ashamed.” I said and took him by the hand.  

I handed him one of my old T-shirts and a pair of leggings. They were a bit too large for his small frame but he looked adorable nonetheless. He smiled shyly at me and I felt again my heart clenching. I took a towel and dried his hair, trying not to touch him more than necessary. His smell was that of innocence, it smelled like milk and bread and something sweeter. 

I dried his hair and helped him in getting dressed. He was still shaking so I grabbed his hand again, letting him feel my warmth. "Do you want to sleep with me?" I questioned him not wanting him to sleep all alone in one of my guest rooms.

" If you don't mind." he stated after a second of deep thought.  

"No, I don't mind at all." I smiled and we went into my bedroom. We slipped under the blanket together and I wrapped him in my arms, giving him a gentle hug. His body felt so tiny against mine, I felt the urge to protect him from the world, I could have been the one making his life better. 

I wasn't too old respect to him, I would have turned eighteen next March. I could have been his legal tutor, big sister or mum, I didn't care about the etiquette.

" Good night." He murmured, his voice still hoarse from the crying.

" Good night." I whispered and closed my eyes. I could feel his eyes on me, I could feel his breath on my neck, but I tried to fall asleep anyway. 

It took me some time, but I finally fell into a deep sleep lulled by the rhythm of his breath and his tiny hand resting on my shoulder. I didn't even wake up when he snuggled closer to me, letting his head rest on the crook of my neck. I just felt his tiny breath on my skin and I was gone.

I woke up in the middle of the night due to a scream, the little creature beside me was trembling all over, he was still asleep. He was crying and murmuring in his dream, his words were indistinguishable but his fear was clear. 

Holding him tight, I took him in my arms, rocking him from side to side as I would do with a doll. I whispered some comforting words, telling him that everything was okay, that he was safe now. That he would never be alone again. 

His eyes slowly opened, they were hazy with tears, he looked up at me with the expression of a lost puppy. " It's okay." I whispered holding his gaze with mine. "You're safe." I continued, I tried not to break eye contact, so he could feel my sincerity. 

 I wanted him to see that I was real, I wasn't part of his nightmare. 

After some time his breathing calmed down and he fell asleep again his tiny hand was grabbing mine, he was squeezing it softly. I wrapped myself around his small body, trying to give him the warmth he was craving. 

In the next few days with the help of my parents, I managed to adopt him even though I wasn't eighteen yet. My parents were the ones on paper who were his tutors.

He began living with me. I had to manage my time between the endless hours of dancing, my private school where I was about to graduate, my baby, and my boyfriend Claude.

I had mirrors at home. I was well aware of my appearance, I've always been pretty and growing older, I blossomed. Dancing for hours and hours each day gave me a slender and toned body. I could tell to have everything to strike hearths here and there, and I surely did, even though none of them had ever conquered mine. 

Claude had been with me for barely a few months, he was a bit older than me and not even particularly funny.

He was handsome though, tall with blonde hair and a nice body. Sex was satisfying as well, he was gifted but he lacked passion. 

We were having a late dinner in my flat, I was late from the dance class and my baby was already sleeping in his room.

" Do you want some more?" I asked him pointing to the plate of chicken in the middle of our table. He shook his head no.

" I don't get why you are ruining your life taking care of that little shit." he asserted. " Last time I got him while he was playing with me shoes, they were bloody expensive."

" He is just a kid, and you should be more patient." I retorted. " You scolded him for nothing; he cried all night."

" He is just a whimper." He offended my son.

" Would you keep going losing time or we fuck?" I tried to change the topic.

He didn't lose any time ripping my white wool carding apart, the silver buttons flew all around the kitchen. I had on a black and white checked skirt and white cotton short stockings. He cleared the table throwing plates and cutleries on the marble floor, cracking sounds echoed in the silence of the flat. 

Claude made me bend on the table, he positioned me behind me and lifted my skirt over my back.

" You'll get what you asked for." he spat on his dick and pushed into me, using his fingers to pull my panties aside.  I felt the tip of his dick sliding into my pussy, stretching me as he entered me fully. I moaned at the sudden intrusion, but he just started pumping inside me not waiting for me to adjust to his size. He took my hips and began pounding me with full force, I cried out in pain, I was not prepared. My legs were already hurting from the hours of dance and my pussy was dry, he was tearing me apart. I could hear him groaning behind me, I knew he was close to his peak. 

" Mina, I wetted the bed." I heard my son’s voice; he was standing naked on the kitchen door frame crying.

" You disgusting whimper get out of here." Claude yelled making my baby cry even more.

He gave me a few more pumps before I was able to push him back. " You are a dickhead." I offended him.

" At least I'm naturally gifted down there, not like that thing and his microscopic dick." he pointed to my son who was crying desperately. 

I dashed to my son kneeling in front of him,  letting my skirt fall down over my ass. I gathered him in a hug, trying to comfort him. He was trembling all over and he was looking at Claude with scared eyes. 

" Claude get the fuck out of here. We are done, for good." I stated standing up with my baby in my arms.

"  Well, I guess we won’t see again." He laughed grabbing his dick and shoving it in my face. “But it’s your loss nonetheless." 

I pushed him away, disgusted and closed the door on his face. 

As soon as we were alone my baby stopped crying, I felt a wave of relief.  " Everything is gonna be okay." I promised him. " Now let's get you some clean clothes and a new pair of undies."

I carried him into his bedroom and changed him into a new pair of clothes. I cleaned up the mess Claude made in the kitchen and then we had some tea with biscuits in the living room, my baby was fully awake unluckily I was dreaming of sleeping.

" Mum, what does it mean ' his microscopic dick'?" he quoted what that bastard of my ex told him.  I laughed a bit at the way he pronounced the curse word, and I realised that I should have been more careful of what I said in front of him.

" Baby, there's nothing wrong with your body. You  are still young and you'll grow up as time goes by." I explained to him. " That moron was trying to hurt you, he was jealous of your beauty." I hugged him tight in my arms.

He looked up at me curiously. " Am I really beautiful?" his voice sounded way too cute.

" Of course you are, you look just like me." I replied smiling at him.

I could see his eyes lightening up at my words. " I'm gonna sleep with you tonight." he asserted, he was trying to get under my blanket. 

I laughed and agreed, letting him climb on the bed beside me. We cuddled under the blanket, and we soon fell asleep.

We both slept like babies, my son's little hand was holding mine, and his head was resting on the crook of my arm. I felt him moving around in the middle of the night and I opened my eyes finding him on top of me. 

" Mum." he whispered his voice was so tiny and cute. 

" Yes?" I replied my voice hoarse from sleep.

" Milk." he uttered moving his lips on my naked chest. 

I realized what he meant and laughed at his innocence. " I can't give you milk." I whispered. 

His tiny and soft lips parted taking my nipple in, he had no clue what he was doing but it was feeling fantastic. 

He was sucking eagerly looking for milk, I could feel my nipples getting hard in his mouth. I was letting him do what he wanted, I was just enjoying the moment.

He stopped after a while looking at me curiously. I could read the confusion on his face, he didn't understand why there wasn't milk.

" Keep sucking baby, a magical fluid will come out if you do a good job." I was turned on and I was eager for more.

He nodded and started sucking me again, he took the other nipple in his mouth looking for a better luck.

His tongue was darting in and out of my nipple, he was making it hard as stone. His magnificent blue eyes were showing determination, I closed my arms around him. I could feel my pussy wetting and pulsating, I had never been so aroused.

His little body was hot on my skin. I used one hand to play with my clit, rubbing it slowly while his mouth was still busy with my nipples, with the other I gently touched his hair. 

He was giggling under my touch, my hand moved down his hand rubbing on his small back. His ass was round and perfect, it called for me to be spanked. 

I gave it a gentle slap. My son, who has kept doing his job adamantly, bit my nipple, sending a powerful wave of pleasure down my body. 

My cunt couldn't take it anymore, it convulsed around my fingers making me cum. I squirted on my bed making the sheets wet.

" Mum wetted the bed, like me." he laughed not understanding the whole thing. 

" Don't worry baby, you did a terrific job." I kissed his forehead. " Can I peck your lips, please?” 

He nodded shyly.

 " Close your eyes." I ordered, and he obeyed. 

I pressed my lips on him, they were soft and tasted like milk, I felt like I was eating him. He gasped and opened his mouth, I took advantage of that and slipped the tip of my tongue in, dancing it against his. He let out a moan and wrapped his arms around me, he started kissing me back with the same passion. He was letting me devour him, not that he could do otherwise. 

 I took my time, I wanted him to feel good. I wanted to kiss him to make him feel loved and appreciated. 

 I could feel the love for him growing up in my heart; he was my baby. 

….

Long story short, till the present time. Twelve years later.

I was the epitome of grace and beauty, not my words but of the Opera director. I had made my way through the vertical ladder of the ballet corps de ballet, becoming one of the best and most renowned dancers of the Opera de Paris, I had earned a lot of respect and money. 

Every night I performed I had a few suitors waiting for me at the exit of my changing room. Praising my mesmerizing face, my toned and long legs and my perfectly round butt. They would offer me the moon, but I only cared about getting home to my little boy.

 Nothing could compare to how beautiful I felt when he was around. He had grown up with the most piercing blue eyes and the same raven-black hair as mine. His smile was devastating and he had the body of a dancer.

His smile made my knees weak, his voice made my soul sing. He was the epitome of perfection, and he was all mine.

I had always thought that I had adopted him to save him, but now I realized that I had done it for myself. I had done it to save myself. From loneliness, from boredom, from a life without a purpose more than dancing.

I had routed him to become a classic dancer since he got adjusted to his new life with me, I tried my best to keep an eye on him without interfering with his development. I wasn't a teacher and the serious discipline I've been subjected to when I was younger had scarred me, and I didn't want to pass those scars on him.

Now that he was seventeen years old, I could tell he had become a good dancer. He was still raw in some areas, but in general I was proud of him. 

We were eating dinner at the dining table, it was another snowy night in Paris. His beautiful blue eyes stared at me for a good second, I had my hair still styled and the same fancy make-up that I wore all day for the commercial that the company was about to release before Christmas to promote the ballet activities. 

" Mina, you look breathtaking." he complimented me. It was rare for him to express his own thoughts. 

My cheeks flushed crimson red,  my body became all tingly, and my breath caught in my throat. 

" Thank you.” I murmured feeling the blush spreading all over my face and neck.

" It was just the truth." He declared with a small smirk. I swallowed hard trying not to make the situation too awkward. 

He was wearing a white shirt and a black pair of jeans, his black hair was messy and his blue eyes sparkled in the light. "I have to ask you something." he said nervously. " May I?" he added staring at me shyly. 

" Of course you may." I answered encouragingly.

" I'm facing a problem, a sort of dilemma." he began. " It's getting more and more daunting for me to dance."

" What are you talking about? You are still a bit inexperienced but still very young." I confronted him. 

" It's not about that. I can't help myself not to get unreasonably hard down there while I'm dancing with all the other girls. I don't get it, I try to stay relaxed and all but it doesn't change anything. It hurts." he told me purring out his thoughts. 

" Oh." I responded. I was well aware that this day would have come, his hormones were more agitated than the blizzard outside the windows.

" First of all don't question your career, the problem you encountered is utterly normal for all young men." I explained him. 

I was his centre of gravity, it wasn't concerning for me to talk to him about his sexuality. 

" I guess you are aware of what is occurring in your body, you are too brilliant not to know it." I continued. 

" We talk about it at school about sex and stuff, but all of this happening to me is getting out of hand." he replied.

I thought about what to answer him. I was gonna be the one through this path but I reckoned that to maximize the outcome and reduce the awkwardness between us, it was more 'efficient' to let him watch an experienced couple have sex in real life with him. 

" I do reckon for your first time experiencing sex in real life is better if you see a navigate couple doing it, more than having me telling you what to do or not to do." I affirmed. " My friend Momo is, for what I know, in a kind of open relationship with a man or more. I'm gonna ask her to set up a kind of masterclass for us in the next days."

His eyes sparkled, he was aware of who Momo was and how hot she looked.

" Are you sure Momo will be down to do it?" he gulped. 

" It doesn't hurt to ring her and ask." I replied standing up to call her.

To confirm my idea she accepted immediately to have sex in front of us, she has always been a bit of a show-off. I had to give her that she created a career around her attitude, becoming one of the main attractions of the Crazy Horse. 

I walked back to my baby who was looking at me with interest. " She is down to do it, the day after tomorrow it's her free day so she is down to help us." I explained. 

He stood up and hugged me. " Thank you. You have always provided for me, I adore you."  his voice was low and sweet as the candy floss.

I melted like snow under the summer sun and reciprocated the hug pulling him closer to me. His warm breath was on my neck and his hands were wrapped around my waist, I felt him pressing his body against mine.

It was the first time that he had touched me with so much affection. I couldn't stop my body from reacting to him and my nipples became hard. The place between my legs became wet and tingly.

I pecked his soft lips, he parted them and our tongues met in a dance. His kisses were soft and sweet, they made me feel so warm inside. 

I pulled out before things could go out of control. " Wait for a few days and then we will figure it out what to do." I asserted. " Be aware that I kissed because I really wanted to." 

I broke and walked back into the kitchen sensing his eyes on me as I walked away. 

The D-day came fast, Momo had told me to go to her place at ten sharp. I had dinner with my baby, he was tensed like a violin cord. 

I was wearing a simple outfit composed of a black T-shirt, a black short skit and a pair of black heels.

I had wavy hair for the occasion, and my legs were on full display. He had stared at them since I wore this outfit before dinner, I was very conscious of the effect I was having on him. 

" Stop fidgeting, with the food. We are gonna be late if you don't get a move." I opined cleaning the last bits of food on my plate.

He almost choked on the mouthful of spaghetti he was swallowing. He had to cough for a while and his eyes became glassy from the effort. " Sorry, sorry." he managed to say. His face was red from the effort and his blue eyes were shining, he looked like an angel.

I laughed at the sight and walked towards the door. " Come on. Let's go." I told him grabbing my coat from the coat rack.

We walked in silence until we got to Momo's door, it was raining. "Rules are simple, we watch and you don't touch anything that isn't consented to by Momo or me." I warned him.

He nodded while we took the lift to her front door. Momo welcomed us wearing a ridiculous cream corset and white panties, her tits were barely contained by the corset and the rest of the body was naked.

" Welcome to Momo's house." She said spinning around to let us see her body. 

" What a show-off." I affirmed in my mind. My baby was stunned by her look, he didn't even step into the flat. I had to drag him inside pulling his arm.

" Good evening Mina." a low and seductive voice called me. I diverted my gaze from Momo meeting Jean-Pierre's eyes. 

" Bugger. Why did you call him in for tonight?" I hissed speaking to Momo.

Jean-Pierre was a casting member at the Crazy Horse. His skin was black as a night sky, his body was muscular and well-defined. Not to mention he had one of the most impressive dicks I've ever seen. It was a beast, it would be hard to believe that someone could manage to swallow it entirely. He had a very specific role in Momo's sex life and he didn't even need to explain. He was the bull in her stable and she was the cowgirl. 

"Don't be a prude Mina. I know you have indulged some nights, over the last years with him." she replied. " You know he more than a good fuck."

I got red in the face feeling embarrassed. My baby eyes were on me and Jean-Pierre, I could see his brain trying to elaborate on what he had just heard. 

Momo was right, I couldn't deny her affirmation. I had met him a few times in the past in those moments when I needed to release the stress without having to worry about any repercussions. 

" Shall we begin." I tried to change the subject in question. 

Momo nodded leading us towards the principal bedroom. The light was dimmed and the room was filled by the scent of jasmine and lavender. 

My baby walked towards me, he stood beside me and his body touched mine. I tried my best to ignore the reaction of my body, but it was hard to ignore him, especially given how he looked.  He was so handsome that I wanted to kiss him all over his body. 

Jean-Pierre and Momo got naked in a heartbeat, Momo walked towards us, giving a soft kiss on my lips and then she walked towards my baby and kissed him as well. 

Jean-Pierre came next to Momo, his dick was already half hard and pointing towards the sky. 

" Wanna touch it?" he smirked at me.  

I ignored him, trying not to blush even more."Don't be a dick." Momo came to help me. 

She grabbed his arms and pulled him towards the bed, leaving me and my baby to watch.

They started kissing each other passionately, their tongues entwined and their hands were all over each other's body. Momo moaned when Jean-Pierre's fingers started stroking her pussy. She was already dripping wet, her juices were leaking down her legs.

I glanced at my baby and I saw him watching the scene in front of him, his eyes were wide with wonder.

Jean-Pierre grabbed Momo by the hair pulling her head back and exposing her neck to him. He started kissing her neck and sucking on it. Momo started panting when he moved lower and sucked on her tits. His dick was fully hard now, I could see it rubbing against her pussy.

Momo tried to rub herself against it but he held her still. " I'll let you come when I want to." he murmured in her ear. 

" Please Jean-Pierre." she begged.

He let her go and she knelt in front of his dick. She took it in her hands and started sucking on the head, she was drooling all over it. " You are such a good girl." he complimented her. 

He pushed her head down making her take his dick as much as she could in her mouth. Her eyes were wide open, and her hair was covering his lower abdomen. His dick was so big it wasn't able to fit entirely in her mouth, it was leaking pre-cum on her lips and the floor. 

" Good girl." Jean-Pierre moaned face-fucking her without any mercy. She gagged loudly, obviously in pain. " Swallow my cock." he commanded her.

She nodded and started bobbing her head, her lips were stretched to the limits around his shaft. She had tears running down her cheeks, she was struggling to take his dick in her mouth.

Jean-Pierre pulled her off him, she was gasping for air.  " Go on all four on the bed." he commanded her.

She did as told. " Now I'll gonna make you come." Jean-Pierre promised. He positioned himself behind her and grabbed his dick with one of his hands. He rubbed it against her pussy and pushed the head in. 

Momo started moaning loudly, he was pushing his cock in inch by inch, and her pussy was stretched to her limits to fit him.

He began pounding her aggressively from the beginning, not letting her inside get used to his shaft. 

" Bastard." was the only word Momo was able to pronounce before screaming as his dick botted out. 

Her pussy was dripping wet around him, she was already cumming. He kept thrusting in and out of her, his dick moving in a perfect rhythm.

" You are such a greedy little girl." he said grabbing her hips,  to make her feel more of his cock. 

" Yes, daddy." she moaned.

I could see the pleasure on her face, her tits bouncing at every thrust. She was dripping wet and her pussy was gaping around his dick. I couldn't help but feel myself getting wet at the sight of the two of them. 

Jean-Pierre's hand reached down and rubbed her clit, making her cum again. She screamed his name and he kept fucking her ruthlessly. 

" Baby, sex isn't just about being wild and rough as he is doing. If you truly love your partner you will be more sensible to her feelings and desires." I explained to my baby. " Don't forget to always ask for consent."

" Yes, I won't forget." he responded. My arm was wrapped around his shoulder forcing him to lay his head on me, his hair smelled of fresh grass and mint, it made me feel warm inside.

" Daddy, I want more." Momo screamed. Jean-Pierre picked up the pace of his thrusts, his breathing was heavy and his skin was glistening with sweat. 

His dick popped out of Momo's pussy and he stroked it with his hand. Momo was shaking and trembling from the pleasure.

" Come on my face." Momo commanded him. He did as told, his cock spurted out a long stream of cum on her face and tits. 

He laid down on the bed, his dick was still hard. He grabbed her by the hair and made her lick her own cum from his dick.

Momo obliged cleaning him entirely and sucking his cock once more, she took it in her mouth and started bobbing her head again.

His eyes were closed and he was panting, his hips were bucking towards her mouth. His dick grew even harder if it was possible. 

" Swallow my cum." he ordered her.

Momo obeyed him and sucked him harder. He groaned and came in her mouth, filling her throat with his seed. 

She swallowed everything he gave her and then licked his cock clean, she let him go when he was completely spent.

She crawled back to us and kissed me on the lips. " That was quite funny." She opined.

My son stared at her big tits with lust.  His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated. I could feel him hard against me. He was still staring at Momo with hunger. " Go on." Momo said in a seductive tone. " Fuck me."

Jean-Pierre sat up, his eyes fixed on my baby's body. " Go on, he's your toy. Do with him as you please." Jean-Pierre declared. 

He got up from the bed and walked towards the bathroom to clean himself.

My baby was still staring at Momo, he hadn't moved a muscle. " What are you waiting for?" Momo asked him. " Come on." she said spreading her legs.

" Don't rush him, he is still a virgin." I stated. 

" Mum, I want you to be my first." he said cutely. 

" I will baby, but now just go to Momo and have some fun." I incited him. 

" Come here and fuck my tits." she declared squeezing her tits in her hand.

He walked towards her slowly, his blue eyes were on Momo and he was licking his lips. He dropped his trousers and his dick sprang out. He was hard and it was leaking of precum. 

He knelt on the bed and grabbed Momo's tits, squeezing them hard. His dick started rubbing against Momo's body, he was already moaning.

" To be a white boy you got yourself a nice cock." Momo complimented him.

" Thank you." he answered shyly. He looked at me for a second before leaning in and kissing Momo on the lips.

His hips started bucking against hers and his cock was sliding up and down her body, leaving a trail of precum behind. 

Momo pressed her tits together creating a narrower tunnel where my son was thrusting desperately. I could only imagine the sensations she was feelings having those big melons rubbing against his dick.

His moans were getting louder, his hands were grasping the bedboard, and she was letting him do as he pleased. 

I felt myself wetting at the sight, it was so arousing to see him being pleasured like that. His body trembled after a good fifteen minutes, anticipating his climax. 

Momo sensed it as well. " Lie on the bed, I'll finish you off with my mouth." she pushed him to lie on the mattress and got on top of him. She grabbed his cock in her hands and stroked for a few seconds before diving her head on it.

Her lips wrapped around his shaft and her tongue started licking it. She was sucking on him greedily, she knew how to do it. I felt my nipples growing hard at the sight. 

He was moaning loudly and his hips were bucking up towards her mouth.  He grabbed her head and pushed her further on his dick, making her take as much as she can.

" Swallow my cum." my son moaned, his eyes were shut tight.

She obeyed him and started sucking harder. My son's eyes flew open and he came in her mouth with a loud moan. 

His cock spurted out jets of cum inside her mouth and she swallowed them all without leaving a drop. His cock twitched in her mouth for a few seconds more before she released it with a loud pop. 

Momo crawled back to me, her lips and chin were covered with my son's cum. She grabbed me by the hair and pulled me in for a kiss. I could taste my son's seed on her tongue, it tasted sweet like a caramel. 

"He tastes better than anyone I sucked before." she whispered in my ear. I could only agree with her assertion.

" Son, it's time to go home." I told him collecting his clothes scattered on the floor. 

We dressed in silence and we went back to our place. My son was walking in silence, his head bowed. 

We walked into my bedroom, his eyes locked on mine, he undressed himself again and he grabbed me by the waist, pushing me on the bed. I let him, I knew what he wanted.

He undressed me and started kissing me on my lips, his kiss was soft and gentle. I felt my body melting at the touch of his lips on mine.

His mouth moved down my body until it reached my pussy, I was already wet and aching to be filled.

He started licking my pussy, his tongue was dancing on my skin. I moaned loudly as he touched my clit with his tongue.

He was devouring my cunt savouring the juice that was licking out. The only thing I could do was to push his head deeper into me.

I came hard on his face, my juices gushed out, and he drank it all. He licked my pussy clean and then came to kiss me again, letting me taste myself on his tongue. 

" Please fuck me, baby." I begged him, he looked hesitant for a moment. 

" I'm afraid not to last enough inside of you." he breathed out. 

He was so cute in this situation. " Just take me as you please and don't worry of anything else." I incited him.

He positioned himself between my legs and grabbed his cock in his hands, he rubbed it against my pussy, letting his precum mix with my own juices.

" Please." I begged him again. He pushed himself in, his dick stretching my pussy out so good.

He was gentle inserting inches by inches inside my cunt till he had buried himself completely inside me. I moaned at the sensation of being full, he felt so good inside me.

" Move, baby." I murmured. “I’m all yours."

He leaned on my body, resting his head on the crook of my neck, his breath was hot on my skin. He began thrusting in and out my body slowly, he was trying to last as long as he could. 

" Harder." I whispered in his ear.

He obliged me picking up the pace and fucking me like an animal, his hips bucking wildly against mine. His balls were smacking my ass loudly and my tits were bouncing with every thrust.

I was in total bliss of pleasure, his dick was big enough to satisfy me completely without hurting too much. 

" If you keep going like this, you are gonna make cum again." I purred into his ear obtaining a bite on my neck. 

My hands scratched the soft skin of his back making him groan and sped up his pace, he was fucking in earnest.

"Oh fuck." I moaned wrapping my legs around his waist forcing him to go deeper in me. " I'm cumming." I screamed.

He fucked me through my orgasm, his dick twitching inside me, his pelvis grinding against mine.

" I can't hold it back anymore." He cried out.  I kissed his lips passionately, taking control of my actions.

" My pussy is yours, fill me whenever you are ready." I whispered in his mouth.

He lost all the control he had. His lips sucked my lower lip like it was a sweet, his hips motioned wildly for two minutes more before erupting. He came copiously, ropes of cum spurting out of his dick and filling me entirely. 

His thrusts slowed down until he came to rest inside of me, his dick still throbbing with pleasure. He broke our kiss, looking me in the eyes. He smiled shyly at me.

" Thank you, mum." he said softly. 

" Anytime, baby." I responded and kissed his forehead.

He pulled out of me, his dick wet with my juice and his seed. He cleaned it on the sheet and then crawled in my arms, his head resting on my chest. I wrapped him in my arms holding him tight as he looked at me with love and devotion. 

I kissed his head and looked at the digital alarm on my nightstand he had lasted a little less 10 minutes inside of me and he had made me cum. It wasn't a bad performance per se but it was far away from the best I've ever had. 

" Good first time, for someone like you." I told him. 

His body stiffened, his eyes didn't show love anymore. " Someone like me." he quoted my words. "I get what you are not saying." 

He broke my hug and rolled out of the bed his face was a mask of sadness and anger. 

" Baby you misunderstood me." I tried to defend myself by sitting on the bed. 

" I did not. I've clearly seen with Momo and that man what someone well-endowed can get out of a woman. Someone like me isn't born with those genes." he remarked. " Speaking of genes, my biological parents literally abandoned me. You just tried to polish someone else's garbage."  his voice was broken but he didn't cry. He seemed to truly believe what he was saying. 

Bowing he left the room. No slamming of the door, no screaming, no crying, he was painfully calm.

I went to his door, which was closed, sobbing I stated. " All you said is wrong. You are my treasure." 

I waited for a few minutes without getting any response, it was getting way to late not to sleep so I got back to my bed sobbing to sleep. 

The day after I knew he had an early morning class at the Opera so I took my time to get there following my schedule of trainings. 

I walked into the main dancing studio where almost all the dancers were rehearsing for the upcoming play. 

" Come on. Do a proper Grand Jeté." Mr.Lafayette exclaimed. 

I moved a little bit to watch who was jumping and my eyes landed on my son, who was in the middle of the jump when he met my gaze;  losing control of his body. He landed crashing on the wooden floor, he immediately screamed in pain touching his right knee. 

He was hitting the floor with his hand, I was there in a flash. " Baby, I'm here." I murmured kneeling beside him. " Let me see what you have done to your knee." 

His blue eyes were brimming with tears. " Don't touch it." Mr. Lafayette yelled. " We cannot do anything for him till the paramedics are here." 

" If I'm correct, and rarely I'm not about this kind of event he has broken the ACL. His career is over." He concluded by speaking with decades of experience in the dance world. 

My son laughed hysterically. " Just great, I screwed up the only thing I was barely decent at." 

I  could feel myself dying inside, my baby was broken, his career was over and he was feeling so miserable. I knew I had to take care of him. " It's not a problem, you can do something else." 

" Such as? The only thing I'm good at is dancing, now that's gone." He sighed. I was about to retort but the ambulance staff arrived making everyone move. 

I stayed there frozen, it was like someone had punched me in the gut. " Mina, get a move." I heard Mr. Lafayette's voice. 

My son was put on a stretcher ready to be carried on the ambulance. "Anyone who wants to follow him?" One of the paramedics asked.

 I raised my arms to make me noticed, but Mr.Lafayette put my arm down. " We need you here, the first play of the new show is in 36 hours." there was nothing wrong in his statement if not my willingness to follow my baby. 

" Let's go please." My son yelled and the ambulance staff did his job carrying him to the vehicle. 

My heart sank one more." Mina, I'll be in touch with the hospital. Do not worry." Mr Lafayette affirmed patting my back.

The rehearsal kept going, I performed at the best I could even though I was far from my usual standard. We ended up dancing when it was over midnight, it was pointless to rush to the hospital now, they would have never let me go through.

" Mina, I'm deeply sorry to inform you that the medics confirmed my idea about the injury. He will be under surgery in two hours from what I've told." He affirmed. " Tomorrow I'll start a casting to find a new dancer for his position in the ballet." he concluded.

I nodded accepting his decision and walked out of the room. I went to the dressing room and changed back my clothes. I grabbed my bag and left the Opera Garnier. 

It was still raining, my eyes were brimming with tears and my heart was aching. My baby was about to go under surgery and I wasn't by his side, I've never felt so miserable. 

The next day was as awful as the previous one, with hours and hours of dancing to get ready for the first play. The chance to see my son today seemed a mirage. 

" Mina, I've been informed that your son will be discharged today at 5 pm. I'm sorry but I cannot let you go home that early he will be assisted by some para-medics during the whole process." He told me. 

I did my best to focus on what I was doing to wrap up the day as soon as I could to rush home to my baby. 

The time seemed to slow down but we got finally to the end of the day, I rushed to my flat to find my baby lying on the sofa, he had a bandage on his knee. 

" Hi, baby." I saluted him. "How are you feeling?" 

" Like shit, literally shit." he hissed. " My world has crumbled apart, I don't have anything more." his voice was awfully sad. 

 He started crying, his whole body was shaking from the grief.

I could not stay away anymore, I rushed to his side and took him in my arms. I held him tightly. " Everything will be alright, baby. Your mother is here." I soothed him. He let himself go, his body relaxed in my embrace and he continued crying. 

" I despise myself." he confessed. " I despise everything about me." 

" Don't say such things." I rebuked him. "You are the best thing that has happened in my life." I declared kissing his forehead. 

His blue eyes looked up at me, they were brimming with tears. " Sweetening the reality won't change anything." He affirmed bitterly.  

" What are you talking about?" I asked him. He grabbed my hands and placed them on his face. His cheeks felt so soft under my hands, I loved him so much.

"You are beautiful, you are perfect in every single way." He explained to me. " I have been broken since I got abandoned by my parents, you tried to fix me but the cracks are still there. I don't deserve a person like you in my life." He said sadly.

His words hurt me, I felt like I was losing him. I tried not to break down in tears. I looked at him straight in the eye, my gaze was firm. " You are wrong." I affirmed. " You are the one I've always needed, you are the best thing I've ever known." I was telling him the truth, I loved him more than words could explain. " Your parents are the ones who don't deserve you. You are such a good kid." I stated, my voice was getting weaker. 

He laughed bitterly. " Little white lies. I have got a broken knee, I've failed you and myself. I've proved not to satisfy you properly, I'm just someone you spoiled over the years without getting anything. I'm a failure." 

"You are not, baby." I soothed him.

I couldn't take anymore. He was breaking my heart more and more. " I'll go to take a shower, don't move from here." I ordered him.

He nodded and I went into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I let myself fall on the ground crying out loud. I cried and cried till my body didn't have any more tears to produce. 

I cleaned my tears and took a shower. I dressed up in a nightgown and got back into the living room. He was still on the sofa. He looked up at me. His blue eyes were red from the tears, his hair was a mess and he looked so sad. I sat beside him and took his hand. 

I kissed the back of his palm softly. " Do you know how much I love you?" I questioned.

" I do. You gave me a home and all I own, I owe you everything." he replied. 

" Don't you love me?" I asked back. 

" I very much do, but I don't deserve you in the slightest.” he affirmed. " You should aim for someone better than me, it should not be too daunting."

I've had enough of his attitude, I slapped him on his cheeks." Enough is enough. I love you and I know you do as well, we are together whether you like or not." I felt better after my outburst. 

" Please kiss me." he said on the verge of crying again. 

" I will kiss you till the end of the days, but stop whining you have me by your side." I stated kissing him.  His lips were soft and warm, they tasted like the Earl Grey tea he loved. 

His hand cupped my neck and he pulled me closer for a deeper kiss. His tongue touched mine and it made my heart flutter. 

I broke the kiss, I wanted to see him happy, so I did the only thing I could think of. " Come with me." I stood up pulling him with me, his eyes looked at me confused. 

I took him into the bedroom and got him to sit on the edge of the bed. He watched me undress myself completely, his eyes were wide open in awe. 

" You are so beautiful." he murmured.

I grabbed his hands and made him touch my breasts. He cupped them in his palms pinching my nipples. " Do you like what you see?" I asked. He nodded, he was already hard. I kneeled on the ground and took his cock in my mouth. He gasped and his hand reached my hair.

I sucked him gently, licking him from the base to the tip. He moaned when I licked his head, it was so big and delicious. He was leaking precum in my mouth and it tasted sweet, I swallowed it all. 

" Can I fuck your mouth?" he asked shyly.

I nodded and he started pushing his cock down my throat. I sucked him for a good minute before he came inside my mouth. I swallowed all of him and licked his cock clean. 

" It's my turn." I said making him lie on the bed. 

I straddle his hips paying attention not to touch his knee and rubbed my pussy against his hard cock. He groaned feeling how wet I was. His hand grabbed my tits and pinched my nipples. 

" Take me, Mina." he moaned.

I lifted my hips and lowered myself on him, he filled me completely. His cock felt so good stretching my pussy out. His hand touched my waist and his pelvis started bucking up. 

" Ride me, please." he asked softly.

 I started bouncing up and down on him. His cock was sliding in and out of my pussy so good. His hands were groping my tits and his breathing was heavy. 

" Yes, baby." I moaned riding him. " Yes." 

He groaned in response. His hips were moving faster and faster, his cock was going deep in my pussy. 

I lowered my torso lying on him, my lips trailing a path of wet kisses on his neck. His arms wrapped around my back locking me in that position, his hips pounded me way faster than he did the first night. My climax came out of nowhere, I squirted on his body shuddering in his arms.  

His lips met mine and took control of the kiss, sliding his tongue inside my mouth he started licking me like a wild animal. 

He was so close to ejaculate, I could feel his cock throbbing inside me. I started grinding my pussy against him, I wanted him to feel how wet and warm I was. 

"Oh god." he groaned. " Mina." his cock spurted out cum deep inside me and his body went limp. 

I rode him through his orgasm, my inside was filled to the brim with his seed.

I laid on his chest, his arms were still wrapped around my back. " I love you." he whispered. His voice was soft and his breath was hot on my skin. 

" And I love you." I responded kissing him again. He tasted so good and sweet. We fell asleep in each other's arms. My heart beating for him and his beating for me. 

He woke up a few hours later, I could hear him sobbing silently. He was still holding me tight. " What's wrong?" I asked him softly, kissing his cheek. 

" Nothing." he lied.

" Tell me." I insisted. 

" I'm scared of losing you." he affirmed.  His voice was so sad that I had tears running down my cheeks. 

" Do not worry, baby. I will never leave you." I promised. " You are mine." I added kissing his lips.

The next day I had the first play of the new show, and my baby had to stay home due to his condition. I'd have loved to have him there watching me, luckily all went as good as planned. We got 5 minutes of standing ovation, I felt so proud of myself. 

After the standing ovation, the whole troupe of dancers went to a restaurant to celebrate the success of the show. I drank more than I ever did, feeling that I deserved it after all the troubles I went through in the past few days.

Jean-Pierre was there with us, he ended up sitting beside me and we talked for a while. I was drinking my second glass of wine when he kissed me. The kiss was wild and passionate, his tongue was dancing against mine. 

The party ended up sooner than I expected and Jean-Pierre accompanied me home. He kept kissing me the whole way, his hands were all over my body.

We got to my front door and he kissed me again. His hands were rubbing my thighs under my white skirt and his dick was already hard against me.

" Do you want to get inside and have some more fun?" he whispered in my ear.

I nodded shyly. I couldn't deny him anything, his touch felt too good and my control was gone by the alcohol.  

" We have to be quiet." I murmured opening the door. 

My baby was on the sofa sleeping. 

 Jean-Pierre's hands were still groping me, he closed the door behind us and pushed me against it, kissing me wildly. His dick was pushing against my stomach, I was melting in his embrace. 

" Oh god." I moaned. His lips left a trail of kisses on my neck, I had goosebumps all over my body. 

" Strip yourself." Jean-Pierre ordered me. His tone was low and commanding, I felt myself getting wet. 

I obeyed him and took off my white top, leaving my body bare from the waist up. His eyes feasted on my tits, they were already hard from the stimulation. 

He lifted me up on his shoulder like I was a feather, once in front of the sofa besides the one my son was sleeping he made me stand up while he plopped on the empty sofa.

" With all the house free to fuck you picked it here." I asserted whisper-shouting. 

" I wanna see how long you are gonna be able to stop your screaming while I fuck you." he smirked and remove the last piece of clothing he had on.

His dick was hard and pointing at me, the head was leaking precum. " Get on your knees." he ordered. " And suck me." his tone was cold and commanding. 

I had to admit that it turned me on, I loved being dominated by him. I obeyed his command and kneeled in front of him, taking his cock in my hands. I licked the head, tasting his precum and savouring the sweetness.

" Suck it, don't lick it." he growled. 

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and sucked him in, he hit the back of my throat with his length, making me gag. He grabbed my hair and made me suck him deeper. 

" Swallow me." he ordered. I obeyed him, I knew he would not stop until I did as he pleased.

He started fucking my mouth in earnest, his thrusts were merciless and his grip on my hair was hurting. Tears were streaming down my cheeks but it was not enough for him to stop, he kept going till my whole face was wet. 

" Good girl." he praised me. He pulled his cock out of my mouth and signalled me to turn around. He took me on his lap in a reverse cowgirl position; my hands were on his chest to balance myself. 

His cock rubbed against my pussy, it was dripping wet from the sucking. I gasped when he pushed the head inside me, my pussy was stretched to its limits, his dick felt way bigger than I remembered.

He filled me up easily, his butt was out of the sofa making him able to fuck me with all his might. He held my waist and started pounding me, his cock slid in and out of my pussy at a very fast pace. 

My pussy  was stretched out by his cock and fucked me wildly, making my tits bounce with every thrust. His pelvis slapped my ass loudly. I bit my lips to keep my moans silent. 

He manoeuvred his hand on my cunt, and his fingers rubbed my clit furiously, bringing me on the verge of cumming. 

He sped up his motion, the head of his dick was hitting my G-spot, making me feel too good.           " FUUUCK.” I screamed at the top of my lungs unable to keep my mouth shut.

My body started trembling and my pussy spasmed around him, cumming on his cock. 

He kept pounding me through my orgasm, his hand were holding me in place on his lap and I could do nothing but take it. His pace was fast and merciless. He was using my pussy as he pleased, I was just a toy for him, a vessel to be fucked and used.

My eyes darted towards my son who was now fully awake, he was looking at me with an unreadable expression. 

Jean-Pierre kept plowing me as mighty as he could, sending shivers down my spine. My pussy was dripping wet around his dick, it was making squelching noises every time he thrust in and out. 

"Stop immediately." I urged him. My voice was weak and I was trembling from the pleasure.

He did as told. His cock popped out of me and I collapsed on the floor, he stayed seated on the sofa behind me.

" Get out of this house." I ordered him. 

" Are you leaving me with blue balls?" he smirked taking his fat cock in his hand. 

" Yesss. Now move your ass and get out." I yelled slowly crawling on the floor towards my son, my legs were numb from all the dance of the last few days and the orgasm I just had. 

" If I must, I will." he agreed. He put his clothes back on and walked away from me. " You can call me if you need anything else." He sent me a flying kiss before leaving the flat.

I crawled to my son's feet and looked at him with my eyes full of tears. He was staring at me with a blank expression, his face was a mask. 

" Baby." I cried. " I'm so sorry." I hugged him. 

He sighed loudly. " Why did you bring him here?" his voice was way too calm. 

 " Baby, I've drunk too much and things got out of hand. But please let me tell you that he is not better than you. He has a bigger member but you please me as he does, but you don't hurt me and you don't make me feel like an object to be fucked." I confessed sobbing.

His arms pulled me up on his body, and his lips met mine. His kiss was soft and gentle, his tongue licked my lower lip. 

"Calm down, I got what you said." he soothed me. " Relax, please."

I melted his arms. " Let me take you to bed." I helped him to my bedroom.

" Once my leg feels better I promise I'll be more active in bed." his voice was sweet as honey. 

" Baby, don't worry. You have to go through some rough months with the rehab." I acknowledged. " Now you just gotta lie on the bed, and I'll do the work for us."

I deposited his body on my mattress and carefully removed his clothes. " Wait here, I'll shower quickly. I don't want to mix any trace left by my error with you."

A few minutes later I came back in my room, my hair was still a bit damp from the shower. He was lying on the bed staring at me like a lion staring at a gazelle. 

" You are outrageously good looking." he spoke, I had never been complimented like that. 

" You got yourself to be fucked, as hard as I can go." I warned him, smirking. 

His eyes were wide open and he nodded eagerly. 

I climbed on the bed and started kissing him from the neck, he moaned loudly when I sucked his skin. 

" Let me mark you as mine." I smirked biting his neck a few times, planting a series of hickeys.

 His moans were music to my ears, he was so sweet. 

I went further down on his body kissing and sucking every inch of his skin. I was kneeling between his legs when I got to the promised land, his cock was hard and pointed at the sky. It was already leaking precum, he tasted so good when I lapped it out.

" Mina." he begged me. 

I smiled wickedly at him and wrapped my mouth around his dick. His hands tangled in my hair pushing me deeper on his cock, he was thrusting in and out of my mouth.

" Swallow me, you good girl." he ordered me.

I did as told, swallowing every drop of cum he gave me. My tongue licked his shaft clean and I kissed the head before releasing him with a loud pop.

" I'll take good care of you, baby." I declared.  I was in love with him, he was able to dominate me but never crossed the red line. 

I rubbed his spent dick; it was still half-hard. " Please fuck me now." he pleaded. 

" You'll have to wait a bit, I want you to recover." I teased him, swirling my tongue around the head of his cock.  

I bobbed my head along his shaft a few times getting him rock hard again. 

I let his cook free from my mouth and crawled up on his body.  His lips met mine and his hands grasped my hips making me straddle him. 

I was rubbing my pussy on his dick, getting wetter by the second. I could feel how much he wanted to be inside me, his dick was leaking precum like crazy.

I leaned on his chest and kissed him passionately. I lifted my ass and positioned him at the entrance of my cunt. I slowly took him inside me, inch by inch. 

His moans were getting louder with every inch I took of him. My pussy was stretched by his girth, his dick felt so good inside me. 

When he was fully inside me I planted my hand on his chest and started to grind myself on him. His dick has bottomed out inside me and I could feel the head hitting my G-spot.

" Oh gosh, you are hitting my sweat spot" I moaned keeping up the pace. 

He positioned his hands on my hips, helping me to grind faster and faster. The pleasure made my mind foggy and my eyes unfocused. My pussy clenched around him, and my moans became one single note.

" Baby, I'm gonna cum." I declared.

His hands slapped my ass loudly and he kept fucking me through my orgasm. The waves of pleasure went through my body making me squirt all over the place. 

My body collapsed on his chest, panting soundly. My love caressed my back for a few seconds before closing his arms and holding me in place. 

He started to pound me wildly, hitting my G-spot with every thrust. " I'm too sensitive." I yelled.  

" I know you are enjoying it." was his reply. 

" I fucking do." I moaned in his ear.  His hands slapped my ass repeatedly like it was a drum.

His hips were on over-drive, I arched my back and felt the second orgasm building inside me. This time it would be a bigger one. 

" Oh, god." I moaned as the wave of pleasure engulfed me.

Another flood of my juice just went to drench his body and the bedsheets.

" Please cum, I can't take it anymore." I begged him resting my head on the crook of his neck. 

He fucked harder for a few more minutes I found the energy to lick his face and neck like a hungry wolf, he groaned and his cock twitched inside me. 

" Do it, baby, fill me up to the goddamn brimmmm." I hissed. 

He buried his dick deep inside of me for yet another time and came with a loud moan. His warm seed flooded my insides and his cock kept pulsating inside me for a good minute. 

We lay there entwined in each other's arms till our breathing calmed down and our bodies were not trembling anymore. 

I rolled off him, my body was sore but in the best possible way, it felt like I was floating on clouds. He wrapped his arms around me pulling me in an embrace. His lips were soft and warm against mine.

" You gave me the best sex I've ever had." I confessed. " Let me rephrase that; it was the best love I've ever had." 

" I cannot live without you, you make me feel special." he replied making me feel on cloud nine. 

" Likewise baby, I love you." I confessed again drifting to sleep in his arms.

When morning came I informed the company that I would have taken at least six months off, I needed to take care of my loved one. Mr. Lafayette didn't like the idea but he was forced to do as I wanted promising to let me get back as soon as I was ready.

" Mina, where are you?" I heard my baby calling me from my bedroom. He looked so angelic still half asleep. I felt my heart swelling of love for him.

I joined him on the bed. " I just called the company to take some time off, to take care of your rehab." 

His eyes brightened, we were gonna be spending months and months together. I couldn't understand what kind of pain he was feeling because I had been lucky enough not to get injured that badly.  

" I booked an appointment with a physiotherapist, she will be here at around 3 pm.” I informed him getting a thankful kiss on the cheek. 

I helped him get a bath to remove all the dried cum from the night before and got him dressed. He sat on the sofa while I went into the kitchen to prepare something to eat.

We waited for the physiotherapist on the sofa, my head was resting on his shoulder. 

When the doctor arrived I frowned, she was way too pretty for my liking. 

I went closer to my son and whispered. " Don't do anything stupid with her or I'll cut your dick off."  he gulped at my threat.  I knew he understood me well. 

I took my son to the doctor and left them alone in the bedroom to do their job. I went back to the living room and laid on the couch looking for some yoga plan to practice at home, I had to maintain my flexibility. 

I heard them closing the bedroom door and walked to the living room, she had a smile on her lips and my son had his cheeks flushed. I got jealous for a moment and mimicked the movement of a pair of scissors closing. His flush deepened and the doctor giggled. I ignored her and took my baby in my arms claiming my property over him. 

"He will be able to walk without any problem in six months. I'll visit him three times a week but you gotta help him exercise for a few times a day." the doctor instructed me before leaving us alone. 

" Do I need to grab a pair of scissors?" I teased him.   No, Mina." he moaned in response. " I would never do that."

I kissed him on his forehead and pulled him against me. " Of course you wouldn't." I whispered. I loved him so much that my heart could burst at any moment. 

" Mina, I need your help with the exercises." He stated looking at me with his big blue eyes. I kissed him again, he was mine. 

"I'll do anything to help you." I replied kissing him again. 

The all process of getting back on his feet was tough for the bought of us, the exercises tired him more than he wanted to admit but he kept up with me.

When he started to walk on his feet again barely I was constantly by his side, a few times he fell without compromising the knee. 

" You are too stubborn, let me hold your arm." I yelled at him helping him up from the floor. 

His eyes got watery. " Please, don't be mad at me." his voice made me hug him closer to my chest.

" I'm sorry baby, it's just that has been months since we've been out of this house for more than a day." I caressed his hair. " I'm just frustrated and worried about you."

He snuggled on my chest. " I'll follow your lead more diligently." he promised.

I smiled and kissed the top of his head. " That's a good boy." I praised him. He loved to be treated like that, it made him feel good. 

The days kept passing and my baby was recovering at the speed of light. After six months from his injury, he was able to walk and run without any problem. I had kept my word and was back to my job as one of the main dancers of the company. 

" Baby, do you want to join me for the new ballet?" I asked him. We were in my bed cuddling like we usually do after a day of dancing.

" Dance is a closed chapter for me." he stated sobbing. " I'm too afraid of getting hurt once more. You have been splendid with me in these six months, I don't know what I would do without you."

I felt a slight pang of disappointment, I had hoped he would get back to dance. 

" You are gonna find your way, you have the potential to do all you want." I told him.

His eyes sparkled like he had come up with an idea.

" Tomorrow I'll get out quite early, do not worry" he asserted. 

It was strange tomorrow was Sunday, where could he go on a Sunday morning?

My train of thought got interrupted by his hand on my tits, kneading them through my sleeveless black top.

" What you think you are doing?" I teased him. 

" Turning you on." his began to lick my right armpit painting a trail of saliva under my collarbone before ending on the other armpit. 

It made me feel so nasty. " Yes, you are baby. Give me more." I pleaded him. He kissed the space between my tits and then down my abdomen. His tongue danced on my skin, I felt like a goddess.

He reached for the elastic band of my skirt and pulled it down with his teeth, making them fall to the floor. I was wearing a thong, it had to be easy to remove but he decided otherwise. 

His teeth bit my right thigh and pulled the fabric down, doing the same with the other leg. 

" God." I moaned. I had never felt so horny.

He threw my underwear in the corner of the room. " Open your legs for me." he instructed me. I complied, letting him have access to my pussy. He kneeled in front of me and parted my lips with his thumb and index finger. He blew a hot stream of air on my pussy and I gasped.

He licked my clit lightly and his tongue went further down to the entrance of my pussy, teasing it before getting back up. My legs were trembling and my heart was pounding. 

" Fuck me, baby." I begged him. " Fuck me with your tongue." 

He obliged me and licked me up and down before focusing on my clit; he sucked it eagerly. I was moaning his name loudly, and my body was shaking from pleasure.

" Stop or I'm gonna cum." I warned him.

He laughed in response and kept sucking my clit like his life depended on it.

I grabbed his hair with my hands pulling it up. " You little brat." I said before pushing his head in my pussy.

He licked my hole, his tongue was fucking my pussy like a cock. I arched my back and my body went through an intense orgasm. I squirted all over his face, his chin and mouth were covered with my juice. 

 I pulled his head up to mine and licked my juice from his face thoroughly.

He kissed me again. " Lie on your stomach." he purred in my ears. " I wanna fuck you.”

I obeyed him and laid on my belly on the mattress. His cock was hard as steel, he slid it in between my ass cheeks and rubbed it against my back. He leaned on me, his body was covering mine completely. His lips brushed against my ear.

" Are you gonna fuck me?" I whispered.

" Yes, I am." his voice was so soft. He pulled my hair back, exposing my neck. His teeth bit me softly, I liked being marked by him, it was our way of expressing our love.

He positioned his cock at the entrance of my pussy waiting to fuck me. " How do you want it?" he asked me.  

" Hard and without mercy." I replied. " Use me as you please."

He grunted at my words and pushed his cock inside me. It was like the whole universe had stopped, he filled me up like no one else could do. 

" You feel so good." I moaned.

He started fucking me without mercy like I wanted, his dick was going in and out of me at a fast pace. His pelvis slapped my ass making me moan louder and louder. 

My pussy was clenching around him like it never did before, I could feel another orgasm coming. " Baby, please go faster." I urged him. 

He pounded me harder and faster, his breathing was heavy in my ear. I held the bedsheets in my fist trying to keep my whole body still. 

His hands held my tits under my body, squeezing them hard. I liked it a lot, I was on the edge of coming. 

" Oh god, oh god." I kept chanting like it was my mantra. He fucked me through my orgasm, his cock hit my G-spot over and over. 

My orgasm was too intense, my whole body shook violently. His arms pulled me up till my back was leaning on his chest. 

He sank his teeth in my shoulder making me shiver, his tongue licked the blood that came out from my flesh. 

" Come with me." he pulled out and dragged me to the edge of the bed. He was standing outside of the bed, I spread my legs as wide as I could. 

" Now I'll fuck your brains out." he promised. His cock slid in my wet cunt easily, his hands gripped onto my soft thighs. He was thrusting inside me like a wild animal. His hips were pounding my pussy at a fast pace, it felt so good, and my moans echoed throughout the whole flat.

" Oh god." I yelled loudly. His cock had hit my G-spot yet another time, another orgasm was incoming. I clenched my pussy around him, wanting to feel every inch of him.

" You are gonna make me cum again." I cried, his hands explored my body, and my tits became 

 his new toy.

 His fingers pinched my nipples, making me scream in pleasure. 

He was fucking me wildly and his hands groped my tits, my orgasm was yet another time stronger than the previous one. My whole body was convulsing violently; each thrust sounded wetter and wetter. 

" Baby, you are splitting me apart." I moaned. 

He lifted me up in his arms, my legs wrapped around his hips. He kissed me deeply before biting my lower lip, it felt so hot. His cock stayed deep inside me all the time, stretching me out to my limits.

His hands her on my ass cheeks and squeezed them hard, I moaned louder, I could feel my pussy getting even wetter.

He began to move my body up and down on him, his hands were on my ass. His cock was moving in and out of my cunt at a fast pace.

" Oh god, please don't stop." I begged him, my arms were wrapped around his neck.

" I won't, I promise." he whispered in my ear before biting it. His breath was hot on my neck, it made me shiver. His lips kissed my neck and his tongue licked my skin, leaving a trail of saliva. 

He walked to the wall and slammed my back on it, fucking me in the earnest. My tits bounced with each thrust he gave me. His breathing was heavy on my ear.

I kissed the side of his neck and sucked a patch of skin, he moaned loudly. I sucked a little bit harder till his skin was red from the hickey, he gasped at the pain. I kept sucking it like a leech till it was dark red. 

" I'm gonna cum again." I whispered in his ear, his whole body went stiff, and he started pounding me even harder.

His cock felt like it was expanding inside me and his pelvis slapped my ass, making me moan loudly. He fucked me through yet another orgasm. 

My whole body was shaking from the pleasure. His hand cupped my face and kissed me deeply, his tongue danced with mine.

" Cum inside me." I moaned desperately. " Please." I begged him.

My beloved baby obeyed my request, making me jump on his cock driving me insane.  

He moaned my name loudly and came inside me, filling my pussy with his warm seed. His dick throbbed inside me and he kept thrusting for a few seconds. I was trembling from the pleasure he gave me. 

I kissed him, trying to take away the oxygen from his lungs. His hands held my head, not allowing me to separate from his lips. 

He slowly made me stand on the floor, his cock slid out of my cunt with a wet squelch. My knees gave up and I collapsed on the ground, panting soundly. 

Like a knight he carried me on his bed, mine was a mess. 

" Sleep tight." he told me spooning me.

I woke up late, my body was shattered. My son's side of the bed was cold but still smelling like him, I was so chuffed to be with him. 

My phone chimed on his nightstand, he might have brought it here before leaving. 

The text was from him. " Hey, Mina. I went out to meet with a person, I'll be home soon." 

I questioned who he could have wanted to meet on a Sunday. 

My curiosity was answered a few moments later when my baby entered the flat holding a bunch of papers in his arms.

He kissed me on the lips. " I wanted to surprise you." he explained. 

" Surprise me?" I repeated. He handed me the papers and I read what was written on it. 

I was so happy I almost cried. 

" It's my contract with the dance company, I asked to work as Mr Lafayette's assistant.” he affirmed proudly. " He told me to study to become a choreographer, while my day job will be to take care of a certain ballerina."

My eyes widened, and I hugged him tightly. " Thank you, thank you, " I said. 

I knew that he had done it to be near me and I was so grateful. I kissed him deeply. 

His beautiful blue eyes stared at me in adoration. 

" Never divert your gaze from me. You are my baby blue love." My heart was stuck on him.

[vivs-fics]

Selfish

Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings/ tags: Smut, alcohol consumption, slightly self-loathing Logan, the tiniest bit of angst

Part 2

The quiet moments with you are the ones that scare Logan the most.

The serene, almost scenic view before him makes his heart thump rapidly in his chest. You’re curled up on the bed, the soft expanse of your bare skin gently warming his own. Naked and infinitely beautiful, you lay with all the grace and decorum of a goddess. Logan licks his lips, eyes roaming over your statuesque form, needing to immortalize your visage. He commits this moment to memory, as he does with every other minute he gets to spend with you. Your eyes are closed, your breathing is even as you slumber away in his arms. Last night, he fucked you into the mattress after teasing your cunt with his mouth and fingers for hours. Logan had you panting and moaning, hands fisting into the crisp white sheets below you. He pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you until he was satisfied with his work.

Desire, he was well versed in. Delivering pure, carnal pleasure came as easily as breathing to him. But this: being with you afterwards, the intimacy shared in soft touches and the subconscious intertwining of limbs, the swell of emotion he felt holding you close to him, your scents blending together in the seemingly endless expanse of sheets… this scared the shit out of him.

Logan realizes that if one day his life would flash before his eyes, he would like only to see you. You shaking from pleasure beneath him, coming undone on his cock, dozing off after he strokes your cheeks and cleans you up and tells you that you were so, so good for him. You smiling up at him from a cup of coffee, your eyes lighting up when you talk about something you love. He wanted it, he wanted it all for himself. He wanted you to be burned into his mind, branded into his every thought. But he couldn’t allow it.

If, somehow, he could keep you at arm’s length… Just far away enough to shield your beautiful eyes from the scarred, withered amalgamation that is James Howlett, maybe everything would be okay. After all the pain inflicted upon him, the hurt practically ran through his veins. Ugly, festering wounds pierced him body and soul. Logan didn’t think it was possible to feel this way again. Happy. Contented. He allows himself to hold onto these feelings for fleeting moments, mere milliseconds where he clings to them with all his might. Logan clutches onto the pure light that these feelings emanate and lets them illuminate the dark expanse of himself.

He’s selfish. He knows. But try as he might, he cannot be the good man that you deserve and leave you to your peace. He needs you. He needs you in a way that no one had ever needed anything before, he thinks to himself as his thumb strokes small lines across your cheek.

Logan’s heart clenches in his chest just as it did when he first met you, only now the feeling is greater. The want, the desire to be close to you is infinitely bigger than anything he’s felt before. It stretches out from the hardened, stony contraption in his chest and pirouettes through his body as gracefully as a practiced dancer. The feeling makes his stomach swoop. It makes his fingers itch to touch you when you’re nearby. His hands must always be on you. His thumbs stroking your cheeks as he admires every inch of your angelic face, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he kisses you deeply, fingers interlacing with your own as he fucks you from above; strong, thick digits squeezing gently on your throat as he pumps you full of his cum. Feeling you under his fingers soothes something inside him that even the bottom of a whisky bottle can’t.

This divine, euphoric feeling you bring out of him encompasses the grizzled man in its splendor and gently lulls him away from all of his inhibitions. You’re a drug Logan never wants to stop taking. He’d burn the world down to see you smiling at him. He’d singlehandedly tear down empires to hear you laugh. He is completely hellbent on you.

So, when you mumble in your sleep and reach out for the warmth of his body, he preens. Even in your unconscious state, you still need him- need him even a fraction of a percentage of how much he needs you. My girl. It plays over and over in his head, it’s a mantra he uses to feed the monster inside of him. The growling, snarling, possessive beast rattles its chains and claws at the bars of the cage Logan has confined it in, just inside his chest. He wants to claim you, cover you in marks that solidify you as his- and his alone. He wants to put his arm around you in public and flash everyone else the biggest shit-eating grin because of it, because it’s him who gets to hold you like that. A part of himself wants to tell you to let him have you, to say that he’ll be so good to you. It wants him to whisper sweet things in your ear and it wants him to stay with you until the morning, every time. The twisted, perverse, caged animal screams to Logan that he should hold you when you’re sleeping and kiss your forehead when he feels the need to. It pleads for Logan to kiss you in the day time, when the sun shines on your smiling face and he feels as if his heart might burst through his chest.

 The beast demands that he claims you, body and soul- that he asks you to be his, and it hopes you agree. God, does he hope. He hopes and yearns and quite frankly, if he were a religious man, he’d pray- pray to whatever god would listen to allow you to be his. And if you, by some divine compounding of all his good karma, said yes- he would fill your pussy with his cum, fuck it into you over and over, and keep doing it for as long as you allowed. Then he’d get you a ring, big and shiny and slip it onto your finger. He’d take you all to himself, forever.

But Logan is acutely aware that these feelings are coming from a bad place- a selfish place- that he finds the strength to tamp them down every time they pop up. It’s like the world’s worst game of emotional whack-a-mole, Logan thinks to himself as his eyes trace over the contours of your face and their angelic beauty in the low light of the morning. He cannot ask any of this from you, he reminds himself. He’s damaged, ruined. He’s seen and lived through far too many things to allow him to be the man you deserve. So, he supposes, this is the best he can do. Staying with you until you awaken and making up some bullshit excuse as to why he can’t stay for breakfast. His heart aches for you, a deep-rooted yearning springs from his chest every time he has to leave you.

He knows it’s coming, it’s the beginning of the end for today. You stir in your sleep, shifting further into his chest. Your lashes flit up and down momentarily, your eyes adjust to the warm light of the bedroom, and he gives you a wry smile, his voice gruff and heavy with sleep. “G’morning, princess.”

“Mm… Morning Lo.” You lift your hands above your head and groan into your stretch. A familiar pleasant simmering ignites in your belly. He stayed. He stayed, and he smells so fucking good, and his hair is ruffled from sleep in just the right way. You sigh dreamily and shift your legs to tangle with his. Your bare cunt kisses the muscle of his thigh, the sensation is delectable. He flexes, teasing.

“Feel something you like, baby?” Logan cups your jaw with his free hand, the other coming up to your shoulder and tugging you even closer to him.

You mumble out a noise of approval, “Yeah, fuck. That’s… that’s good.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you grind your hips with increasing need on his thigh. His pupils dilate, he takes a deep breath in, his cock hardening. He can fucking smell your arousal. It takes every fiber of self-control he possesses not to shift above you, pin your wrists down and fuck you until you’re begging him for release. But you want this- you need this, you need to get yourself off on him. The fact that every part of him can elicit pleasure from you makes pride swell in his chest.

“Hold on, baby. I’ve got you.” He sits up and leans back against the headboard, hands moving to your waist to hoist your body up and onto his thigh. Your legs are on either side of his muscular thigh, he urges you to ride him. “C’mon princess, show me how badly you need me.” His honey eyes bore into your own, an inferno of desire burning behind them.

His hands draw your body back and forth over his leg. Sensing your impending release, Logan takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. His tongue licks the inside of your mouth, and by God, it tips you over the edge. Your orgasm comes upon you in mighty waves, but it’s nothing compared to the tsunami of earth-shattering orgasmic bliss Logan was about to give you, as he flips you over and slinks down between your legs. His tongue darts out momentarily to wet his lips, his mouth watering in anticipation of tasting you.

 He loves drawing out every morsel of pleasure he could from you. God, he lived to see you cock drunk and fucked out from the things he’d do to you. After giving you a thorough and proper dicking down, the kind where your nails dragged down his back hard enough to leave marks and the sounds of your combined pleasure reverberated in, around and out of your apartment.

He’s half-hard again, just from looking at you half lidded and out of breath.

“Give me ten minutes, Lo… Dear God- I don’t know if my body could handle another round right now.” You huff out, regarding his hardening cock with an air of admiration.

He grunts in response, a non-committal noise that was all too familiar to you in these after-sex conversations. “You okay, baby? I wasn’t too rough?” his head tilts to the side, as it usually does when he was concerned.

You shake your head weakly, “No, not at all. I’m just- uh- how do I put this delicately? Fucked out?”

A deep chuckle escapes him and a cheeky smile lands on his face- a rare, but certainly beloved sight. “That right, princess?” He turns his attention to the floor, seeking out his clothes that had been strewn carelessly across the room in the lustful haze that the two of you were intwined in the night before. Logan feels the urge to stay with you, his heart aches at the prospect of laying with you and kissing you gently, softly. He feels it and has to use the full power of his will to turn away from you.

Your stomach clenches, you know what happens now. You know that he’ll clean you up and make sure you’re okay and look at you with those fucking sad, wet, puppy eyes and you’ll forgive him for leaving when you want him to stay.

“Logan? I’m not sure if you’re busy tonight and I don’t know if- if it’s really your thing but some of my friends are going to Crimson at nine and I know you know the manager through Wade…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath in, attempting to center yourself amongst the nerves of asking him out and the haze caused by the orgasmic bliss he brought to you, “Ahem, and I was thinking, if you want to- we could-”

He cuts you off quickly, “Yeah, baby- I don’t think that’s my scene. You go. Have a good time.” The words almost come out strained, his shoulders are tensed, and his hands work to pull his pants on.

“Right. Of course.” The disappointment is palpable- it sits between the two of you like a screaming mandrake. It demands recognition.

Logan clears his throat, “Seriously, have fun. You don’t need me being there, botherin’ you and bogging everyone down. I’ll call you soon, though.” He feels like he’s gone through a meat grinder. Shredded fragments of an old, withered, freshly ground heart sit in his chest as he turns to leave. It breaks his heart a little more every time he does it. He thinks that maybe he deserves this hurt. Maybe if he keeps hurting, he’ll stay grounded.

To Logan’s credit, he did always call. You began looking forward to the little phone conversations you had. His voice always so gruff and self-assured, it made butterflies erupt in your stomach each time, without fail. This fucking old man was going to be your end.

~

Later that night, you're at Crimson. Your friends are scattered around, drinking, dancing. The linoleum floor is sticky under your shoes. You feel a light squelch when you put your feet down and tension when you attempt to lift them. God only knows what horrors amalgamated on the floor of this club. Dingy and worn down, the wrinkles of the interior are miraged by the blue and purple flashing lights coming from the ceiling. Bodies push against each other on the dancefloor, a sea of intoxicated people move to the music that blasts through the speakers. Raising the glass bottle to your lips, you take a long swig. The smooth chill of the cider provides a refreshing reprieve to the sauna-like conditions that you have subjected yourself to.

You grimace slightly at the constant contact from other people- pushing past you, stumbling into you, elbows jutting into your back and sides, drunken feet stepping onto your toes. ‘Why the fuck did I agree to come here? The prospect of going clubbing always is better than the reality of it- I hoped I would’ve known that by now.’ You think to yourself, jaw clenched, growing increasingly irritated by the people surrounding you. Oh, right. You recall, ‘I’m at this nasty club because Logan Howlett has infested my thoughts and feelings, and I need to flush him out of my system before he makes me lose my goddamn mind.’

A kindling of hurt ignites in your chest. Tiny flickering flames grow to great heights inside you fueled by the all-too-fresh memory of Logan leaving your apartment in the morning, post-fuck, pulling on his shirt and pants before you could offer him so much as a cup of coffee.

Maybe this is a good thing, you lie to yourself. Perhaps you just needed to come out and kiss a stranger for the grip he has on you to loosen a bit. Fuck it.

You feel someone come up behind you and place their hands on your hips. His fingers are spidery and long, they feel out of place. You turn your head and regard him. Not too bad, you think to yourself. He’s on the shorter side, but he has a pretty face. His strong, prominent nose and loose chestnut curls are highlighted in the streaks of cobalt and indigo disco lights that rotate through the otherwise poorly lit club.

As wrong as it was, you couldn’t stop imagining that it was Logan who was behind you- his strong hands guiding your hips and his breath delicately tickling your neck. ‘Maybe I should just call him and tell him what I really want. I don’t want to be in a fucking situationship or whatever people call this. A situationship isn’t even a real fucking thing! Fuck that. He’s over a hundred and isn’t settling right now? What kind of bullshit is that?’ The bold thought appears, rising from the ashes of alcohol previously consumed.

You don’t have time to ride that train of thought all the way because you feel a familiar hand on your shoulder, gently tugging you away from the man behind you. “Logan?”

He’s fucking seething. His chest rises and falls slowly his jaw is clenched and you can see the absolute fire that burns in his gaze. His eyes soften momentarily as he gazes upon you, flushed, a thin layer of sheen sits on your skin from the heat of dancing. The tenderness quickly dissipates as he regards the partially distracted man who is doing some sort of half-hearted fist pumping in lieu of dancing now. Quite frankly, the sight is embarrassing. You shuffle to the side, putting some distance between you and the stranger.

“Hey, bub.” He towers over the brunette who is now positioned to the left of you, his fingers still splayed over the small of your back.

With a clenched jaw, Logan spits, “I suggest you take your hands off my girl before you lose ‘em.” Oh God, oh dear, sweet, weeping God. He’s so fucking hot. His shoulders are squared, muscles tensed. The faint scent of tobacco and musk radiates off him and it sends a rush of pleasure right down to your pussy. The smell is familiar, it’s safe and right.

The stranger lifts his hands in surrender and begs forgiveness of Logan, but he pays no attention to that. As soon as you are untethered, his hand engulfs your own and the burly mutant pulls you into the unoccupied manager’s office. He clicks the lock on the door and closes the dusty, grey shutters.

“Logan, what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your brows knit together in a healthy mixture of concern and confusion.

To Be Continued…

Hi hi! What'd yall think? I really had fun writing this and hopefully the next part will be out in the next couple of days!

xoxo, Viv

[feebisart]

The Door You Don't Knock On (2/4)

(( Trigger Warning: Unreality ))

The door closed with a click, and the embodiment of It Is Not What It Is looked impossible over and under the small boy. Billy had his eyes closed, smiling with his mouth in a placid, composed demeanor.

"Would you like some tea?" Billy set the tray onto the shifting, inverting table as he sat on a chair that looped into itself, shifting through nothingness into unreality—fractals spinning in vivid technicolor, blending into nonexistent hues.

Purple does not exist.

The Entity curled, melding and bisecting itself with a hissing, sharp, jarring laughter. "I would be happy to!" The joyful, playful tone undercut the needle-sharp fractals and diamonds' idea of an arm.

Its pointed tips screeched as it took hold of the teapot, bringing it to pour the melted glass and oolong tea into a perfectly white teacup. Fine China that Tawny had lovingly cleaned and displayed in Billy's apartment.

Well, it was now a masterpiece of surrealism.

The teacup warped and shifted in the Entity's hands, carrying the mixture as the hands brought it up to spiraling, gaping hole that was its mouth.

It pierced a scone that immediately flayed apart—flakes coming undone, snaking around the sharp edges of the fractal, tinsel on a Christmas tree.

That slid down its dark, seemingly endless cavern of a mouth.

"How refreshing~" It trilled out as a low, menacing hum shifted the ceiling.

Billy wrapped his fingers around the deformed handle of the teapot, feeling an involuntary quiver in his fingers before steadying with support from his other hand. Pouring the liquid porcelain and oolong tea mixture, his calm mask held firm, unbroken like the perfectly white teacup beneath the stream. Ribbons of gloss-white and translucent reddish-brown tea gathered atop the lip, a delicate brush of ice caps against the side of a Martian Peak.

"What is your name?" The boy politely asked with closed eyes and a pleasant smile.

"My name? Names are such slippery things. Why, you may call me Michael...it's quite airy, but it will do." The entity spun, a pirouette of neon colors, fractals, and waves of shades. "Why did you walk through my Door?"

"I wanted you to leave me and Fawcett's citizens alone." Billy stated with confidence...despite the slight tremble in his hands.

"Oh?" Several mouths opened up in the fractals before him, lilting and harmonizing in a round of warbling laughter, "but their fear is so uniquely delicious. You forget yourself." The shapes stretched out dissipating into tiny stars as if gesturing to all points around them. "This place bends for me."

"Hmm." Billy rubbed his chin as he tilted his head slightly. "How about a game? I win; I get what I want. You win," its grin swirled into a whirlpool filled with glinting shark teeth. "...and I rather you keep that to yourself."

"Intriguing. Fine, a game of Hide and Seek. I'll-" The needles drooped as drapes tapping against the undulating floor.

Billy interrupted, setting his teacup down on the plate with a clink despite the acute angle he was sitting at. "I will be the Seeker."

The air stilled, a pause in eternity as if something fundamental to the monster had faltered. A glitch in the Matrix—a ripple of an idea spreading throughout this Place.

The fractals twisted and pulsated with offense, curling around the teapot, peeling the porcelain into thin slivers of strips. The Spiral's voice spoke with a jagged dissonance of a vinyl player deliberately playing shattered discs.

‎‎‎‎‎‎   ‎‎‎‎‎‎"You?

Seek I a

me?" m

 Everywhere."

The spiral descended into cacophonous laughter; large spikes protruded from the being's continuously expanding hexagonal ridges. Mandelbrot grooves spilled outwards, cracks propagated in the translucent material—rivers carving new paths through collapsing translucent ground and crumbling debris. Surging crystalline hexagons grew within the cracks—a chaotic crowd crush interlocking of grains stretching the limbs to point in all possible directions.

"No. Find where I Am Not."

"What do you mean-" Billy asked with a crease on his forehead and a crinkle between his brow.

One moment, a boy was asking a simple question and the next-

Chartreuse wallpaper bubbled, releasing bursts of cherry soda and motor oil into the air, the smells sharp enough to sting. The wood and paint converge into shimmering, viscous oils radiating with the red-hot glow of a furnace.

Drops of viscous liquid dripped onto the floor, transforming into doors that spread throughout the ground, a tile pattern of doors. Each swung with a discordant rhythm, slamming shut or open as wide as it could, threatening to rip the door off its hinge.

The rough surface of the popcorn ceiling began to grow in size, smelling of butter and formaldehyde—the penetrating, pungent odor piercing into the brain. They crowded the ceiling, burning into charcoal chips as they touched the ever-contracting walls. The layers of glowing oils began to wrap around the room, gradually constricting its prey.

Billy teetered on the dark wooden doorframe. A sudden slam rattled the wood beneath him, almost making the boy fall into the gaping holes below. Pulling himself up, he wobbled, arms outstretched, before a balance beam.

The boy's narrowed eyes gazed straight ahead as he began to run. Surging with determination, he bent his knees as the door slammed violently beneath him—arm swinging like a windmill. The force launched him airborne, arms finishing the rotation before latching onto a large chunk of popcorn.

The popcorn balloon swayed under the boy's weight, plunging suddenly before slowing its descent. Billy sunk his fists deep into the fluffy ridges, crumbling to dust with his iron grip. A memory surfaced—of jumping with a helium balloon only for gravity to shatter his dreams of flying.

The puffed corn continued to descend at a constant rate. Scrambling, the boy clawed himself up on top, shifting his weight towards a closed door. His heart throbbed in his chest as the popcorn dipped further, charring into chips that disintegrated into ash.

Just as they would collide, the door ripped open, and he slipped through, tumbling into opaque darkness.

Gravity flipped.

The world tilted on its axis, and his stomach lurched at the sudden shift. Vertigo overtook the boy as he fell harshly onto the popcorn, landing with a thud. The sizzling and smell of burnt rubber assaulted his senses. Below was a sea of glowing red with veins of chartreuse paint and golden light; fissures snaked through the blackened, viscous surface. Slow pops and sharp hisses seeped out of the slow-moving mass.

The popcorn was charring on the bottom as Billy was hit with a sense of impending doom. He pushed himself off the buttered floor, swung his head around, and observed several pieces of furniture, untouched by the heavy heat, floating along the stream—tables, chairs, cabinets, and books scattered like buoys across fiery currents. Strangely, the teacup from before bobbed alone in the scorching ocean.

A realization hit him.

The floor is lava.

Peering around, the boy spotted a large wooden table floating on top of the sizzling liquid's surface. Gathering the courage, he sprung towards the dining table. The moment he landed, the table abruptly tipped forward under the child's weight, spraying molten rock against the black walnut wood. Stomach twisting with dread, the tiny hero shook his head as he slid to the other side to counterbalance the weight.

The molten lava hissed and crackled but for a breath moment, Billy could swear he heard Michael's laughter.

Taking a breath as he steadied himself, he squinted through the molten expanse, scanning past the debris for a suitable path. In the distance, he saw a couch atop a faint, colorful surface, pristine fabric untouched by shimmering waves of heat. Along the curve of the sofa was a faint image of solid ground, perhaps a mirage, but it was a chance he was going to take.

His gaze darted to the ocean of molten rock, jagged edges of overturned chairs poking through like rock faces. Patches of bubbling magma hissed and burst like stars. He looked down at the upturned chair wobbling beside him; its legs were just within reach as an idea began to form.

Why waste effort and energy jumping from one perch to another when he could just sail past?

He balanced himself on the table, gripping the edges as the flames licked its underside. Grabbing the chair, he carefully angled it as a makeshift paddle. Each push of the chair paddle inched him closer to his goal despite the creaking table and hissing molten waters underneath.

Finally, the couch was within view. The heat of the bubbling stone flicked at his skin while his heartbeat overwhelmed his hearing. The boy wondered if it was just the sounds of molten rock or if Michael had twisted his mind. He jumped onto soft, plush cushions with one push as he sunk into the fabric.

The boy beheld the ever-shifting sky—its overlapping, disheveled layers weaving and interlocking within each other. Twisting and folding paint that dried in different shades, strokes still visible with their thickness. Billy allowed himself a couple of breaths.

After all, he had earned his rest.

But he knew that the Distortion was not done with him yet.

︵‿︵‿୨𖦹୧‿︵‿︵

Prev || Next

[chichirid]

✦ furina id pack ✦

(names, pronouns, titles)

names: athens, atlantis, catherine, celine, charlotte, cheyenne, claribel, constantina, cora, diamond, drizzle, eden, eloise, evian, fleur, flotte, gabrielle, gazeuse, isla, jewel, juno, lucienne, marina, melena, mirielle, mirabelle, moni, neptune/neptunia, nereida, nila, nira, olivia, opal, pearl, precious, promise, ria, ruisseau, theresa, vaitiare, valeraine, yardena

pronouns: dew/dews, ri/river, cle/clear, tide/tides, sea/seas, mari/marine, act/actress, hy/hydro, song/songs, god/gods (or goddess), arc/archon, furi/furina, blue/blues, rain/rains, shine/shines, reflect/reflects, 🌊 /🌊 s, 💧/💧s, 🎭/🎭s

titles: (prn) who is covered in sparkling dew drops, (prn) in a downpour of secrets, (prn) with a swirling facade, (prn) who dances on a stage of water, (prn) who performs with a flowing persona, (prn) whose true self hides backstage, (prn) who pirouettes on the crashing waves, the princess performing an endless waltz, the actress in the sea’s play, the songstress sinking in solitude, the princess on a throne of bubbles, the princess whose chords echo across the ocean

[melit0n]

Miasma

- Synopsis: In the halls of the Palais Garnier, a ghost holds a grasp on the minds of almost all those who enter. A ghost, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or, perhaps, a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloakroom attendants, or the concierge.

In the glory of the golden auditorium, the burn of his eyes can be easily mistaken for the glare of the calcium lights.

- Oneshot

- Stalker Phantom/Reader

- Word Count: 5.2K

- Warnings: None

- Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50298724

Gracefully, your feet move in carefully practised synchronicity with the fellow members of the soloists, different shades of expensive tulle twirling in time with the orchestra. You were nearing the end of the final, full run-through rehearsal for to morrow's show; a new production long awaited to be displayed to the public.

The choreography was tiring, yet not the worst you had ever done: the repetitive, five to ten hours of practice each day with a ballet master who was unwilling to take anything but utter perfection brought more ache to your muscles than completing your role in the show itself. Yet, even with tired, overworked calves, you continued to strive for the grace and refinement that your teacher had forged into your very bones.

The surge of the orchestra reverberates in your chest, adrenaline habitually coursing through your veins, practice or live show aside. Despite the seemingly endless hours you had spent practising this piece, you still had the innate fear–whispering in the back of your mind–of tripping over your own feet and falling. Or, even worse, crashing into one of the other fast-moving girls, subsequently earning a condescending reprimanding from the ballet master. 

Nothing but perfection. Something hard to achieve with bruised ankles and lungs constricted within a too-tight corset. 

Even with the distinct lack of a large, judgemental audience, the sting of observant eyes burns into your figure. Being a ballet dancer in a prestigious company, with delicately crafted productions showing to the public almost every other day, you were used to the stare of thousands on your figure. 

This, however, was different.

It was an almost eerie sensation; an uncomfortable tingle raising goose-flesh on the back of your neck.

Covertly, you scour the darkened auditorium. In between fast moving limbs, the blurred faces of the orchestra and your fellow dancers, you find nothing but the bright red velour of the thousands of seats and the rich gold of the engraved private boxes. 

You would have left the odd feeling to be the result of nerves, or the watching eyes of the stage director, or even members of the chorus, yet it felt unrelenting. Eyes somehow managing to stay trained on your figure and your figure alone, even through the organised flutter of tulle.

As you pirouette, however, you catch the stare of one of the violin players, shrouded in darkness within the cavity of the pit. 

Ah.

Augustine would laugh at me for my paranoia, you think to yourself.

Regardless, the swell of the orchestra sends a strain through your legs; your muscles pulled taught in anticipation of finally finishing for the day, if not to only repeat it the next.

Finally, the woodwind and strings grow louder, along with the leading soprano, and bring the piece to a finish. You flourish your legs outwards in an arabesque, holding yourself delicately on the tips of your ballet shoes, careful not to wobble. 

Careful not to be considered anything less than perfection. 

Simultaneously, you flinch slightly as the sound of ripping fabric meets your ears.

You can feel the beads of sweat running down your back, soaking into the itchy fabric of your costume. Chest heaving, you hold your position for a few moments before a loud, happy applause erupts from the observers of the final rehearsal. Gracefully, the leading lady bows as members of the chorus and corps de ballet surround her; congratulating her on reaching her notes, as if that wasn’t what she had trained tirelessly her whole life to be able to do.

The glare of the calcium lights burns. 

Eventually, the stage director himself praises your group and, as it has finally struck six pm, calls for the members of the ballet, the chorus members, the orchestra and the leading actors to part and leave for home. You walk, tiredly, off stage right, rubbing the back of your neck. 

You avoid the eyes of the violin player, trying to catch your gaze yet again. 

Squinting in the gloom, you find a large rip on the back of your costume’s bodice. You scowl as you run your hands over the ripped threads, nails plucking the strings of fibre like those of a harp.

A careful hand finds your shoulder, and you look up to see your friend; Augustine. Happily, you smile at her, her clean white teeth smiling back while she tilts her head in question at you. You stand straight and state, annoyed, “My bodice ripped.”

“Good riddance.” She replies sarcastically.

“For the amount of funding the costume department receives, I would have hoped they would make one of the main pieces of our costume more durable-”

“-And less itchy.”

“And less itchy.” You agree. “The costumers are not the ones dancing in those for two hours,” You sigh out as you run your hands over your bodice again, feeling the threads of the expensive fabric and praying, quietly, that the costumers would not ask for payment in fixing it. Considering how close you were to the official show, you have no doubt they’ll be annoyed that you somehow managed to rip it. 

Augustine laughs joyfully at your expense, saying, “Perhaps you should send an official complaint to the costume department, or even-” You huff loudly, already knowing what she was about to suggest, “-The Opera Ghost himself! He’d be sure to scare the costumers into submission, no?”

Laughing tiredly at her jokes, you continue to walk backstage, cautiously avoiding the moving scene–directed by the shouting stagehands above–and passing by your fellow actors. Each are either gossiping, rubbing their fatigued muscles or talking amorously with the sweating stagehands. Though, it is mainly the younger girls trying their luck with the older men. 

“I don’t think I’ve been so tired in my life,” Augustine mumbles.

“Perhaps you are getting old?” You joke back.

“Don’t you even start!” She nudges you harshly in the side, smiling, while you cry out in faux pain. “I don’t think I’ll even be able to walk home. God above knows if I’ll be able to move after I’ve gotten into bed.”

“I wonder if you will fall asleep in our booth after dinner?” You jest. You both had a ritual of going out to dinner, trying a new restaurant for each occasion, the day before performing a new show. While you saw each other every day, you both found it to be a pleasant way to unwind after practice. 

“If I am to afford new ballet shoes and my rent, I think I may have to give dinner itself up for a few weeks.” She smiles a tired smile, one that does not reach her eyes.

“Do not speak so, Augustine. I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, if you ever need help with your finances,” You place your hand on her shoulder, “Just say so, and I will be there to aid you.”

You both pause in your walking, and she looks at you with lapis-like hues as she speaks, “I could not–would not–burden you so.” You open your mouth to reprove, but she begins speaking again, “Yet, I appreciate your offer.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, you pat her shoulder empathetically as you intertwine your hands. You walk further into the ever moving and humming guts of the theatre, squeezing up stairs too thin and creaky to be safe and down darkened corridors only illuminated by the dim gleam of the oil lamps not yet put out for the evening. 

Oddly, with each dim hallway you pass, goose-flesh seems to arrive on the back of your neck. As you did during your performance, you chalk it up to a member of the ballet, or the orchestra, silently vying for your attention. That, or perhaps an unfelt draft coming from the cellars.

Now, hidden away from the burn of the calcium lights, your practised facade of expected neatness slowly unfurls. You gently pull out the hair pins keeping your hair in tight buns, wisp like strands following. The tight ribbons that keep your shoes together are also loosened, allowing your feet to finally breathe. Augustine’s are quickly falling apart and, while it wasn’t usual to have them replaced frequently, the price had increased dramatically in the past months. You expect all your fellow dancers–at least those without donations–were beginning to struggle to come up with the money. 

As you do so, many people meander past you; male members of the chorus with bottles of liquor in their hands, hopeful, seasoned members of the corps de ballet, as well as your fellow soloists, and stagehands unhappy with their pay alike.

“What do you intend to do with this month's payment?” You ask, in an attempt to begin conversation again.

“A new-” Augustine begins.

“-Other than the new pair of ballet shoes.” 

She glares at you, half annoyed and half entertained; “A restock of oil and new candles, most likely. Perhaps a new sewing kit. What of you?”

You shrug. “I expect something similar; a restock of oil and possibly some soaps.” She nods, understandably, at your decision.

As you turn past another unlit hallway, your goose flesh arises on your arms now, and you quickly glance over your shoulder to look for anyone in particular, perhaps that violinist. Yet, you find no one. No one but the average crowd of gossiping dancers. 

“Y/N? Are you well?” Augustine stops and looks over her shoulder at you. “Are you looking for someone?” She squints into the crowd along with you, searching the different heads for who you may have been looking at.

“No, I apologise, I just…had an odd feeling.” Augustine looks at you incredulously, before a sly grin makes its way onto her pretty face. 

“Hm…mayhap The Phantom is eyeing you from the shadows…” She shrouds her accent with an ominous tone, the same tone the stagehands place upon themselves when telling ghost stories to the younger chorus members.

“Don’t-”

“-Eyeing his next victim-”

“-Agustine!” You begin to laugh.

“-Waiting for the perfect moment to drag you down into his cellars and make you a part of his bone collection!” She grabs you by your shoulders and shakes you vigorously as you laugh heartily; relieved of your paranoia by her jesting. Easily enticed with mention of the renowned Phantom, some members of the chorus walking past let out a nervous laugh. Expectantly, some even linger or slow their gait to listen in on any gossip about the local ghost. 

Still laughing, your chest aching with both the strain of your corset and the joy flooding out of your mouth, you finally reach one of the many dressing rooms. Your pace had been slowed talking to Augustine, so you find it already full of the other female chorus members and soloists; some already changed, others half nude. 

The dressing room was made of dark, shined oak, and was lit in a lamp-light glow, fire-formed rays spreading like spring petals upon the peeling, ivory-coloured wallpaper of the walls. Multiple wall-length mirrors hang upon them, the glass of them scratched and worn with time and bristling skirts. It’s spartan in comparison to the official, commonplace elegance afforded to a select few of the principal dancers, let alone the dressing rooms of the main actors, yet, it's a comforting place of shared fatigue and tired conversation.

However, once, you visited one of the secondary operatic vocalists in her room, invited to share tea and gossip as she had taken a liking to you. While the only thing she had need to do there was change and perhaps receive the occasional public visitor, she was provided a room that oozed refinement and grandeur. 

The warm lodging contained an intricately designed pier glass, a sofa, a dressing table and a cupboard or two. Along with an astounding number of fresh bouquets, a second floor length mirror lay on the far left. The walls themselves were covered in delicate, floral wallpaper and accented by odd art pieces that appeared to be original.

You’d later learn that while she deeply enjoyed the attention of her older patrons, she tended to take a liking to artists.

Overall, it matched perfectly with the marble palisade that was the Théâtre National de l'Opéra. A complete juxtaposition of the sparse changing rooms you now currently stand in.

Different shades of hats were sat, as per usual, on dress hangers, as well as dull evening dresses. The more expensive, elaborate dresses with long trains were usually kept tucked away until show night, when rich patrons–ring-bearing or not–usually paid visits to the female members of the chorus and troupe of ballerinas.

Reaching your designated changing area, where your own evening dress lay folded neatly upon the wooden bench, you began to converse with Augustine yet again.

“Are you sure you won't join me for dinner this eve?”

Sympathetically, she watches your form from the corner of her eye as she slips out of her costume, reaching around to finally undo her corset, “I am sure, I apologise, you know what it’s like-”

“-Do not apologise.” You sigh deeply as you undo your own corset, letting the warm air of the dressing room fill your lungs. “I will not berate you for wishing to save some extra money.” 

She gifts another warm smile in your direction, before averting her eyes, almost shyly, away from your partly naked form. Aimlessly, she begins to chatter to you about the ache in her calves, and how she believes she’s found yet another ‘life-saving’ treatment for her damaged muscles. Your conversation filters in with the rest of the conversations that flows around the small room, and, half listening to Augustine, you pick up on some of the other’s words. 

In the left corner, a group of girls surround one of the newer members of the troupe of ballerinas, chatting to her with large grins placed delicately on their rosy faces. You spy the glint of gold and the glint of some sort of large gem on her ring finger.

Lucky, you think to yourself, beginning to pull on your chemise and stockings.

In another corner, there are whispered nothings between two girls, one you know to be a young woman named Blanche; a tall thing with peachy skin and hair the colour of a golden sunrise, almost always kept in a tight plat. She looks at the shorter girl, half-dressed, next to her with the same sort of eyes some of the comtes and young vicomtes give to members of the chorus in the parlour.  

You’re pulled back from your people-watching by tumultuous shrieking outside the corridor. Were you not accustomed to the trainee ballerina’s rambunctious shouts after they had finished practice, you would have expected them to have seen a ghost.

Or, rather, the ghost.

A collective sigh resounds in the small room as the noise dissipates down the hall, followed by your own dressing room door opening as three giggling girls enter. Augustine gives you a weary sidelong glance as the pitter-patter of ballet shoes approaches your corner. 

“Hello Mademoiselle L/N, Mademoiselle Charbonneau! We finished practising for Polyeucte this eve!” Lucille, a lithe creature with a button nose and bitten-down fingernails speaks, excitedly.

“Yes yes! Yet we didn’t spot either of you,” Little Jammes begins to moan. She was a favourite of the chorus and existing members of your troupe of dancers, what with her tip-tilted nose, forget-me-not eyes and rose-red cheeks. “You promised you would come watch!”

Before you or Augustine could respond, another voice adds their opinion to the situation; “They couldn’t! They have the performance for the new production tomorrow eve, halfwit-”

“-Don’t insult Jammes so, Elaine,” Augustine reprimands. “I-” She quickly glances your way, “We apologise. Myself and Y/N are quite fatigued; we were not granted a break to day. If we have time, we will watch your practice in the morning on the Monday.”

The younger girls let out a happy cheer at their small success. Elaine and Lucille skip off to where the other apprentices and members of the corps de ballet were changing, while Little Jammes lingers behind.

Nodding to both yours and Augustine’s forms, she says, “I hope your performance goes smoothly tomorrow, mademoiselles.” She begins to turn back to the rest of her group, however, glances at you and speaks yet again; “Oh! And don’t forget your scarf.” She giggles, almost maniacally, before prancing out the door and off to her group.

“Will do, Little Jammes.” You call out after her. She turns and smiles, acknowledging you.

Little Jammes was one fond of jokes, one being stealing your scarf and having you chase her around the Opera House looking for it. A game of hide and seek, if you will. You had kept up the game for almost three years now; her having just turned fifteen. While she was adamant in becoming refined and elegant, as all girls that age are taught to be, she still held onto some of her child-like tendencies with you.

One of the girls, just putting on her bonnet, turns to you as she fixes the ribbons; “I’m unsure how you put up with such boisterous creatures, even Little Jammes; the lot of them are such brats.” She jokes somewhat sarcastically. You smile at her as her eyes, black as ink, look into yours for an answer. 

“It is not much trouble, even if all the majority speak of is the fabled Opera Ghost.” The young lady and Augustine both laugh at your jest. As she finishes with the ribbons of her bonnet, she waves, and wishes you both a good evening. 

Slowly but surely, the girls drift out of the room, some by themselves, and others in larger groups. 

By the time you’re finally fixing your dress, most have left, including the members of the corps de ballet and trainees; eager to leave the domain of the Opera Ghost for the comfort of warm blankets and dinner. Augustine and you are slightly behind schedule, taking extra time to chat aimlessly.

“I cannot believe it takes you so long to dress,” Augustine jests as she finishes buckling her shoes. 

“I know you wish to leave for your apartment Augustine; go. I will walk home on my own to night.” 

Her eyes turn to you, body still bent with her shoes. “Are you sure? Will you be well?”

“Of course I will be. I am a grown woman, Augustine. Either way, I must talk to the costuming department in order for them to fix my bodice; I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Augustine raises an eyebrow at you, as if thinking this is some test of friendship, before nodding and pulling her shawl across her slim shoulders.

“Good evening, Y/N. Be safe.” She calls over her shoulders as the click-clack of her heels descends towards the exit. “Oh! And I promise to go to dinner with you next week!” She peeks her head over the door frame to call back to you. 

“Sure.” You call back sarcastically. You catch a small smile on her tired face before the sound of the door echoes in the empty dressing room. Finally, you finish dressing, placing your hair into its usual updo again. As you do so, a newspaper, left behind by the young woman of whom you had been talking to, catches your eye. Its newsprint page open on the Opera and Theatre periodical, and a title in bold reads; ‘800 Pounds on a Conserige’s head.’

You recognised the tragedy almost instantly, for it had only occurred but three weeks ago. You were surprised the headline was still making rounds, let alone at the top of the periodical. Although, you suppose, this may be an old paper. Underneath the title shows;

On the evening performance of Helle, May 20th, one of the counterweights for the Théâtre National de l'Opéra’s chandelier fell, suddenly, upon Madame Colette Auclair, aged fifty-six, during her first and last visit to the Opera House; as she passed on impact. Stagehands deny any and all involvement with the tragedy, and report no issues with the counterweights. However, many of the members of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra claim it to be the work of the ever-so-infamous Phantom of the Opera; The Monster of Paris.

You cease reading the moment your eyes graze over the word ‘Phantom’. You felt it ludicrous that an official newspaper would accept and continue to publish such a superstitious and almost mocking piece. Someone’s death shouldn’t be attributed to a spectre that exists and lingers, purely, in the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet. 

As are the faults of journalism, you suppose.

Sighing loudly, you close the paper and check the date, which reads that it had been re-published not but a week ago. You glare at the bold print while reaching to the hanger for your scarf, and, when your hands find nothing but cold air, you turn.

All you find is an empty hanger. 

How odd, you think to yourself. It was there but a minute ago. Where could it have gone?

You begin to scour the dressing room, before realising what Jammes had hinted at beforehand. Yet, you frown. How could she have gotten in while you weren’t looking? Even if you had been distracted reading the paper, you would have most definitely heard the loud creak of the un-oiled door.

Eyes searching methodically around the room, you finally spot the hue of your scarf peeking out from the ajar dressing room door. The tassels lying, spread, across the scuffed wood of the floor. 

Sighing yet again, you call out for Jammes, who you still swore had left long before you had, and begin to walk across the room. 

I don’t know if I’ll even have time to visit the costumers at this rate. I can never remember how late they stay into the evening.

The heels of your boots send a resounding click-clack across the now bare room. As you near the door, you crouch ever so slightly; haunches rising like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. 

“Jammes…” you mumble out with a smile growing on your face, slowly reaching out to grab your scarf, preparing for a tug of war with a giggling ballet girl, before your scarf zips out from beneath the pads of your fingers. 

You scoff, surprised, before peeking your head out of the doorway, like some weary animal, and looking down the left hall. Innocently, your scarf sits at the end of it, hidden partially around another corner.

Mocking you. 

It was unusually silent. You didn’t hear a laugh nor giggle come from the teasing girl. Glancing down the other hall, you keep watch for the lamplighter. 

You hear no steps echo against the wood and stone. You surmise he has not arrived yet.

Softly, you step out of your dressing room and begin walking down the hall to your beloved scarf. 

The oil lamps send shadows down the hall, long, gangly ones that claw at the hem of your dress as you walk forward. Long, gangly ones that you swear whisper in the dark of the halls. Whispers that sound much too like your fellow dancers, asking for you to follow them.

“Jammes?” You call out into the moving mass of darkness. 

No reply. 

Yet again, as you creep closer to your prize, it is pulled away from your grasp; spirited away and down another ill-lit hallway. 

“Jammes,” you whine, quietly. “This is not funny Jammes. I have to go see the costumers before they leave for the evening.” Despite your worries and growing annoyance, you still follow your scarf down hallway after hallway. Ones you find lead deeper into the Opera House, down passages you were sure were only touched by stagehands. Down routes that only the spiders and their webs called home. 

Quite admittedly, you begin to grow afraid. Afraid of both the dark and the odd whispers that you pray are simply the evening wind whistling. The gossip of the corps de ballet begins to catch up to you too, murmuring descriptions of a man, a monster, with the body of a corpse; skin rotting off his own bones and the Night itself hiding in the sockets of the ghost’s skull. 

Perhaps you are just as paranoid as the brats of the corps de ballet. 

Augustine would laugh at me for this, you repeat as your scarf slips out from under your fingers yet again. Just wait until I tell her this to morrow morning.

Eventually, you find yourself in a dank hallway deep in the Opera House, near the storage room for all the set pieces, you suppose. 

Jammes must have been dared down here by her friends at least once, you reason with yourself.

A trapdoor, locked, sits to the left of you, a bit further up the hall. The wood of the floors let out a cry with each step you take; bending around your feet. You fear it may snap from right under you. 

“Jammes!” You call out frustratedly. You had spent twenty or so minutes travelling down into the depths of the Opera House for a mere scarf; you could have spoken to the costumers and been on your way home by now! Typically, your cat-and-mouse chase with Jammes only lasts ten or so minutes, for her mother calls on her before she can go too far. You were tired and frustrated, with fear building up in your dry throat.

As you begin to turn yet another corner, one you would suppose would lead down into the storage rooms and the vaults of the opera, you are met with pitch black itself. It was as if there was a wall of night standing before you; a mirror reflecting a pitch-black sky you couldn’t see.

Out of the void reaches a white, silken gloved hand, holding your scarf, and your scream echoes loudly in the empty hall like the first chords played in a silenced auditorium. Your hand immediately goes to your chest, to squeeze your thumping heart into submission as your lungs heave for the air they can’t seem to inhale fast enough.

“Apologies, Monsieur, I…” You try to catch your breath, incomplete thoughts rushing through your brain. “...I did not see you.” 

He wears the type of expensive glove that only those who visit the Opera House and its members wear. Clean, white as pure as a dove’s wing, and well made. Immediately you question, mentally, what someone of supposed high status is doing so deep in the belly of the Opera House, especially since there had been no public show today. Further, if Little Jammes is nowhere in sight, then is this who has been leading you around the Opera House with your scarf? Or, perchance, has Jammes given your scarf to him in order not to get caught?

He speaks not a word; you do not even hear him breathe. Your nostrils are met with a terrible stench as a breeze ascends from under the trapdoor and behind the man, sounding more like agonised cries than wind. Mould, stagnant water and…and death. The type of miasma that lingers in your apartment when a trapped animal passes in the cage of your walls; rotting to dust. 

Rotting. Rotting flesh. Rotting flesh pulled taught against bones like a drumhead. A horrible image infiltrates your fatigued mind. 

You are unable to see a single inch of him other than his silk-covered hand, the beginning of his clean, nicely dyed overcoat and of course, your scarf. In the dim lighting, his hand seems to be trembling, as if holding a tremendous weight. Let alone the grip he seems to have on your scarf; the fabric wrinkling under his fingers. Despite him holding it out for you to take, the grip he holds onto it with makes it seem he almost wishes not to let go. Conditioned by years of interacting with the higher class, your mouth immediately goes to asking on his well-being.

“Are you well, Monsieur?” You whisper emphatically. You’re sure he can hear the fear laced in his voice. Considering the habits of the other patrons, you wouldn’t be surprised if he finds amusement in it.

The hand reaches further outwards with your scarf, and makes a motion for you to take it. You stand there, between the stagnant air and the man, looking back and forth between your scarf and where you believe his eyes to be. 

You look at him with an uncertain stare, before gently reaching out to take your scarf. You approach this like you would approach a wild animal; with slow movements, and careful eye contact. Cautiously, your hand meets the soft fabric of your scarf, as well as the coolness of his gloves. 

A shudder seems to run up his arm, and you’re half sure he flinched from your touch. Yet, your scarf remains in an iron-grip, despite your light tugging. 

Again, you squint into the void, trying to find his eyes in the dimness of the oil lamps. “... Monsieur?” You mumble, even quieter than before, with an increasing amount of panic in your voice. As if suddenly remembering he’s holding your scarf, he jolts, yet again, and releases it. 

Yet, his hand still lingers in the air.

Wrapping the scarf around your neck, you can almost feel his eerie gaze following your hands as you do so. His hand still floats, trembling in the air. It almost seems like he wishes for you to take it. Take it and follow him into the vaults of the opera house. 

Take it and make you a part of his bone collection. 

You waft the idiotic thoughts away from your head with a swift movement of your hand, disguised by pushing the ends of the scarf behind your back. 

Idiotically, with worry entangled in your movements, you reach out for him again, gingerly placing your hand on his upper arm. A shiver of your own rattles through you, like a cold finger caressing your spine. The pads of your fingers find the expensive threads of his overcoat, and, dear Lord, he is so cold. Even through his coat, you can feel the wintery burn of his skin. He was so bony; ever so skeletal. With such a gentle touch, you felt as if you could crush the bones of his arm. 

Something between a gasp and a sob quickly escapes his mouth, regardless of the distraught tone he held, he manages to sigh with perfect pitch and time. 

“Forgive me-” Taking a step backwards, you apologise immediately, but you’re met with the quick swish of fabric through the dank air as another foul-smelling wind arises from the trapdoor. It flutters through your hair and causes a chill to settle in your chest. It curls up around your lungs and heart and makes every breath difficult.

Your scarf does nothing to keep you warm. 

Most of the dimming oil lamps are quickly blown out by the strong gust, and the little you could see of the man is engulfed by the darkness. 

One oil lamp remains, barely lit, behind you. 

Quickly, you step backwards until your back hits the wall, and you reach for the lamp. Unhooking it, you bring it forth to the hall, thrusting it outwards into the void. 

There is nothing there other than lingering dust. 

Another gust of wind arises, and quickly puts out the lamp. As you now stand in the dark, a cacophony of whispers erupts upon the cold wind.

He’s here, The Phantom of the Opera.

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

I had an unbelievable amount of fun writing this. I'm sorry if this doesn't read completely right; I was doing my best to imitate Gaston Leroux's writing, since I wrote this for Leroux!Phantom rather than Musical Phantom (or any other phantom for that matter). Further, I apologize to any possible ballerinas reading this, for I know the terminology Google and some ballet Tumblr blogs gave me may be incorrect.  I know there isn't that much actual Phantom interaction, but I wanted to focus on the more creepy and touch-starved version of him. I'm thinking about doing a series of Phantom one-shots, hence why I'm leaving this as 'incomplete'. Either way, thank you for reading <3

Historical Notes:

- Calcium Lights = Another word for limelights.

- Théâtre National de l'Opéra = The name given to the Palais Garnier from September, 1870 to January, 1939. 

- Pier glass = A mirror that is placed on a pier, i.e. a wall, between two windows supporting an upper structure. Generally used to fill the space between the windows.

- 800 pounds on a Concierge's head = An actual headline written by Gaston Leroux himself. On May 20th, 1896, a performance of the opera Helle was underway when a counterweight, one of multiple that held the chandelier up, broke loose and fell through the ceiling; killing a Concierge on her first (and last) visit to the Palais Garnier, which inspired the falling of the chandelier in Phantom! Forensic investigators later said a nearby electrical wire probably overheated and melted the steel cable holding up the counterweight, causing its fall, yet, for all the superstitious opera workers, it was said to be the famous Opera Ghost. The name used for the concierge is made up. 

[whostheweakersexnow]

A Sissy's Swan Song

When Aly discovered Victor had cheated on the last exam, she wasn’t angry. No, she was delighted. The possibilities were endless. She cornered him after school, her mischievous grin widening with every second he stammered out excuses.

“I could tell the principal,” she mused, twirling a strand of hair, “but that would mean suspension… and your parents finding out.” She let the implication hang in the air. Victor, already pale, turned ghostly white. “Or,” she continued, her eyes sparkling, “you can do whatever I say. No complaints, no questions. For the rest of the year.”

Victor gulped and nodded, knowing he didn’t have a choice.

Aly didn’t waste time. She had plenty of ideas, but why stop at just her own? She enlisted her equally devious friends—Rachel, Mia, Sophie, and Brooke—who couldn’t wait to get in on the fun. Their first plan? Ballet.

When Victor arrived at the dance studio as instructed, the sight that greeted him made his stomach drop. The girls were gathered around a bright pink tutu, complete with tights, satin ballet slippers, and a leotard so frilly it could have blinded him.

“What’s… that?” he croaked.

“Oh, this?” Aly grinned, holding up the tutu. “It’s your uniform, Victoria. And you better change quickly—we don’t have all day.”

His protests were met with gales of laughter. “Unless you’d rather I have a little chat with the principal?” Aly asked sweetly, holding her phone like it contained his entire future. Defeated, Victor shuffled over to the outfit.

As he awkwardly changed, the girls’ laughter echoed around the studio. “Oh my God, look at those chicken legs!” Mia cackled. “Tighten those straps, Victoria. We wouldn’t want a wardrobe malfunction!” Brooke added, mock concern in her voice.

By the time he emerged in full ballerina glory, his face was the color of a ripe tomato. “Perfect,” Aly said, clapping her hands. “Now, let’s start your first lesson.

For the next hour, Victor—sorry, Victoria—was put through his paces. The girls didn’t just make him pirouette; they made sure every stumble was met with roaring laughter. “Point those toes, Victoria!” Sophie hollered. “You’re a delicate little swan, not a clumsy goose!”

When he tripped over his own feet, Brooke smirked. “Maybe he needs a tiara to really feel the part.” That sent the girls into another fit of giggles, and Aly made a note to bring one next time.

By the end of the session, Victor was drenched in sweat and humiliation, while the girls were practically rolling on the floor. “Great work today, Victoria,” Aly said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll see you same time next week. Oh, and don’t forget to practice. We expect perfection.”

As Victor trudged out of the studio, he realized with a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning. If this was how the girls started, what horrors did they have in store for him next? One thing was certain: Victor’s days of cheating were over. Now, he was the one being played.

Crédit:

[walnutcookie]

*Sneaks towards you like a cartoon criminal*

U haz very good art

*Pirouettes into the endless pit*

GVEHBEHEVEJEHEE TYSM !!!! SENDS IN A WARM DELICIOUS LOAF OF BREAD AFTER YOU INTO THE PIT

[m6rija]

⟡ ⠀as the world caves in⠀⠀⊹⠀⠀ hyoga & you

gn reader. established relationship, angst. heavy manga spoilers (chp 188)

going straight into the lion's den you prepared for your impending fate— fighting side by side with those considered the strongest in the alliance of science was surprising to you, thinking that your skills were not much more outstanding than those of the pack. still, with your weapon in hand and a determined courage, you charged into stanley's troop with your peers.

it was a brief but fierce fight: you managed to disarm a few military men while watching the backs of those who were fighting alongside you.

but still the smell of blood would cause time to stop and your heart to skip a beat, the continuous gunshots piercing tsukasa's body would be the beginning of a chain of events that would remain engraved in your head for life: how you took a couple of steps back with the intention of protecting those who were still standing, how your chest felt empty as bullets pierced your skin with ease— and the final blow that your figure would take when it hit the ground.

unable to utter a word, you would witness your partner suffer the same fate protecting kohaku, shielding her under his frame as bullets buried themselves in him quickly.

the grass was painted crimson and you were unaware of what was happening around you. his limp body in front of you lied, metallic taste slipping from your lips as you crawled towards him with the little strength you had left— with some hope, however paltry, that you could say one last goodbye.

the warmth he used to share with you was absent, his cold complexion being met by your touch as you choked back a silent cry.

[reddragonprincess]

[ Spin ] - The sender lifts the receiver into the air, spinning them around. Don’t get dizzy! [ Archanea ] - An old minuet originating from the Kingdom of Archanea, a true classic that has stood the test of time. Due to its difficulty, successfully executing the dance is an achievement in and of itself.

He ambushes her with the swiftness of night and behind billowing mantle, and creeping upon her in the circle of twirls and pirouettes claims her hand for his own and hassles her against him, and it is all he may resolve to hold fast to his humor seeking to spill.

He moves before protest can challenge him, and in their land's dance he leads her - that one he instructed to her, whereupon she trampled his toes and bumped his chest, but age had guided her more nimble now, and there is martial grace where once there was bumping limbs.

"Do you remember," He begins when the cello sings, and at its pinnacle he lifts her, twirling her as once he would in springtime fields during the festive season. "When I taught you this dance?"

He bids her return to the ground, and yielding pearls from his coat-pocket presents them to her.

"Loathe me for an eternity afterward," He grumbles. "But for the evening I am your brother. You have ... Maria to thank."

Minerva was usually accustomed to sudden and unexpected attacks –war had obliged her to be cautious in every single situation, even during the common events. But that time was different: she was enjoying a ball, she was drinking and she miraculously happened to lower her guard, letting others approach her without any particular difficulties. That, until an unfamiliar yet homely feeling struck her guts from the inside to the outside, leaving her with a twisted smile, tending to a disappointing expression –him.

She felt his touch on her body, unusual; his hand grasping for hers, guiding her into the dance hall with a steady pace and actually following a rhythm that immediately came up in Minerva’s mind as something very unique and very well-known –it felt like  h o m e.

The dance continue and she didn’t even matter the question that she was twirling in the air, with a bewildered expression and a trembling body that almost collapsed against him: she remembered everything about that particular dance, she remembered everything about those particular moments, she remembered everything about the endless times the two of them spent the afternoon together, with Minerva being completely hopeless in learning such difficult execution.

“…How can I forget about it?” she responded with a dim voice and her feet touched the ground once again, as she listened to Michalis being a real brother once again, after so many years of avoidance and ignorance. Her lips turned into a sad grimace, eyebrows frowned as she wasn’t expecting such delightful admission from a fleeting presence like him. She remained silent for several moments.

“Maria always knows how to deal with us” she loosened the tension on her lips, sketching a very brief smile upon her face, not really knowing if it was wise to lower her guard in front of him, once again. “But know that: I’ll always be your sister, no matter what” she paused, “And you’ll always be my family, like Maria” and she lowered her gaze, staring at the brooch identical to the one she was wearing on her dress –maybe it was a sign, maybe it was a coincidence, but brotherhood could not be extinguished so easily.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Leaves falling

Yeah, this does not come as a surprise, does it?

Characters:Ori x OC

Words: 102

Warnings: Nothing

“This one is the exact colour of your hair,” she said, holding up a beautiful leaf to Ori’s ear as if checking if it really was a perfect match.

With a low snort, he took the frail product of a golden autumn from her slender fingers and tucked it into one of his braids.

“Gorgeous,” she gasped, leaning forward to press a quick peck on his smiling lips.

“You truly are,” he agreed in a low, throaty hum.

Thus they sat, under the old tree that had once witnessed their first clumsy kisses, and watched the leaves falling in endless, graceful pirouettes.

@fellowshipofthefics here we go with the next one!

-> Masterlist

𝙻𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 <3

[tobiasdrake]

I'm a terrible human being but at least we're making our way through the island.

You know, I wasn't sure about Windmill Shuriken but it's growing on me.

It's a killer traversal tool as well as a potent weapon in its own right.

Getting a definite Boss Room Ahead vibe from this setup. Tiki Shopkeeper, you have anything to say about what I'm about to face?

Nothing?

Huh. Maybe I misread the--

Okay, fuck you too, I guess! I can't believe this! I rely on her to give me useful information about bosses! What a fucking prick.

Maybe she just. Like. Doesn't do that in this timeline or something. Or she's mad. Can't imagine what I could have said to piss off Tiki Shopkeeper that badly, though.

Whatever. I slew the Dweller of Strife singlehandedly; At least, that's how I'm choosing to remember it. I can manage this!

These barely even count as attacks. Honestly, it's like you want to face the wrath of my ultimate technique:

Your harmless little tiki heads are NO MATCH for an endless barrage of twirly-doos! I am the twirly-doo champion, and I'm going to do pirouettes on your face until you're nothing but a pile of kindling! What do you say about THAT, huh!?

....

....

....

(;° ロ°)

OH FUCK ME

Okay. So. In my haste for triumph and glory, I. Uh. May. Have. Misconstrued your ritualistic totem levitations as... something that they was not.

I am a big enough man to admit when a misunderstanding has taken place and a tragic mistake has been committed. You're right. It's pretty clear where the fault for this lies.

Tiki Shopkeeper. It's Tiki Shopkeeper's fault. She... She, uh.... She said....

...nothing. She said absolutely nothing about an upcoming Boss Fight. Because no Boss Fight was upcoming.

...I... assaulted and batteried you, and destroyed your personal property... for absolutely no reason at all.

...

Hold up, what was that about a volcano erupting?

Barrel Thyme, that's what that smell was! Thanks, pal. So the plan is to fuck him up again, save the Phobekins, and then enjoy a pleasant vacation on whatever mysterious island this place is.

Glad there's no hard feelings, pal. I'd hate for a small misunderstanding like this to get in the way of us becoming the best of pals!

I'm so glad they're taking it well. I like to think that I'm a pretty great guy once you get to know me. Like an acquired taste! And I wouldn't want them to miss out on the opportunity.

Anyways... apparently this island has a volcano. We should take a look at the map and make sure we have a good idea of where we're going.

Alright. Voodkin Island's not as big as I thought it'd be. So if Bartleby's plan is to jump me at the ritual then he should be right around the rim of the....

...of the....

Hold up.

Is this Kiln Mountain!? This super looks like the volcano where the great continental bread loaf was baked.

That's not what he called it. The hint is in its utility: That it's a kiln. But I'm still convinced that this is the same mountain.

...so does your shop exist in a parallel reality Tower of Time, or is there only one Tower of Time and we're just in a different room next door to Arcane Shopkeeper's room?

Because I could believe either.

[catladywriter]

Inotan Fanfic: Kisses For An Idiot - Chapter 1

How to Make One's Heart Race Faster

Synopsis: Since that time when Tanjirou first held his hand, Inosuke seemed to have become addicted to hand-holding. He would find any opportunity to hold Tanjirou’s hand as long as it was available. Tanjirou thought he was just nervous without his mask and being constantly around people. But… why’d he start kissing him too?

Main Pairing: Inotan (Inosuke x Tanjirou)

Secondary Pairing: ZenNezu (Zenitsu x Nezuko)

Setting: Canon AU, 2 years after the main story ends

Wordcount: 9,497 across 4 chapters

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Status: Complete. 2nd story of the Series: Where the Wisteria Always Bloom.

There are several references and call-backs to the previous story in this series "Stares in this Town", which is from Inosuke's POV. For a better reading experience, I'd recommend that you read that first (it's only a one-shot!) before this.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Tanjirou never imagined his life could return to normal again. Not since the fateful day he discovered the brutal murder of his family, and his younger sister turned into a demon. Up till two years ago, he had endured an endless path of hardship, pain, and loss. This was only bearable with his best friends Inosuke and Zenitsu, and his sister Nezuko at his side.

Not a day went by that he had to convince himself that he was not trapped in a dream, that they had all survived and now lived a life free from demons. The inner demons that manifested from their trauma may never go away completely. But at least he had a distraction, a new direction in life, running a modest eatery with support from his newfound family in his hometown.

Tanjirou swore to protect his loved ones and their future. He often found his mind preoccupied by concerns about Inosuke’s well-being. Inosuke’s unique upbringing meant that he took longer than anyone else to adjust to their new life. But he was trying his best for all of them, and he was slowly but surely getting there. Over the past weeks, he had even stopped wearing his boar mask. In return, Tanjirou did everything he could to accommodate Inosuke and make him feel comfortable. At the very least, he would ensure that Inosuke was free to be himself when it was just the both of them.

Like right now, when Tanjirou was cooking, and Inosuke stood next to him, holding his free hand in his own. Tanjirou thought this was odd, not to mention, inconvenient since he preferred having both hands to cook. Even then, he resisted the urge to question or discourage this strange behaviour.

Since that time in the crowds when Tanjirou first held his hand, Inosuke seemed to have become addicted to hand holding. He would find any opportunity to hold Tanjirou’s hand as long as it was available. Tanjirou did say Inosuke could hold his hand if it made him happy, so he couldn’t go back on his word. Besides, Inosuke lost interest in things quickly, and Tanjirou was sure he would stop doing it once the novelty wore off.

It was just another day in the life of Tanjirou, living with Inosuke and rolling with his eccentric behaviour. But he was glad for it. Zenitsu described Inosuke as bizarre, but Tanjirou thought this was exactly what made him endearing. He was a bright spark in their now mundane and peaceful life. Tanjirou never wanted this aspect of him to change.

Until a few days later, when Inosuke suddenly grabbed his face between his hands and pressed their lips together briefly. He had then dashed off without a word, bumping hard into Zenitsu on the way out of the kitchen. Poor Zenitsu did a pirouette and crashed into the kitchen counter. It was fortunate that he had already sat down his tray of dirty dishes.

“What was that about?” Tanjirou cried, his lips burning from Inosuke’s touch. The peculiar encounter probably lasted three seconds, but it made his heart rate abnormal for far longer than that.

“That was a hurricane named Inosuke,” Zenitsu groaned as he rubbed his waist where he had rammed into the kitchen counter. “No, seriously, you’re asking me? I think that was meant to be a kiss.”

“Where did he learn it from?” Tanjirou felt heat radiate from his face. Hand-holding, he could deal with. But kissing?

Zenitsu shrugged. “There’s a newly-wed couple in the town and it’s almost impossible not to bump into them kissing in the alleyways.”

Tanjirou sighed. He wasn’t against public displays of affection, but people should be more mindful of others. Those alleyways were heavily used in the day and there were young children around, for goodness sake. And then there were people like Inosuke who were so easily influenced.

“Zenitsu, do you notice that Inosuke has been… strange?” Tanjirou disliked himself for speaking about Inosuke like this. But he couldn’t think of a more appropriate word to describe him at the moment.

“Inosuke is always strange.” Zenitsu snorted.

“No, I mean, stranger than usual. First, he kept holding my hand. I thought he might be nervous without his mask and being constantly around people. But I can’t explain this kiss at all.”

“Ah, I think I can explain that.” A guilty grin crossed Zenitsu’s face.

A few days ago, Inosuke informed Zenitsu that he was having a contest with Tanjirou to see who could make each other’s heart race faster. He had asked what would induce more excitement than hand-holding. Zenitsu had suggested kissing.

Tanjirou felt a throbbing headache coming. “Why would you tell him something like that? You know he’s rash and he wouldn’t think twice about acting on it!” “He asked me so I answered him! Besides, he’s a hot-blooded seventeen-year-old. He’s bound to be interested in such things. Maybe you shouldn’t have such contests with him in the first place?”

“I didn’t even know there was such a contest!” Tanjirou protested. Inosuke had the tendency to turn all sorts of things into contests, sometimes without him realising it. So he wasn’t surprised when Inosuke would out of the blue declare that he had beaten him at something. But where on earth did “make each other’s heart race faster” come from?

“If you don’t like it, tell him not to do it again.”

“This isn’t about me. I don’t want him thinking it’s fine to do this to anyone.” Tanjirou found himself speaking more snappishly than he intended. Before he could stop himself, he scolded, “You’re such a bad influence on him!”

“I’m a bad influence?” Zenitsu’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Look, in case you’re wondering, I didn’t teach him anything. Nezuko-chan and I haven’t gone past the hand-holding stage. We don’t even hold hands as much as you both do.

“Holding hands is different. Anyway, please don’t say such weird things to him again.”

Zenitsu threw up his hands in resignation and walked out of the kitchen.

After Tanjirou calmed down, he regretted being harsh on Zenitsu. His friend was right. It was his own fault for starting this hand-holding and allowing it to continue. He would talk to Inosuke, apologise to him, and then set the record straight. Inosuke may not be good with social cues, but he would listen to a reasonable explanation.

However, Inosuke spent the rest of the day avoiding him. He ate dinner earlier than all of them and went to bed early. When Tanjirou lay out his futon on his usual spot next to Inosuke, he saw that he had placed his boar mask over his head. Inosuke rarely did this nowadays unless he was really uncomfortable.

Tanjirou called out to Inosuke, but he did not respond. He tried to use his powerful sense of smell to figure out Inosuke’s emotions. This was something he tended to avoid doing because it was intrusive, and not always reliable. It worked well for singular intense emotions like anger, sadness or fear, but less so on a mixed bag of feelings.

He couldn’t figure out what Inosuke felt, but he was relieved to find the absence of negative emotions. He decided to leave him be. Perhaps Inosuke discovered that he didn’t like kissing after all and would stop doing it. Tanjirou hoped his conjecture was right. Inosuke would be in so much trouble if he tried this on some poor unsuspecting girl.

*

Tanjirou’s hopes were dashed when the next morning, Inosuke ran to him, cupped his face between his hands and kissed him again.

The kiss lasted a little longer than before this time. For how long, Tanjirou couldn’t tell. It felt as though time had stopped. All he knew was Inosuke’s musky scent, his lips surprisingly soft and warm against his own, the feathery tips of his hair brushing against his own cheek. After some time, Inosuke pulled away. Tanjirou was overcome by such an intense head rush, he couldn’t even move or speak a word.

“Aren’t you going to praise me?” Inosuke demanded, his bright green eyes brimming with excitement. “After kissing you yesterday, my heart wouldn’t stop doing somersaults, so I had to get away to calm it down. This time I shifted my heart twenty-five degrees to the right and it feels much better. I’m brilliant, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you’re brilliant,” Tanjirou said automatically when he’d found his voice. Then, as he regained his sensibilities, the gravity of the situation set in.

“Wait! It’s not brilliant. You have to stop doing this!”

“Huh?! Why?!” Inosuke’s smug grin morphed into a frown.

Tanjirou froze. He wasn’t at all prepared to give a lesson on why they shouldn’t kiss. Panicking, he ran possible reasons through his head. Kissing should only be done between two people in love. But would Inosuke understand what it meant to be in love? Kissing was inappropriate between two men. But why? If Inosuke asked, he wouldn’t even know how to explain this one. And there would be more trouble if he kissed a girl instead.

That’s it! Kissing a girl without consent is a crime. That’s the most critical issue. Inosuke could take his time to learn all about love and kissing later. But right now, he needed to know that he must not kiss or touch girls without their permission.

“Because kissing a girl without her permission is wrong! It’s harassment!” Tanjirou declared, his voice brimming with conviction.

“You’re not a girl.” Inosuke stared at him as though he thought he had lost his mind.

“No I’m not, but… but…” Tanjirou felt himself deflate. Why was explaining things so hard? He took a deep breath to calm himself and put things into perspective. “Actually,” he ploughed on, “this applies to anyone, not just girls. You shouldn’t kiss anyone without their consent.”

“Why?!”

“Because they’d get angry!”

“Are you angry?”

Am I angry? Tanjirou wondered. If he were to be honest, no. He didn’t mind it. Sure, he thought Inosuke's behaviour was uncalled for. But he was more worried about him getting into trouble with other people who were less understanding.

“No, I’m not angry. But…”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Inosuke kissed him again.

Much later, when Tanjirou finally snapped out of his daze and stopped mooning around, it dawned on him that this was a disaster waiting to happen.

*

Tanjirou was relieved to find Zenitsu snacking on his favourite bench in the garden behind their eatery. He felt bad about disrupting his break after a hectic lunch shift, but this was important.

“Zenitsu, we have to do something about Inosuke!” Tanjirou cried, wringing his hands. “He doesn’t understand consent. I’m worried that he’ll get into trouble and offend all the girls, like how you used to.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Zenitsu looked up balefully from his onigiri, the tone of his voice icy.

Ignoring his displeasure, Tanjirou continued. “Do you know if he’s friendly with any girls? Maybe if I could just give them a heads-up, they’ll understand.”

“No? How will he meet any girls, with you both glued at the hip all the time?”

Tanjirou thought Zenitsu had the tendency to dramatise things. But now that he mentioned it, he did spend an inordinate amount of time with Inosuke. This was especially so after Nezuko and Zenitsu started dating. The two of them would go off on their own, leaving Inosuke and Tanjirou with each other for company. Not that they minded it. They have always enjoyed hanging out with each other.

In their free time, they would go hiking in the mountains or explore the neighbouring towns and villages. Sometimes, they experimented with new recipes for the Wisteria Garden’s menu. Inosuke was a reliable food taster and creative with his ideas. Tanjirou would improve and create new recipes based on his feedback and suggestions. Inosuke would follow him when Tanjirou had less exciting things to do, like running errands, visiting suppliers or helping out at the orphanage. Tanjirou never questioned his decision to come along. Inosuke’s presence made him feel secure, even if all he did was stand around him and look bored.

“I didn’t realise I was affecting his ability to make friends,” Tanjirou said morosely.

“I was exaggerating. This isn’t on you. Since he’s stopped wearing the boar mask, girls have been trying to talk to him. Nezuko-chan’s friends have also asked her for introductions. But he's rude and impatient. He walks away before they can even finish introducing themselves. On the rare occasion that he feels like responding, he offends them or scares them away as soon as he opens his mouth.”

“I thought he’s gotten better at interacting with people over these years with us.”

“Well, you know what he’s like. He does and says as he pleases and making friends is at the bottom of his priority list. Anyway, it doesn’t seem like he’s interested in any girl, so you don’t have to worry about him behaving inappropriately with them.”

“If you put it this way, I guess I can stop worrying for now.” Tanjirou heaved a sigh of relief.

Zenitsu frowned at him.

“You’re supposed to be a hot-blooded seventeen-year-old too, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you care about your own love life? Instead, you’re busy being a mother hen to him!”

“Eh? I’ve been busy with our eatery. I don’t have time to meet anyone. And it’s not like any girl has shown interest in me. Haha.”

“What?” Zenitsu stared at him in astonishment. “Rin-san knitted a scarf for you. Ito-san gave you a pair of tickets for the Kabuki play this weekend. Mako-san from the sweets shop made a cake for you. There’s a letter from Kanao too. I put them all on your table. Please don’t tell me you didn’t get them. I promised them you would!”

“I did see them. I made sure they knew too.” Tanjirou assured him. He had made Rin take back the scarf because he had enough of those to last him for years. Nezuko made him one each winter, and it was of such good quality that he was still using one that she made years ago. He didn’t care for Kabuki plays, and so gave Ito’s tickets to Nezuko, but he had insisted on paying for them. Inosuke ate the cake that Mako made and said it was bland, so he didn’t get to try it, and he was frank to her about it. Nevertheless, he tried to convey his appreciation by buying a cake from her store. Despite his best efforts to not take advantage of his neighbours’ kindness, they all seemed to be cross with him.

Tanjirou confided his puzzlement to Zenitsu.

“In future, please don’t accept things on my behalf. I don’t want to waste their effort,” Tanjirou said.

Zenitsu narrowed his eyes until they were a slit.

“You’re unbelievable. I shouldn't have bothered. But those girls asked me to help because Inosuke glares at them when they go near you and they got scared.”

“Oh no, is that so? Is there a misunderstanding? I’m sure Inosuke meant no harm…”

“I’m just passing on the message.” Zenitsu cut him off. “Anyway, what about Kanao? You write to each other, don’t you? What did her letter say?”

“Kanao asked if she could visit. I wrote back saying that of course, she could, and to bring Aoi, Sumi, Naho and Kiyo along. She hasn’t replied though. It’s odd because she usually replies to my letters within a day.” Tanjirou mused.

Zenitsu brought his palm to his face. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I suppose they must be busy with their ryokan business.” Tanjirou opined. Last he heard from Kanao, they rented out parts of their beautiful, spacious mansion to weary travellers and people in need of a vacation. Apparently, a bulk of the clientele were former demon slayers, and business was brisk.

“If they visit, I sure hope Inosuke behaves. They’ll be so disappointed if he acts like how you used to, Zenitsu.”

“I don’t think they’re ever visiting. You and Inosuke deserve each other and nothing more!”

*

Tanjirou had hoped that the novelty of kissing would eventually wear off, and Inosuke would turn his attention to something else. But if anything, Inosuke became even more brazen with his kisses.

Tanjirou had tried to ask him why he was acting like this. But all he got were non-answers like “Because I want to”, “I like kissing you.”, “It feels nice”, “It makes me feel warm and fuzzy.” Of course, kissing was nice, but that didn’t mean you should do it with anyone.

Once again, he tried using his acute sense of smell to sniff out Inosuke’s emotions. He could detect happiness and excitement. There was another scent, a subtle, flowery one, that he couldn’t place at first, until one day, when he caught a whiff of it from Zenitsu being around Nezuko. Well, Zenitsu was probably always thinking of kissing Nezuko, so that didn’t offer much insight.

He didn’t mind kissing. It was harmless and he knew Inosuke had no ill intentions. But kissing was very distracting for his work. He couldn’t focus and would spend long moments in a daze until Zenitsu scolded him for being slow. He also mixed up the customers’ orders several times. After he confused the salt with sugar, he decided that it was time to put his foot down.

Tanjirou had gotten better at anticipating when Inosuke wanted to kiss him. If he couldn’t talk Inosuke out of kissing him, then he would simply avoid him. At least, until he found a better solution. But Inosuke seemed to view this as a challenge. Whenever Tanjirou ran off in a different direction, he would chase him down and corner him, like a predator after its prey, a triumphant glint in his eyes.

This time, Inosuke had him against the wall inside the kitchen pantry, trapped between his arms. The only way Tanjirou could get out of this was to headbutt Inosuke. Of course, this wasn’t an option.

He pinched his lips together, determined to keep him out. What was Inosuke thinking, kissing him while they were in the middle of a rush hour shift? Not that it was any more appropriate if they kissed at any other time, at home, or anywhere else. But still.

Tanjirou felt a nibbling sensation on his lower lip, followed by a slight tingle of pain. Was Inosuke biting him? Startled by this new development, Tanjirou tried to ask about it. In the split second that his lips parted, Inosuke slipped his tongue in. Tanjirou stilled in shock as his mouth was explored in ways that he never expected.

Tanjirou felt his knees grow weak. He was so dizzy and tingly all over. He would slide down to the floor if he didn’t hold on to something soon. Impulsively, he put his hands around Inosuke’s waist. Inosuke seemed to view this as encouragement. He pushed Tanjirou against the wall and kissed him harder.

“He’s getting better at this,” Tanjirou thought. Inosuke has always been a fast learner. Compared to the first time he planted a peck on his lips, he’s so much more confident and assertive now. As the saying goes, practice makes perfect. Tanjirou had already lost count of the number of kisses Inosuke stole from him.

Their lips parted. Inosuke leaned back a little, breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed. Their faces were still very close. Tanjirou could see every long eyelash, could feel the intensity of his stare as his emerald green eyes bore into him. Tanjirou had to look away. How could anyone be so dazzlingly beautiful?

“Tanjirou!” Zenitsu bellowed from outside. Tanjirou nearly jumped out of his skin. “Where is the order for table twelve? And where the hell are you?!”

“I’m working on it!” Tanjirou called back, quite forgetting about Zenitsu's keen hearing.

What am I doing, evaluating Inosuke’s kissing and his face?

Tanjirou felt that he was really losing it. He put his palms on Inosuke’s chest and nudged him. They needed to get back to work before Zenitsu found them here.

Too late, Zenitsu appeared in the doorway. Tanjirou’s heart was beating like a drum. But he knew it didn’t take Zenitsu’s auditory perceptions to figure out what they were doing. Inosuke was panting slightly, and he still hadn’t removed his hands from around him.

“Don’t flirt at work, you idiots! We’re running a serious business here!” Zenitsu’s loud shrill scream echoed around them in the confined space. “If you don’t get table twelve’s order ready in five minutes, you… you will… well, you can’t be fired, but you will be sorry!”

Zenitsu threw a dirty look at both of them and stormed off.

“Tsk, stupid Monitsu.” Inosuke straightened up and released Tanjirou. “What do you need for table twelve? I’ll help.”

Tanjirou neither knew nor cared what table twelve’s order was. There were much more pressing matters at hand.

“We… really shouldn’t do this,” Tanjirou stammered.

“Huh? Do what?”

“Uh… kiss.” Tanjirou took a deep breath. “We shouldn’t kiss each other.”

“Why?” Inosuke frowned at him, his delicate features radiating impatience.

“Um… because you should only kiss someone special to you. Someone you like very much!”

“I don’t dislike you.”

“That’s not a good enough reason to kiss someone! You don’t dislike Zenitsu and Nezuko too, but you wouldn’t kiss them, right?”

Right? Tanjirou hoped.

“I don’t want to kiss them.” Inosuke scoffed.

“Right.” Tanjirou nodded, feeling strangely relieved. “So you shouldn’t kiss me too.”

“You’re different.” Inosuke’s expression softened. “You’re my underling number one.”

“That’s… neither here nor there. Bosses don’t kiss their underlings.”

“You’re just an underling, so you don’t get to decide that.”

And he pushed him against the wall and kissed him again.

Chapter 2

「 ✦ Please support your creators by reblogging ✦ 」

Author Notes: I had a blast writing this fic with the oblivious and protective Tanjirou falling apart from Inosuke's outrageous flirting. Inosuke just wants to kiss Tanjirou, but Tanjirou doesn't understand his advances, and all he can think about is how much trouble Inosuke could get into if he pulls this stunt on someone else. But let's be honest, can you blame Tanjirou for failing to understand when Inosuke just springs these kisses on him without any warning or explanation? Writing about the miscommunication between two fools in love was too much fun. “Aren’t you going to praise me?” Inosuke demanded, his bright green eyes brimming with excitement. “After kissing you yesterday, my heart wouldn’t stop doing somersaults, so I had to get away to calm it down. This time I shifted my heart twenty-five degrees to the right and it feels much better. I’m brilliant, aren’t I?” When I first saw the scene where Inosuke said he could shift his heart, I thought it was one of the most incredulous things I've ever heard, and even my mom, who was watching the show with me, exclaimed, "He can shift his heart?!" I'm thrilled that it has come in handy for my fic, as it would explain how Inosuke could quickly transition from running off after a quick peck to staying put and extending his kiss. Thank you for reading! If my fic made you smile, it’d really make my day if you could drop a like, reblog, and/or comment to let me know! This story is also published on AO3 where you can comment anonymously!

[auspicetaker]

hi tumlr

my queue ran out and i’ve been too busy playing TotK to update it. i’ve been doing some personal writing today that’s probably not interesting to anyone else, but i’m putting it under the cut if you’re interested in reading me complaining about all my life problems and not doing anything to solve them.

5/31/2023

What’s my problem? Well…

… I’ve been bleeding continuously for months, maybe years. I’ve lost track. I’m on hormonal birth control to manage my brutal PMS symptoms (debilitating cramps, migraines so bad I can’t stand up, hellacious mood swings) but now I’m just on a low-grade period forever. Not sure what’s worse - the whiplash of the highs and lows of the natural cycle, or being stuck somewhere in the cycle eternally, not up or down, just blood and tissue leaking out of me day in and day out for months and months on end.

… I’ve been wishing to get on T for some time now. I want the facial and body hair, the husky voice, increased muscle mass, new stinky boy smells, a roughening of my too-delicate facial features. However, getting gender-affirming healthcare, even in a trans-friendly blue state like mine, is no small undertaking. Everywhere I’ve called is either not accepting new patients or has a prohibitively long waitlist. I have an appointment with an endocrinologist in a few months, but since he’s just a straight-world endocrinologist, not someone specialized in these things, I am extremely apprehensive he’ll just shut me down. It’s happened before. The T feels like a new avenue to pursue to deal with my endless, miserable bleeding, some different exogenous hormones instead of the estrogen I’ve been taking. It feels like a small glimmer of hope, so obviously I am already prepared to never get it, to have it be taken away if I do get it, or for it to not work out like I imagined. 

… My job is falling apart at the seams. My colleague who was my greatest support was taken away from me about a month ago, unceremoniously laid off due to financial issues (concerning) and I’ve been floundering ever since. I made so much progress with my self-loathing and avoidance around work stuff, and it feels like I’ve taken eight steps back. No, not even that I took the eight steps myself, it’s like I was picked up by a giant claw and thrown all the way back to a more dysfunctional self. I had something good going, it felt tolerable, and now I am floundering, trapped with my stupid boss on his sinking ship. 

… I need to work on my resumé, apply to other stuff. I have always hated job hunting. It is a particularly odious form of the sort of normal-person lying and deception that is necessary for survival in our society. Creating a version of myself that’s palatable to prospective employers, then scraping, bowing, and doing little dances to try and get their approval or consideration… it makes me sick. Part of what was so great about getting this job was that I don’t even think I ever gave my boss a resumé. He already knew me and I was able to just use that goodwill and prior record to pirouette into this current role. Which in retrospect may have been kind of a red flag.

… My mental health has taken a bit of a nosedive in these past few months. Part of it is that I’m tapering off of the antidepressants that I’d been taking for my entire adult life. I was doing okay, but there’s been a few stumbling blocks in a row and things are tough, now. Things I thought I was doing better with (self harm and suicidal ideation) are back in a big way. I’ve accepted that I’ll struggle for a while, maybe forever, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay for the return of my full range of emotions. Long-term SSRI use leaves you in a state of not-depression but also not-happiness. You don’t experience pleasure so much as you experience the absence of pain. For me, at least, I also experienced a profound dulling of what little creative impulses I had. On that front, tapering down SSRI’s has been revelatory - I feel like I’ve unlocked a long-buried self who desires to write and make art, who has aesthetic visions and preferences. I’m collaging again, making art in my journal, learning to make digital art on a tablet, creating wall collages in my room. It doesn’t feel like something new, it feels like something very old that I lost and am finally returning to. All this to say that I’ll take an uptick in my brain screaming for blood and death (god knows I experienced that already on my full dose of SSRI’s) to get a shred of that old self back, to feel the joy and thrill of creation again. 

… Speaking of aesthetics, I’m so fucking sick and tired of all my clothes. I want something new but I don’t know exactly what. I’m tired of the black-and-green color scheme I’ve been rocking for the past 5 years. I’m tired of the skinny leg silhouettes and the too-small band tees. Again, I don’t know what I’d replace this all with. Shopping takes time and money, and I have little of either. In-person shopping is a sensorily draining and overwhelming experience, and online shopping leaves me either paralyzed with indecision or, worse, pulling the trigger impulsively and then wracked with regret. I have made a few stabs here and there towards a new personal aesthetic, getting colorful, oversized new button-down shirts, for example, but it’s slow going, and in the meantime I’m left with what I already have. And I’m so, so sick of it all.

… My house and my room are in a state of flux. My roommate is moving out, and my girlfriend is moving in. I’m sad to leave my roommate (nine years cohabitating!), apprehensive of change, but mostly excited. It’ll be incredible to have my girlfriend by my side all the time. That’s a dream. There are many, many nasty and frustrating corners of my room I keep saying I’ll deal with, and the clock is running out. My closet is a mess, my storage areas are inefficient and cluttered, and I simply cannot seem to get it together enough to do anything about any of it. Additionally, I decided I’d redo the peeling bathroom paint myself, even though we’re renting and it should be my landlord’s job, and it’s taking forever. I have very limited time and resources to deal with the many stages of scraping, stripping, sanding, spackling, priming, and repainting. The bathroom is currently in the “scraped and stripped” stage, but not yet in the “sanded, spackled, primed, and painted” stage, and it looks absolutely terrible. I feel stupid, panicked, overwhelmed just thinking about it. I’ve painted myself (ha ha)  into a corner and I just have to keep going, despite the fact that I never want to look at the fucking bathroom ever again, at this point. 

… There are other things that are necessary to my survival and health that I’ve been avoiding dealing with, or just haven’t had the resources to deal with. I’ve needed new glasses for months now but can’t seem to make myself do anything about it. It takes a Herculean effort just to go to work, cook food, do the dishes, and do my laundry, so higher-level tasks like “writing a resume” or “shopping for new jeans” or “making a necessary medical appointment” just keep getting pushed off for later. And later never comes.