#pas de deux ao3

[virgothozul]

I- I am smitten with @somerandomauthorrr ‘s writing .

I was screaming KISS THE DAMN BOY

I am positively craving kisses. Ok it was messy and not exactly fair to the entire cast but urgh finally 🤲

[somerandomauthorrr]

Pas De Deux Preview-Chapter 14

enjoy, tumblr loyalists. this chapter will be posted at 4:30 CDT on Friday!

By the time his suit jacket was pulled tight against his ribs, the voices in the room dwindled. He didn’t seem to connect the loss of volume to a loss of occupancy, sending shock through his cheeks when he looked up to see the room empty.

Well, almost empty.

“It’s just us.” Caesar shot the words across the room like a dart, landing a few inches to his left. Joseph turned to face him before he could shoot another.

“You always take too long to get dressed.” Joseph nodded to the door. “Remember last season? Nearly missed your entrance during the matinee.”

Caesar scoffed with a lightness that danced across Joseph’s shoulders. “Hardly. You’re still in here, and you got here before me.” He dared to step closer as he belittled him. The soft golden jacket remained unbuttoned, showcasing Caesar’s skin-clad undershirt and sharp collarbones that taunted his wandering eyes.

Joseph reached out once he was close enough to. His fingers ghosted over the buttons, waiting for Caesar to pull away and tell him to put his greedy hands elsewhere.

Caesar let out a heavy breath as Joseph began slipping the buttons into the loops with delicate fingers.

“Do you think Lisa Lisa will let us stop after the full run?” Joseph’s voice, though loud enough to be heard, was dangerously and uncharacteristically soft. Soft enough to fall into, or at least that’s what he hoped.

“I sure hope so. My head still hurts.” Caesar carded a hand through unstyled blonde strands. Joseph watched his busy hands to keep himself from abandoning his task in favor of sliding his fingers into his hair to test its tensile strength. He mumbled out a soft, “Yeah, I bet.”

The silence that followed their exchange was oddly comfortable. Neither of them spoke a word but there was nothing more to say. Joseph didn’t need to run his mouth, and Caesar had nothing to scold him for. The thick fabric scratched against his nails and stamped his fingerprints onto its decorated surface. Beneath the jacket, Joseph swore he could feel each breath he took swell in his chest before flowing out in a soft stream. He took a breath in an attempt to feel Caesar’s lungs in his own.

Caesar’s jacket was fastened much too soon. He pulled away from Joseph once it was, huffing out a laugh. “Did you button everyone up, or am I just special?”

His hand moved before he had a chance to stop it, sliding up his side and curling around his arm. “You’ve never been-”

Caesar pulled away.

[allsassnoclass]

HELL YEAH!!! can i get uhhhh #9, an I'm so proud of you kiss? pairing, fandom, etc is all up to you :) ill read it even if im not in the fandom go fkn crazy ily xoxo

hi @clumsyclifford!!! alrighty let's throw some fake college sports players in here.

jerejean: I'm so proud of you kiss

Jeremy goes to find Jean after a few minutes, weaving through the crowd of his teammates and the Foxes until he reaches the edge of their party's sphere, out in the sand where the light from the bonfire has no hope of reaching. He stumbles over Neil and Andrew, drawn hypnotically to the bright cherry of the cigarette they're sharing, but neither of them question where he's going or make any attempt at conversation. Neil simply tilts his head to the left with a knowing look, and Jeremy nods in thanks once he spots the shadowy figure sitting yards away in the darkness, looking out at the waves.

Jean doesn't look up as Jeremy approaches, chin resting on his knees as he looks distantly out at the ocean, where the horizon line blends too deep in the darkness to discern what is sea and what is sky anymore. Jeremy flops gracelessly down next to him, kicking up sand and checking to be sure Jean isn't shying away. He relaxes when he doesn't. Jean still doesn't do well with isolation, but he's an introvert at heart and needs his space. After the events of today, Jeremy isn't surprised that he retreated down the beach to be alone, but he also knows that it's the kind of alone that Jeremy is welcome to interrupt.

It makes his chest fill with warmth, being one of the people that Jean doesn't need energy to be around. It's a privilege that he doesn't take lightly, especially when so few people in Jean's life have been safe. For him to have found a group of people to love and be loved by in return is no small feat, and it's something that they've gradually cultivated together in the past year.

For a moment, Jeremy thinks about the first time he saw Jean in person outside of a court, watching the shell of a man cautiously approach him at LAX with only a few t-shirts, a tattoo, and years of abuse to his name. He would never have predicted that they'd be here now, only a few weeks shy of a year later. Jean has grown in ways too numerous to list, but Jeremy has changed, too. It's a mutual metamorphosis, made more important for the way that they've grown in harmony with each other, filling in each other's gaps while leaving room for the other person to stretch and flourish.

Of course, one other difference is that they're NCAA champions now. It isn't a new title for Jean, but Jeremy suspects that this one feels sweeter, more earned.

This is a win that Jean should feel proud of, one untainted by the shadow of black wings and bruises. A championship that has nothing to do with the number that used to be tattooed on his face and everything to do with the person he has decided to become.

"What are you thinking about?"

Jeremy tilts his head towards the quiet, lilting sound of Jean's words. His accent has lessened slightly over the year, either due to less necessity to use his French without Kevin around or being surrounded by people who never stop talking in loud California drawls, but it still colors his words like a swash of blue in a sunrise.

Jean never wants to return to France, but sometimes Jeremy wonders if he would enjoy visiting Canada or Haiti, somewhere that he could use a version of his native language without ghosts following him.

"Jeremy?"

Jeremy blinks, bringing himself back to the present rather than some unnamed future with the two of them wandering around Montreal.

"I was thinking about our win," he says when he can remember what Jean's original question was. Jean huffs, but the sound is fond. Jeremy can't see much in the darkness, but he can picture Jean's expression perfectly. He's not smiling, but he's softer, relaxed and open enough that Jeremy can read his intention.

"How does it feel to be a champion?" Jean asks.

"Amazing," Jeremy sighs, tipping his head back and remembering every hour of practice and hard-fought game that brought them here. Despite the backlash from his decision to cut down the line last year and all of the negative press surrounding Jean's transfer, they made it all the way to the championships and came out on top. It was a battle in more ways than one, but it was absolutely worth it for the look on Kevin Day's face when Cat stole the ball from him using a technique that Jean taught her, then slammed the ball down the court for Jeremy to catch and score.

The team as a whole has grown exponentially. Jeremy has never pushed himself harder, and it wasn't all sunshine and smiles on the court this year. Still, they held it together, and as turbulent throwing a former Raven into their midst was, Jeremy has never regretted the decision to bring Jean to them.

"It's sweeter because I could do it with you," Jeremy says.

He glances at Jean out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't duck his head bashfully, and he doesn't freeze awkwardly the way he used to when Jeremy would drop a sappy but sincere compliment months ago. He simply lets the sentiment wash over him, keeping his focus on Jeremy.

"I'm glad you are happy," he says. Jeremy reaches for his hand, fingertips dragging along his forearm and wrist until Jean turns to thread their fingers together.

"What about you?" Jeremy asks. "How does it feel to be a champion this time?"

Jean takes time to consider his answer. Jeremy listens to the distant sounds of their teammates and friends over by the fire and the gentle sounds of waves hitting the shore while he waits. A breeze gently shifts his hair, light and crisp enough that he nearly shivers.

"I didn't think it would mean this much to me," Jean says quietly. Jeremy squeezes his hand once, then relaxes, giving Jean the space he needs. "I knew that winning with the Trojans would feel different, but the Ravens won because we were expected to. You and I won because we deserved to this time. Because we fought harder and wanted it more."

"And you did it all without a red card, even though Neil was being annoying," Jeremy says.

"It felt good to beat him," Jean grins. "That was very satisfying."

No one felt like it would be a good idea to make Jean block Kevin, not with everything he's told them about scrimmages in the Nest. While he played with Neil at Evermore as well, it was never while Neil was playing striker, and Neil only features in a fraction of the traumatic memories that Jean has recounted. Jean has been doing great in his sessions with Betsy and has grown a lot in his recovery over the past year, but no one wanted to risk prompting a flashback during the championship game, when the eyes of the entire public and Ichirou Moriyama would be on him.

Jean seemed to enjoy playing against Neil, anyway. Jeremy still doesn't understand their relationship and probably never will, but it was one of Jean's best games. Neil ran him ragged, but both of them seemed satisfied with their individual performances, and Jeremy overheard Jean tell him to have a winning day while stealing the ball at one point.

It's taken a long time for Jean to be able to have fun on the court. Healing is slow and non-linear, Jeremy knows that better than most. The progress that is visible, though, is much more gratifying because of it.

Jeremy looks at Jean, tracing his outline in the blue shadows. He takes in the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the enticing tilt of his head, the self-satisfied smile that Jeremy can barely see gracing his lips in this light. He looks like he belongs on this beach, relishing in his win with dozens of people who love him only a few yards away, holding hands with someone who adores him.

It's amazing, what a difference one year can make. Jeremy's chest feels warm and full, ready to burst.

"Hey," he says, squeezing Jean's hand. Jean turns towards him with a questioning noise. Jeremy tugs on his t-shirt, coaxing him forward until he can lean up to press their lips together. Jean responds once he catches on to Jeremy's intention, relaxing against him and sliding his free hand around Jeremy's waist. Jeremy presses forward, trying to transfer as much of the feeling in his chest to Jean as he can. He curls his hand around Jean's shoulder, partially to draw him closer and partially for his own stability. Jean sighs against him, and Jeremy can't help but smile into the kiss.

When they part a few moments later, Jeremy watches the way that Jean's eyes take a moment to flutter open.

"What was that for?" Jean asks. Jeremy smiles and brushes his thumb against Jean's cheek, right over the small heart tattooed there.

"I'm really proud of you," he smiles. Jean ducks his head, leaning into Jeremy's palm. "You've come a long way."

Jean wraps his hand around Jeremy's, pressing it against his chest.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Jeremy."

Jeremy doesn't think he'll ever get used to the way his name sounds in Jean's mouth, his accent curving around it and voice soft as music.

"Still," Jeremy says. "I'm really proud of you, Jean-Yves."

Jean ducks his head again, but Jeremy can't have that. He reaches for Jean's jaw again. Jean knows him well enough to evade and kiss him instead, the perfect distraction. Jeremy is happy to let him get away with it, because that was his end goal anyway.

They stay on the beach together for a long time. When their friends eventually find them, Jeremy watches the way that Jean lights up as Cat tackles him in a hug and he playfully banters with Kevin, two things that would've been impossible a year ago. Jeremy keeps hold of his hand, both of them on top of the world with no plans on coming down.

[inlovewithaspiderguy]

*crazily* I will put feldup on the ao3

[lilias42]

Inspiré de ces deux billets de Ladyniniane et utilisant ce picrew, les designs de certains de mes OCs version Picrew !

Félicia et Ivy

Héléna et sa soeur Myrina, sa soeur préférée et mère de Catherine (qui a un rôle plus important dans l'histoire que je suis en train de tenter d'écrire)

Amalia, la mère de Ferdinand, avant et après son accident qui l'a rendu aveugle.

Fregn (même s'il faut avouer, ce n'est pas très ressemblant mais, c'est le jeu avec les picrew) et Jihane, la grande soeur ainée de Claude (qui devrait bientôt apparaitre dans un petit texte avec son frère)

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Masterlist

Din Djarin x f!reader | 18+ | ~40k words | complete 1/15 main masterlist | ao3

summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

full fic tags/warnings (spoilers!): modern AU, ballet AU, fluff, angst, flirting, dancing, lots of ballet terms (I’ll define things/link videos/etc. -- see below), misunderstandings, character study, romance, pet names (sweetheart, beautiful), lots of tension, later: smut, kissing, grinding, fingering, p-in-v sex, creampie, each chapter will have its own tags, Din lifts reader (see note below about reader)

a/n: welcome to the Din ballet fic!! I started writing this in April and it’s finally finished! I’ll post a new chapter every Wednesday, there are 14 total. There’s some smut coming but it’ll be a while, folks. See my notes below about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!! This fic is so much better because of you. 🧡 And thank you to @almostfoxglove for reading over it and confirming I didn't forget all my ballet, lol. 🩰

note about reader: in this fic you’re a ballet dancer, first soloist at Nevarro Ballet Theater company. I haven’t mentioned the reader’s body size or shape (or hair) basically at all, even to the point of avoiding clothing (except for costumes), but I understand the image that goes along with ballet – I danced for almost 20 years. Din does lift you many times. Please feel free to picture whatever you want, but I know that this might seem more limited. You also have a best friend named Adrian who is in the company with you. I never specified age, but to make first soloist most would be in at least their early 20s. Din is 27.

Chapter list and notes about ballet under the cut! Comment or reblog to join the tag list. 🥰🩰

Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

** Bonus: Amazing art of Din by @kenobiwanx!! **

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

...

some notes about ballet: I will share links to videos and such as much as possible, but here are some definitions to get us started – principal, (first) soloist, corps de ballet, variation, and class vs. rehearsal:

Principal - this is the highest level a dancer (of any gender) can reach in a company. Dancers are ‘promoted’ through the ranks. Principals usually have exceptional technique and artistry and can perform solos, pas de deux (partnering), headlining and/or the most challenging roles, etc. (e.g., the white (Odette) and black (Odile) swans in Swan Lake, both usually performed by one principal). Sometimes dancers are hired directly in as principals (like Din, in this fic). Smaller companies might have 5-6 principals, while larger ones could have as many as 20. Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 14 principals, including Din.

First Soloist - not every company has this rank, but it’s in between principal and soloist. Nevarro has 4 but they are counted among the soloists (12-14ish total). Soloists are often understudies for larger parts, and first soloists would do the same. In this fic reader is a first soloist, just promoted at the start of the season.

Soloist - this is sort of a middle level, for dancers who are doing very well and have proven themselves capable of taking on bigger roles. Many ballets have multiple roles, including supporting roles in the narrative, for soloists and principals to showcase many dancers’ talents. A smaller company might have 5-6 soloists, and a larger company might have as many as 20. (Larger companies also do more shows.) Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 12-14 soloists, including first soloists.

Corps de ballet - this is the lowest/starting level in a company. It’s where most would start from and has the largest number of dancers – these are the dancers who come out on stage in large groups or form the background unnamed roles in narrative scenes (like a party). Reader started in the corps and was promoted to soloist and then first soloist.

Variation - a solo dance, usually a piece from a larger ballet (e.g., the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker). We say ‘variation’ because there are many ballets that have been choreographed differently by multiple people in the ballet world (e.g., there are famous versions of the Nutcracker by Petipa, Gorsky, Balanchine, Nureyev, Baryshnikov… and more). So there can be multiple variations of a solo from a single ballet, and more can be created or altered, etc. But in general the term just means solo.

Class vs. rehearsal - most companies distinguish between ‘class’ and ‘rehearsal’. Class is for the whole company and focused on improving technique. It’s quick and often repetitive and everyone sort of knows what to do. Most people would have ‘their’ spot at the barre and fall into a typical order for going across the floor. After class, most would go into multiple hours of rehearsal, PT, strength training, etc., depending on whether it was a performance day or not. Most companies are rehearsing for more than one performance at a time, so they might have a longer rehearsal for the show coming up this or next weekend, and a shorter one for another performance a bit farther away. But in the days leading up to a show, that show’s rehearsals would probably take over. This can vary by company. On show days, most would have fewer rehearsals with a 1-2 hour break before the call time to get ready.

Season - companies have 'seasons' which just refers to their plan for shows/schedule for the upcoming year. They might refer to like a fall season and a spring season, or the might have a full year schedule with different parts (fall/winter/spring), or they might have only a spring season that runs into early summer. It depends on the company and the size! In this fic Nevarro has a fall season and a spring season, but they tend to think about it as a full year for contracts/etc. They would have 3-4 big shows planned (think Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Giselle, Onegin, etc.) in each part of the season (so, 3-4 in fall and 3-4 in spring). And then they'd fill in the gaps in the schedule with "mixed programs", which are programs with multiple smaller ballets or pieces that feature a lot of dancers. So a mixed program might have a 20 minute Balanchine ballet, a pas de deux, a full corps piece from a larger ballet, and a piece for like 8 dancers. or something. Mixed programs are often when choreographers-in-residence and on staff get to debut their own work.

[defectivevillain]

pas de deux

pairing: Sebastian Solace/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “What are you doing?” You ask suspiciously. “Following you, of course,” Sebastian answers, as if it’s a stupid question. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of you in the submarine, considering Sebastian’s gargantuan tail. It wraps around the space and you find yourself standing uncomfortably in the middle—feeling akin to prey trapped in the coils of a snake’s tail.

word count: 2.4k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical injury, violence, and death

author's note: ty anna for the beta <333 @connorhasabigtip any remaining mistakes are mine!

“Any particular reason you’re following me?” You finally ask, stopping in the twentieth room and turning around to stare at Sebastian. The hybrid usually greets you after your death, providing you with research on the creatures that roam the Blacksite. He also sneaks in around level 47 to sell you items. But he’s never actually followed you like this before—appearing at the submarine dock and accompanying you on your exploration. You were under the impression that he was a wanted man—but, then again, he does have that weird transmission jamming device to keep himself undetectable… 

“Just monitoring your progress, is all,” Sebastian shrugs, tapping his fingers restlessly. He’s clearly bored. You haven’t bothered to engage with him until now—instead pretending as if he isn’t following behind you. But you can only pretend for so long. You’ve always performed these expeditions on your own and, despite your annoyance, it’s nice to have some company for once. Even if that company takes the shape of a human hybrid who seems to hate your guts. Sebastian’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Besides, it’s more fun to be up close and personal. Watch your guts spray everywhere and all that.”

You grit your teeth and ignore the macabre remark, instead continuing through the Blacksite and searching for items. Right now, you only have a small handheld flashlight—and the battery’s pretty low. If you want to get to the crystal, you’ll need more materials. Of course, Sebastian could be helping you look. Instead, he’s only hovering behind you ominously. He has virtually no concept of personal space, as he practically breathes down your neck each time you pause to rifle through drawers. 

“You’re even smaller in person, you know,” Sebastian remarks, apropos of nothing. You feel that familiar irritation rising in your chest once more, but you quickly suppress it. He’s just trying to provoke you. 

“You’re ten feet tall,” you remind him. You’re human—of course he’s going to tower over you. 

“And?” Sebastian drawls. You just roll your eyes and keep searching, valiantly pretending you don’t have a relentless annoyance watching your every move. You enter the next room, only to hear the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Shaking your head, you keep exploring—occasionally glancing behind you warily. 

The next hall is dominated by the same sound of rushing water. The lights aren’t flickering, so you think there aren’t any anglerfish. At least, until Sebastian’s voice breaks through the static in your mind. “You’d better hide,” Sebastian suggests with a smirk, his last word drawn out for effect. “Unless you want to be fish food.” 

You freeze and try to listen for a moment, before deciding to trust his advice. You run for a locker and hide in it, just barely making it in time before the pink anglerfish is rushing past. Surprised that Sebastian was actually telling the truth, you wait a few seconds for it to pass before exiting the locker. The hall is dark now, and there’s no sign of Sebastian. Shrugging, you feel your way around in the dark and manage to find the door to the next hall. The metal slides open, only to reveal Sebastian leering down at you. Your heart jumps out of your chest and you can’t hide the surprised gasp that crawls its way out of your throat. 

Sebastian cackles, before moving away from the doorway and allowing you to enter. And to think, you were just about to thank him for saving your life… You shake your head in disbelief. You really don’t understand this guy. 

Admittedly, Sebastian’s presence is rather distracting. It’s hard to focus when he’s looming over you menacingly. You try your best not to show your wariness, because you know it’s just what he wants to see. Even so, you’re finding it difficult to focus on your surroundings. And when the lights flicker in warning, you’re too preoccupied with finding a locker to notice the anglerfish is only a mere few rooms away. Before you can hide, you’re promptly attacked and killed. 

As your vision fades to black, you hear Sebastian’s laugh echoing in your mind. When you open your eyes to find yourself sitting at that desk once more, you glare at him. He could’ve warned you about the anglerfish. 

“Hey, I helped you once,” Sebastian shrugs noncommittally. “Besides, I’m not your little buddy.” His voice drips with venom as he slides the anglerfish research document across the desk. There’s nothing new on the document. 

You just sigh, pushing the file away from him and heading back to the submarine. It’s only when you turn the corner and make it to the dock that you realize he’s following behind you. “What are you doing?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Following you, of course,” Sebastian answers, as if it’s a stupid question. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of you in the submarine, considering Sebastian’s gargantuan tail. It wraps around the space and you find yourself standing uncomfortably in the middle—feeling akin to prey trapped in the coils of a snake’s tail. 

“I thought the novelty had ‘worn off,’” you manage to finally say, once you see that Sebastian is remaining still.

Sebastian just stares at you in an eerie silence. You shake your head and keep quiet as the submarine emerges from the water. Then, you start investigating the nearby drawers and cabinets, before heading through to the first door. 

And so it continues. You open a door, look around in the hall, and enter the next room with Sebastian on your heels. When you hear an anglerfish approaching, you jump in a locker; you remember to routinely look behind you for Wall Dwellers; and you search for resources. But you can only fight off your curiosity for so long. “Why haven’t you been doing this the whole time?” You ask Sebastian. He could’ve been helping you from the beginning. 

A laugh. “Can’t make things too easy for you,” Sebastian answers. “Besides, this is your job, not mine.”

That’s right. Sebastian isn’t helpful. He doesn’t serve anyone except himself. The only reason he’s accompanying you now is because it benefits him in some way. “Right, because your job is just to provide me overpriced weapons and mediocre advice,” you mutter darkly. 

“Easy there, shrimp,” Sebastian says, his eyes flashing in warning. You roll your eyes and keep walking, trying to pretend as if he isn’t there. It’s proving to be an increasingly difficult task, between his towering form and frequent sarcastic comments. 

In the next few rooms, you find a flash beacon. You know it’ll come in handy when you inevitably reach the halls with broken lights. And it doesn’t take long before you find yourself needing to use it. Feeling turned around, you reach down and send a flash across the space. You can just barely register the layout of the space: three halls branching off from one another, each leading to a different door. Then you see Sebastian out of the corner of your eye… he reaches out… and everything goes dark. 

When you find yourself in that ever familiar dark room once more, you can’t contain your annoyance. “What the hell was that for?” You immediately snap. Sebastian just looms over you, looking rather pleased with himself. He just killed you for no reason. 

“I warned you,” he says. 

“No, you didn’t,” you argue. “And I didn’t even flash it in your direction!” Sebastian just shrugs. You sigh heavily and head out of the room, not even waiting for him to place the file down. Somehow, it appears he’s still benefiting from this arrangement—he must be, since he’s still following you into the submarine again. 

You’re quickly growing frustrated and impatient with your companion. Sebastian is constantly talking; he doesn’t seem to know what personal space is; and he enjoys seeing you in pain. You thought it would be nice to have company, but Sebastian is quickly proving to be nothing more than a meddlesome distraction. 

“It’s almost like you don’t want me to get to the crystal,” you mutter darkly, after he attempts to scare you. You concentrate on searching through the remaining three drawers, before moving onto the next room. 

Then you pause in the doorway, understanding crashing down on you. Suddenly everything makes sense: his inexplicable, almost childish behavior; his insistent presence; and his never-ending amusement. “You don’t want me to escape,” you realize aloud. Your blood runs cold and you feel a shiver run down your spine. The fluorescent lighting above hums loudly. 

“Took you long enough.” He remarks. Your back is turned, but you just know Sebastian is smiling. “You’re stupidly trusting. Naive. It’s almost cute… but mostly pathetic.” 

The lights above flicker in warning, but there’s a tense silence descending in the air. You’re still frozen in the doorway, listening for anglerfish. After a few moments, you conclude there aren’t any. Your fists clenched at your sides as you come to terms with Sebastian’s deceit, you try to keep walking—only for his voice to stop you. 

“You forget yourself.” Sebastian whispers, his voice dark and deeply unsettling. You can’t see anything, but you can hear him moving behind you. His tail sounds as if it’s right behind you—like he’s coiling around you, ready to strike. 

You grab your flash beacon in a tight-knuckled grip, ready to throw him off with a bright burst of light. You’re not sure how long you wait, entirely silent, before deciding to take a step forward. You wait a few seconds, then take another step. The room is drenched in darkness, and without the metal paneling on the floor to guide you, you have no idea where to go. 

A whisper of a laugh and the sensation of breath at the back of your neck makes you whip around and fire off your flash beacon. It’s annoyed him in the past—it seems to take him off guard, at the very least. Maybe you can stun him long enough to make an escape. 

The flash is blinding and your eyes water, sending tears down your cheeks. You can barely recognize Sebastian’s silhouette in front of you, and you can only hope that he freezes, or just lashes out at you-

The light fades and you’re left in the dark. You blink neon spots from your eyes, only to find two unmistakable blue orbs in the dark, a mere step away from you. “Did you really expect that to work?” Sebastian laughs cruelly. 

Suddenly the flash beacon is ripped out of your hand and smoothly crushed, crackling in the air. You can hear the moment the fragments hit the ground, the impact echoing throughout the space. Your heart is roaring in your ears. Then, something disrupts the silence: the telltale shift of a door falling open. You turn around to find a green “56” illuminated on the wall. You’re almost paralyzed in fear, torn between making a run for it and staying in Sebastian’s sights. 

He seems to sense your indecision, because he hums thoughtfully. “I’ve decided to be generous.” Sebastian says vaguely. Before you can wonder what that means, he’s continuing. “I’ll give you a twenty second head start.”

Twenty seconds isn’t nearly long enough for you to run away. You stare at his piercing blue eyes in disbelief. 

There’s no way for you to discern the expression on his face in this darkness, but you just know he’s smirking. “Nineteen…” He whispers, sounding dangerously close to your ear. You instinctively bat at the space just next to your face, but there’s nothing. “Eighteen…” 

It’s hopeless. That’s not nearly enough time to put a significant distance between the two of you.  Not to mention, you have no idea what the next rooms contain. If they’re submerged in water, you’re really screwed. 

���Fifteen… fourteen…” Sebastian’s voice jolts you back into reality. Adrenaline running through you, you race towards the next hall. 

It doesn’t matter where you choose to go—you know he’ll find you. And Sebastian knows the futility of your attempted escape, if the malicious laugh echoing down the halls is any indication. 

There’s no telling what he’ll do when he finds you. 

…And he will find you. 

You clamp a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing and close your eyes, pretending you’re absolutely anywhere else. But you can only stay in the cramped locker for a few moments, before you’re beginning to panic. When you exit the locker, you can hear him in the distance. Gritting your teeth, you decide to just keep running. 

Eyefestation is in the next hall, attempting to drag your attention towards it. You instinctually fight it off, at first, until you come to a realization. 

You don’t want to give Sebastian the satisfaction of catching you. You don’t want to participate in this perverted game of his. 

And, if you’re going to die anyways… you might as well have some control over it. 

Mind made up, you turn back towards Eyefestation and stare right back at it—until your vision is flooded with blinding green and countless blinking eyes. You fall to the ground, and the last thing you hear before succumbing to darkness is a frustrated scream. 

You wake slowly, as if wading through a thick sludge. When your eyes finally manage to open, you find yourself in the same room as always, sitting in front of Sebastian’s desk. There’s a harsh sound as Sebastian slams his hand on the desk in frustration. He doesn’t even give you the file on Eyefestation, instead glaring at you furiously. His fists are clenched so tightly that it looks as if he’s shaking. Despite the fear coursing through you, you still feel… satisfied. You didn’t allow yourself to be a pawn in his game. 

And he knows it. There’s tension written all across his face. He almost seems to surround the entire space, his tail swishing violently behind him. “Get out.” Sebastian orders, clearly displayed. His voice is raspy and smooth all at once. There’s a dangerous calm in the way his body stills as he locks eyes with you. “Before I rip you limb from limb.”

You’re not sure if that’s an empty threat or a founded one, and you decide you don’t want to find out. You don’t hesitate to get up and run out the door, your heart racing as you sprint to the nearest submarine. Even when you’re enclosed within walls of metal, you can’t get rid of the goosebumps prickling along your skin—and the unquestionable notion that you’ve just made a terrible mistake. 

no part two for this one, unfortunately.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[jilyawards]

November & December

Whispers in the Dark (completed, 7.7k) by @yallthemwitches. Rated T.

When Lily is awarded her prefect badge in fifth year, they warn her that James Potter has a talent for disappearing... but if that's true, why does he keep coming to her night after night, hoping to be caught?

A Hundred Visions and Revisions (completed, 1.9k) by @yallthemwitches. Rated T.

She loves him like this: sleepy, slap happy, sometimes a bit handsy but willing to meet her where she’s at in the moment. It’s the quiet moments like this that keep her going sometimes, knowing that whatever is happening out there will disappear by the end of the day when they can hold each other again.

Right Timing (completed, 5.3k) by @gigglesandfreckles-hp. Rated T.

“Maybe I’m waiting for the right one,” he says, shrugging lightly, his gaze steady and intent on her. The words catch her off guard, landing heavily in her chest. She forces a laugh, rolling her eyes as though to wave it away. “That’s a bit idealistic, don’t you think?” James nods thoughtfully. “Most of the time, yeah. But sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s possible.”

snowy night and christmas lights (WIP, 5.6k as of 31 December 2024) by @juniperpyre. Rated G.

“Oh, Evans, you wound me. Now we’re both suffering.” He looked happier than she’d seen him in weeks. “At least we have each other.” Lily’s lips twitched into a smile. James and Lily are the only 5th year Gryffindors staying at the castle for Christmas.

Troubling Time (WIP, 2.9k as of 31 December 2024) by @potterwitch4-ao3. Rated T.

It all begins with the idea of an adventure. But it all ends with chaos ensued by Time.

The Potter Pointe Shop (completed, 20.4k) by @ginnyw-potter. Rated E.

James works in the Potter Pointe Shop together with his father. Every pointe shoe is an ode to his late mother and ballet dancer Euphemia. When the talented ballet dancer Lily walks in to pick up her shoes, James quickly realises he is completely and utterly lost for her. His father's encouragement only stresses him out more. Someone messes with her pointe shoes during the day of her dress rehearsal and James takes it upon himself do to an emergency delivery. Prequel to the Hinny fic 'Pas de Deux'.

on the next train (completed, 1.7k) by @gigglesandfreckles-hp. Rated T.

“Come on, mate.” Sirius pushes off the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets as he steps closer. “You know I don’t need the map to find you when you’re brooding. Not after all this time.”

revenge and rodents (completed, 3k) by shinyruby. Rated G.

“What’s all this? Remus?” Mrs. Potter has now turned to her and Remus and is scrutinizing them like a particularly fascinating puzzle she wants to solve. “Hullo, Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter,” Remus is slightly pink, and goes even pinker when Mrs. Potter embraces him and plants a kiss on his head with an admonishing “It’s Euphemia, Remus, as you very well know.” Lily wants to melt into the floor.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

when i met you (i couldn't measure it)

Ao3 | 2.2k Words | Treasure's POV

(A Firefigher AU one shot)

Over Solaire’s shoulder, a younger man stood, his cool, grey eyes fixed on you. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile, all straight, perfect, white teeth. You flicked your gaze over his features. High cheekbones, perfect, light hair, a maroon suit that was fitted so tightly around his tiny waist you worried his jacket button would pop if he breathed too hard.

His smile gleamed in the soft house lights, just a bit too sharp.

__

Treasure hates opening nights. William loves the ballet. Porter bums a smoke.

TW: Smoking, shitty friends.

Lil ballet info for you guys: Treasure intentionally dances androgynous parts, ones that both male and female dancers have done in the past. They're noted as playing Clara's younger brother Fritz in their youth (a part I actually got to do once as a little kid) that is often danced by young girls OR young boys. In this production, they're part of the Mouse Army and they dance Coffee, which often has both male and female dancers. While they are noted as dancing en pointe, male dancers have been known to wear pointe shoes on occasion. So really, Treasure's gender is fully up to your interpretation still.

As another note, I used more modern names for the different dances ("Coffee" instead of the "Arabian Dance," "Tea" instead of the "Chinese Dance) since I fully believe that if you can't produce Nutcracker without being weird and racist then you just aren't productive. I saw a wonderful production in which the dancers were in costumes that mimicked the drink or treat they represented instead of loosely racist caricatures. That is the vibe for Treasure's production.

Opening night was always your least favorite performance. There was some vicious, clawing energy that you couldn’t direct, an unpredictability that you didn’t care for. When a show was well run, when you had danced it four or five times in front of an audience and knew the lines of the marley floor, what parts were raised and awkward, slick and worn, you could dance without thinking. That was always your favorite part of it, when your conscious thought could drift away and your body took over. 

Dancing was never about your brain. It was about your body. 

Nutcracker was a touch different. You danced it nearly every year, so the motions of it were never new, just distant enough to be unfamiliar. You had to settle back into the feeling of them, stretching across your skin and muscles. You danced the Mice Army, you danced Coffee or Tea or Peppermint. If it was your lucky year, you’d be tapped for the Grand Pas de Deux and dance your feet raw for six performances before the company went on break for the season. 

It was not your lucky year. A combination of guest dancers and principal promotions left you, the ugly duckling of Dahlia Ballet’s professional company, taking a backseat to the pretty young things that got paraded around in snowflakes. 

You hated opening nights, especially when said opening night heralded a visit from the Ballet’s biggest benefactor. Benefactor sounded very 19th century, but there really wasn’t another word for what William Solaire was to the place. He put more money into the Ballet in charitable donations than the rest of the donors combined, and he had standing season tickets. 

He only came once a year, though, on the opening night of Nutcracker, and took up the empty orchestra box that waited, empty for his return.  

Solaire was set to visit the stage before the performance, and your CEO and artistic director were busy entertaining his weird, rich guy bullshit. You could feel the nervous energy of everybody in the building as you ran through the motions of Coffee one more time before you were called for costumes. 

“He brought someone!” Bridget wacked you with her extended tondeuse, the box of her pointe shoe digging painfully into your hip. You turned sharply, falling out of your formation, and fixed her a pointed look. “Oh shut up, look! He’s hot!” You rolled your eyes and turned, distinctly aware of how little time you had to nail this before you had to move on. Coffee could be a challenging dance; languid and slow, mimicking the twisting steam over a fresh cup. Slow didn’t mean easy. It meant that every inch of your body had to be in your control. It meant that you didn’t get the forgiveness of speed when you fucked up. Fucking up wasn’t an option. 

You flexed and pointed your feet, rose up to releve en pointe, turned in an agonizing circle with your leg in a front attitude. Your shoe caught on an uneven section of the stage. You fell to your heel, raised your head to get your bearings to remember the spot. 

Somebody was watching you. You were a performer. Your body knew when there were eyes on you. You spun your head around until you saw him. 

William Solaire was talking excitedly to the artistic director, motioning to the set dressings with a light in his face. He looked trim and handsome in his tailored tux, and his eyes were fixed with rapt attention on his enthusiastic, if anxious, conversation partners. 

You looked to his right and found the source of your discomfort. Over Solaire’s shoulder, a younger man stood, his cool, grey eyes fixed on you. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile, all straight, perfect, white teeth. You flicked your gaze over his features. High cheekbones, perfect, light hair, a maroon suit that was fitted so tightly around his tiny waist you worried his jacket button would pop if he breathed too hard. 

His smile gleamed in the soft house lights, just a bit too sharp. 

“Oh my God,” Bridget wacked you with her foot again, “he’s totally looking at me!” 

You turned back to stare at her, your face screwed up in distaste. 

“Jesus Christ.” You snapped. “Are you blind? Are you incapable of turning without kicking me? Should I just move a foot downstage so save myself the bruise?” 

“You don’t have to be an asshole.” Bridget pouted, crossing her arms. She tugged at the hem of her leotard, only serving to prop her bust up even more prominently. She waggled her fingers towards Solaire’s shadow with a grin before turning back to you. “You are such a buzzkill.” 

You huffed, frustrated, and ran a hand over your face before remembering that you already had your stage make-up on. You’d smeared your blush. 

“Fuck me.” You sighed. 

Opening night was always your least favorite performance. Bridget was a bitch, but she was an impeccable dancer. You fell out of a pirouette after four rotations that she took to five. She did lick you twice during Coffee, and she forgot during the battle scene that the toy soldiers and mice were only meant to play fight. You were certain the wack she gave to your ribs with her wooden sword would bruise. 

You hated opening night, but you loved Nutcracker. You always had, since you played Fritz at seven. You sat in the wings and watched the Grand Pas de Deux, counted the Sugar Plum Fairy’s rotations as Cavelier spun her like a top. 

Those fuckers. They were good. Better than you. So was Bridget. So was every other principal dancer in the company. You were falling behind. Plateauing. 

During bows, your eyes drifted to that perpetually empty box to stage right. William Solaire was on his feet, his face lit up in childlike joy, clapping incessantly as the principals took another bow. To his right, just over his shoulder, his mysterious shadow stood as well, clapping slowly, languidly. His eyes were locked on you until the curtain fell. 

Your castmates broke into laughter and applause, cheers and congratulations spread through the softly lit stage. You turned, popped en pointe to stretch out your right hip. Someone caught your elbow and spun you around.  

“You’ve got to get it together on that turn.”  Bridget bitched, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re embarrassing me.” 

You blinked back at her, shock smacked across your face. The world of ballet could be a cruel, unforgiving one. People often spoke directly and without care for emotions, only results. It shouldn’t have surprised you when she decided to make her point in this particular fashion rather than talk to your director or find a nicer way to get it across. You could appreciate her being up front, at the very least. 

“New marley.” You said, tapping your toe against the stage. “New shoes. New show. I haven’t danced Coffee in like… three years. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” 

Bridget narrowed her eyes at you, her delicate features contorting unflatteringly around a frown. 

“I don’t make excuses.” She bit out. “And I don’t fuck up. So…” 

Another dancer caught her shoulder and she turned, falling naturally into the cheer and jubilation of the post-show. She only spared you one more look before disappearing into the crowd of retiring dancers. 

You made your way to the dressing room, only lingering long enough to snag your coat and lighter before retreating again. It was fucking cold outside and it was probably in your best interest to at least change out of your shoes before you went out for a smoke, but you thought that if you spent another second around everybody’s chatter and laughter and fucking noise you’d actually go insane. 

The costume for Coffee didn’t provide the most cover from the elements. It included a pair of sheer, flowy pains and a skimpy vest that barely covered your chest. You shivered as you planted your back against the back wall of the theater and tugged a cigarette from your pack. Fuck, you were running low. You’d have to stop on the way home. Of course. 

“Can I bum one?” A smooth, british voice called from your right. You jumped, alarmed, and turned.

It was Solaire’s shadow, the handsome, blonde man that had spent the entire night intensely staring you down. You were usually off put by guys that stared, but something about him didn’t set off the alarm bells in your head. 

“Its my last one.” You grumbled, pulled your pack back out. Your hands were fucking freezing, and you shook as you attempted to flick your lights. Thin, cool hands spread over yours, plucked the lighter and both cigarettes from between your fingers. 

“Cheers. You were wonderful, by the way.” The man smiled as he brought both cigarettes to his lips, lit them with the same flame, and took the first, bitter drag before passing one back to you. You pressed it between your lips, wet with his saliva, and breathed in deeply. It warmed you up inside almost immediately. 

“I was alright.” You sighed, smoke obscuring the stranger’s face. You introduced yourself, hand extended. He took it in his, but instead of shaking it, he brought your knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. It would have been corny if it was anybody else, but something about him was so earnest that you blushed, hot and high in your cheeks, up your neck, the tips of your ears. 

“Porter Solaire.” He supplied, stepping back and resting against the cold brick wall. He had a long, black peacoat over his shoulders, leaving his arms free from its heavy sleeves. Even though he had very little cover from the cold, he didn’t shiver or shake, seemingly unbothered by the winter chill. “And I mean it. I don’t give compliments lightly. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” 

“I was the weakest dancer up there tonight.” You huffed, tapping the filter of your cigarette against your lips in thought. “I’m not conventional. I don’t have the training that the other principal dancers do.” 

Porter snickered, looking down at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Something funny?” You sneered. Embarrassment crept up your chest and into your throat, turning you mean. You hated that about yourself. 

“No.” Porter said softly. “No, it’s just… I don’t give a damn about ballet. It’s the old man’s favorite, I just got dragged along tonight. But every time you were on stage, I was enraptured. I have no idea if you’re a good dancer, but what I do know is that you’re… something.” 

The way he said something sounded dangerous. You wanted to watch his mouth form around the word a few more times. 

The back door creaked open. Bridget stuck her head out into the cold. 

“We’re going to get drinks.” She snapped. “Like… six of us? How big is your car? You can DD, right?” 

“I was about to leave.” You said, gesturing with your half-finished cigarette. 

“Oh, come on.” Bridget said. “It’s enough of a mood killer that you refuse to have a drink, the least you can do is come with. It’s opening night! Come and celebrate with us!” 

“It doesn’t sound much like they’ll be celebrating.” Porter’s voice rose up from behind you. You half turned to look at him. Smoke twirled around him lazily, languidly, twisting tondeuse and attitude turns around his sharp, pretty features. “More like… babysitting.” 

“Oh!” Bridget straightened when she saw him, puffing up her chest in her skimpy Coffee top. Porter’s eyes trailed over her body, but the light that sparked in his grey irises when he looked at you was absent. His eyes took on a sharp, cutting energy that made you shiver. “Hey, you’re with… with Mr. Solaire, right? Do you want to… come along?” She put on her most devastating smile, looking up at him through her lashes. Porter looked down at her, blinked slowly twice before turning his eyes back to you. 

“Do you have dinner plans?” He asked, his face and eyes lighting up. “There’s a lovely little Indonesian place around the corner.”

You looked over to Bridget, who was starting up at Porter like he’d spit at her. Her pretty face was twisted up in disbelief. 

“That sounds great.” You said decisively. “Let me go change and get this shit off of my face.” Porter gave you a sly, curling smile. 

“I’m not complaining about the costume.” His eyes slid to Bridget for a moment, as if to check that she was still watching. The corner of his smile quirked up as his attention fell back to you. One cold hand spread up your exposed ribs as the other snaked under your chin and tilted your face towards his. His thumb traced your jaw, those sharp eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he ducked down. 

His hands were cold, but his lips were warm. Soft and plush, you melted into the feeling of them. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You leaned into him, hand falling to hold onto the lapel of his stupid, fancy suit. Smoke passed between your mouths, acrid, bitter, so fucking warm. 

Bridget was gone by the time you came up for air. 

“Your friends suck.” Porter smiled into your mouth. He didn’t let you go. His cold hands began to warm on your skin. 

“Not my friends.” You snorted. “Coworkers at best. Take me to get Indonesian.” 

“As you wish.” Porter grinned.

[virgothozul]

(I MAY OR MAY NOT BE READING « PAS DE DEUX » AT THE MOMENT)

(It is by @somerandomauthorrr !!!)

I love the unplanned rehearsal scene 🤲 !!

[somerandomauthorrr]

i fear this next update will cook

would my tumblr loyalists like a preview of friday’s chapter or would you like to be surprised

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 42

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy Folks,

guess who's back! I don't know if I'm back to doing these consistently, but I have a hell of a list for y'all. Tags and summaries provided by the author, commentary provided by yours truly.

Mindfuck - Dave one shot by @whatsnewalycat

He said he could rattle the bees from your buzzing honeycomb brain. All you had to do was trust him with this power. So you did. And you do. Your valiant beekeeper meets you at this hotel every other Tuesday night, except on holidays.

Hypnotism, hypnosis-kink, Imperfect Praxis of Hypnosis, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Praise Kink, Smut, unprotected piv, D/s dynamic, Dom Dave, Mindfuck

One of the weirdest things I've ever read, but also one of the best. I was super into this. Mindfucking is WILD.... I'd read more of this universe in a heartbeat

Bittersweet Love - Dieter one shot by @ozarkthedog

Dieter is in recovery from drug addiction, the disease that cost him you. This is his first premiere after getting clean and his first one without you.

angst but with a happy ending! mentions of drug use and alcohol but nothing graphic.

This is such a sweet fic? That might be a weird way to describe it. I just love Dieter getting his shit together and all the good coming his way because of it.

Starlet - Dieter one shot by @whocaresstillthelouvre

Your husband has a big movie premiere, sure he looks great, but his co-star looks even better.

PWP, threesome, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), lesbian fun, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, addiction talk, sober Dieter, Kit Kats, I wrote this for the bi girls.

This fic is a dream, seriously. I want a hot movie star husband to bring pretty movie star women into my bed please and thank you.

Pas de Deux - Din series by @burntheedges

When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

modern AU, ballet AU, fluff, angst, flirting, dancing, lots of ballet terms (I’ll define things/link videos/etc. -- see below), misunderstandings, character study, romance, pet names (sweetheart, beautiful), lots of tension, later: smut, kissing, grinding, fingering, p-in-v sex, creampie, each chapter will have its own tags, Din lifts reader (see note below about reader)

This is one of the few modern Din AUs I've read, as I tend not to like them, but I can't recommend this enough. I was drawn in by the summary and hooked by the first chapter!

Never Let Me Go - Ezra one shot by @yopossum

Loving, reverent domestic smut with sweet, submissive Ezra.

SMUT; no plot that’s it just porn but with FEELINGS; sub!Ezra; established relationship; super duper in love; domestic fluff; comfort; gratuitous pet names; praise kink; body worship; body hair; grinding; breast and nipple play; teasing/edging if you squint; light bondage; riding; PIV; no condom (there’s come y’all); religious language and imagery as literary device; Ezra the human thesaurus; prose gettin purple; making grown men whine and cry; reader is not gendered, has breasts and a vulva/vagina, is described as having puffed nipples and dimpled thighs, can straddle Ezra, but no coloring, size, appearance, age, or ability is otherwise noted; Ezra is an amputee and healed and we love it (no gore or trauma or background re: his arm); but I did write this because I was watching Prospect without actually watching and was inspired by *~*those sounds*~* out of context tho; Beatrice is not reader’s name, just a nerdy Dante reference; I stole this title from Florence Welch; old person on tumblr; is this spacing wack?; not a beta in sight; 18+ only no minors

SUBMISSIVE EZRA!!! I loved this. Such a gorgeous fic.

Stick Buddies - Frankie series by @auteurdelabre

You and Frankie find yourselves in a complicated situation when invited to Benny's wedding for a week in Mexico. Despite your strained friendship, you both pretend to be a couple to save Frankie embarrassment when seeing his recently engaged ex wife. However as you navigate through this charade, old feelings and unresolved issues resurface.

friends to enemies, angst, fake relationship, bickering, there's only one bed, destination weddings, enemies to lovers, jealousy, idiots in love, revealed secrets, mutual pining, smut, HEA, so many fucking tropes.

friends to enemies to lovers??? Sign me the fuck up.

Where You Left Me - Frankie one shot by @chaotic-mystery

You meet Frankie for a date and reminisce about your relationship.

MAJOR character death. No movie AU but fuck Tom. This is overall angst heavy and please take care of yourself. Grief & loss, sadness, memories, I think that’s it? It’s just overall a bittersweet and tragically lovesick story. There’s no physical descriptions of reader other than wearing a black dress at one point and having hair that tickles Frankie’s nose. no y/n used

This shit made me cry in the best way. Please read this.

One of Your Girls - Frankie one shot by @pedropeach

unpacking some of frankie's old things leads to a revelation about his past. (OR to put it simply: frankie morales x triple frontier boys circle jerk)

Circle Jerk, Sub!Frankie, Bukkake, Facials, Cumplay, Cum Swallowing, frankie is literally a cum dumpster (and loves it), Praise Kink, Pet Names, Dirty Talk, oral (m receiving), Deepthroating, Cock Worship, Use of restraints, Sexy Photographs, Sharing, brief mentions of anal sex (m/m), for story purposes you are frankie's current gf, frankie x all the guys individually, this includes tom but he's not part of the circle jerk, sry tom

Really was not expecting this to be as tender and soft and sweet as it is considering it's one of the more filthy things I've ever read. Absolutely love it.

I'll Carry You - Javi P series by @almostfoxglove

You reunite with your childhood best friend when he arrives home from Colombia. Javier's sudden return to your life exhumes buried heartbreak, but he longs to set things right.

Eventual smut. Reference to canon-typical violence, injury, and the death of a parent. Plenty of alcohol consumption, yearning, and angst. YEARNING!!!

The yearning is exquisite. The fic is exquisite. I'm in love with this fic

Remorse for Remedy - Joel series by @pedgito

Alone, the Miller's brothers seem like your only hope. The outbreak is still fresh, weeks after the fall and all that matters is survival and the unlikely comfort that comes along with a man who wants nothing to do with you.

early outbreak, canon typical violence, morally grey!joel, smut (warnings given with each chapters), exploration of kinks, enemies to lovers, age gap (early 20s/mid 30s), unhealthy coping mechanisms, detailed warning with each chapter

I haven't ever read a series about Joel immediately post outbreak, which is wild. It's always raider!joel or qz!joel or jackson!joel. I love this new perspective and I'm so excited to read more.

Biology - Joel one shot by @endlessthxxghts

Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship.

Well slap me silly and call me an uncle fucker because this fic was amazing. (they're not really related don't. look. at. ME.)

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Joel series by @justagalwhowrites

After the death of his daughter, Joel Miller fell apart. But when searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and within his own rage doesn't fix it, he resigns himself to working for his brother in private security. It's a job that starts him down the path to stability and a semblance of a life, even if it's not one he particularly wants. At least it does until you show up. The biggest movie star in the world with your newly adopted niece in tow, you throw everything about Joel's life into flux. Is he capable of letting himself feel something again while protecting the only things left in the world that matter?

Protective Joel, Ellie & Joel Bonding, Joel is Bad at Feelings, POV Joel, Joel Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

So pumped for a new Kit fic. Super into bodyguard Joel. The angst right out the gate is so beautifully painful, I just know I'm gonna cry once a chapter at least. (i've only read one chapter, so I have some catching up to do!)

Professor's Pet - Joel one shot by @chaotic-mystery

Professor Miller wants you to teach the class tomorrow morning & you need help being less nervous. What if he’s the reason you’re nervous, though?

Age gap but not specified, power imbalance (professor x TA, reader stutters when nervous, academic weapon, teasing, fingering, one (1) pair of panties ripped to shreds, oral (f receiving), spitting, pussy slaps, praise kink, name calling (good girl, sweetheart, baby, smart girl), dirty talk, talking you through it, spanking, condescending a little bit, cum eating, face riding, nasty freaky kisses to share your cum, no use of y/n

I cannot begin to explain how hot him helping her practice is. And then the smut.... I need a shower

Call It What It Is - Joel one shot by @joelsgreys

A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

JACKSON ERA JOEL. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel.

We love overprotective Joel in this house

The Guard Dog - Pero Tovar one shot by @avastrasposts

Sent to your uncle's bleak castle in the north of England, you expect only a dreary existence until you meet his groundskeeper, a scarred, frightening Spaniard. But love in the Victorian era is not easy and life doesn't follow straight paths.

this is mainly all fluff with a bit of angst. Some of that casual racism and predjudice of the period rears its ugly head though. I've tried to keep the reader as blank as possible, but it's Victorian England and she's a lady so I have to presume she doesn't speak Spanish and has fair skin. No use of y/n.

This was so beautiful. I love the setting, I love the characterization, I love the story

Bloody Kisses - Tim Rockford/Dio series by @perotovar

shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

takes place in the early 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, hurtful names (fairy boy, faggot, queer as a slur, etc), a gay porn magazine, lots of references to peter steele of type o negative (and his playgirl issue), male masturbation, acab, angst, protected p in a, fingering, excessive amounts of lube

I started reading this a while ago, but I never added it to the spreadsheet. I'm in love with how soft Tim is with Dio UgH

In the shadows of others, we grow - Tim Rockford/Dave York series by @sin-djarin

What happens when you put two different areas of law enforcement in the same room a few times a year to atone for their 'sins'? You find common ground and figure it out. Together.

M/M, Established D/s dynamics, each chapter contains individual warnings.

This pairing?? Obsessed. The feelings?!?!? Give me 14 more fics in this universe PLEASE

An End to Drought - Javi P one shot by @almostfoxglove

The future of your family's homestead hangs in the balance as Javier Peña comes home in the middle of a drought.

Javier Peña Smut, Soft Javier Peña, Sweet Javier Peña, Javier Peña Has a Big Dick, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Fluff, Neighbors,Javier might be a god? who knows!, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Creampie, Sex, Vaginal Sex, unprotected piv, Freyr, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Post Season 3

I'm obsessed with the way the challenge was interpreted. Is Javi a god? We don't know... but he sure fucks like one.

Some shit I wrote:

Make it Hurt - Logan Howlett x f!mutant!reader - sparring + pain kink

Morning Ride - Logan Howlett x f!reader - soft morning sex

You're So Dark - Dave York x f!reader - prof!Dave x student!Reader

[feudalconnection]

The Nomination Period for the 1st Term 2025 Inuyasha Fandom Awards is now CLOSED!!

Hey everyone!

Below the cut you'll find a complete list of all of the Fanfiction nominations received for this term! You can also find the full list of all nominations on Google Docs.

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Thank you to everyone who participated in this term for taking the time to do so. We hope you enjoyed your experience! If you do not see your nomination, please reach out to us as soon as possible!

We strongly encourage that when you view a work of art or read a fanfiction, please reblog or leave a comment to let the creators know how much their work and talent is appreciated!

As a reminder, we are giving 3 weeks time to enjoy all of the creations. The voting period will begin February 6th and end February 20th.

In order to be able to vote, you'll need to register so we can keep it all neat and clean. We will be posting the link to the voting form on the first day of the voting session.

Got a question? Check out our FAQ or send us an ask. You can also message one of the mods directly!

Thank you to everyone who nominated for making this 1st Term absolutely wonderful, and happy voting!

For our nominees: This term the lovely @mayarab created nominee banners for each individual category. Please click here to download your banner!

Best Action/Adventure

“Vampire Daiyokai” by @matsuharuu / haharu (AO3)

“Fallen” by @inuyashamybeloved / InuScarlett (AO3)

“Forbidden” by Tsuyu_no_Inochi (SayuriSai) (AO3)

“Welcome Home” by CloudsCloudlet (AO3)

Best AU/AR

“Midnight” by @sereia1313 / Sereia13 (AO3)

“Just for a Night (Right?)” by @my-inukag-fanfiction / InuKaglover69 (AO3)

“Now She Has a Heart” by @stingingcake

“Picture Perfect Pas De Deux” by @mrfeenysmustache / AshMish111 (AO3)

“Just for a Little While” by @fawn-eyed-girl / Fawn_Eyed_Girl (AO3)

“The Boy Who Overcame Time” by @doginabirdcage

“A Sweet Story of Us Two” by @anyara

“Nextlahualtin” by @procrastinatorrex / Wilson (AO3)

“Made to Order” by @chiaztolite

Best Canon Universe

“Toward Tomorrow” by @ my-inukag-fanfiction / InuKaglover69 (AO3)

“Casual(?)” by @ruddcatha

“I Can Hear You” by @ladydanitar

“Beneath Goshinboku” by Ldesu (AO3)

“Cold Company” by @yoshifics / Yoshishisha (AO3)

Best Angst

“Whispers of the Heart” by @theshipthatgotaway / SimpforSessKag (the_ship_that_got_away) (AO3)

“Legacy” by @fandomobsessions016

“inertia” by @noprobllama92

“A Long Time” by @rileyoe1 / RileyOE (AO3)

“Made to Order” by @chiaztolite

Best Dark

“I Can Hear You” by @ ladydanitar

“Legacy” by @ fandomobsessions016

“Divided Hearts” by Simply_ivy (AO3)

“Don’t Buy Me Flowers” by ShyGuyVi (AO3)

“Where the Devil Waits” by ragnarok89 (AO3)

Best Drama

“Madame Masseuse” by princess_pumpernickel (AO3)

“The Sweetest Lesson” by @ ladydanitar

“Don’t Buy Me Flowers” by ShyGuyVi (AO3)

“To Catch A Demon” by Alaviles (AO3)

Best Humor/Parody

“Old History, New Story” by @dawnrider

“iHanyou” by King Baka (kingbaka22) (AO3)

“Ghost of You” by @k9plus1 / WickedsNonProfitWhoreganization (AO3)

“Please Just Stop” by @kstewdeux

“It’s Not Me, It’s You, Hojo” by @xanthippe-writes / xanthippewrites (AO3)

“Deck the Dumbass: A Christmas Banger” by @elkonigin

“In the arms of Death” by @lynnnexus / Lynn_Nexus (AO3)

Best NSFW

“Gilded Cage” by @k9plus1 / WickedsNonProfitWhoreganization (AO3)

“Just for a Night (Right?)” by @ my-inukag-fanfiction / InuKaglover69 (AO3)

“Madame Masseuse” by princess_pumpernickel (AO3)

“slow and high tempo” by @savethelastdan / Shespitsfire (AO3)

“The Sweetest Lesson” by @ ladydanitar

“An Autumn Night” by ShyGuyVi (AO3)

“From Beginning to End” by @ dawnrider

“FMRN” by @lutelyre

Best One-Shot

“Breakeven” by @ theshipthatgotaway / SimpforSessKag (the_ship_that_got_away) (AO3)

“Empty Nesting” by Flamethemightydragon (AO3)

“Piece and Quiet (and a Whole Lot of Canoodling)” by @ inuyashamybeloved / InuScarlett (AO3)

“A Miko’s Fantasy” by @coccinellesroses and Emmyyasha (AO3)

“the beauty of storms” by @theawfuledges / abovetheruins (AO3)

Best Character Portrayal

“Old History, New Story” (Inuyasha) by @ dawnrider

“Silver Scales” (Sesshomaru) by @mitsiepitsie / Mitsje (AO3)

“A Memory of Red Flame” (Sota) by @artistefish

“Fallen” (Inuyasha) by @ inuyashamybeloved / InuScarlett (AO3)

Best InuKag Romance

“Toward Tomorrow” by @ my-inukag-fanfiction / InuKaglover69 (AO3)

“Daiyokai Only Dress in Couture” by @neutronstarchild / NeutrInu (AO3)

“Piece and Quiet (and a Whole Lot of Canoodling)” by @ inuyashamybeloved / InuScarlett (AO3)

“KAWAAKARI” by @ anyara

Best SessKagu Romance (Sesshomaru x Kagura)

“The Chains of Freedom” by Simply_ivy (AO3)

“the later” by @savethelastdan / Shespitsfire (AO3)

“The Wind Will Guide You” by @jewel-shard / Jewel_shard (AO3)

“This Life and The Next” by @heynikkiyousofine

“I Knew It Was You” by @serial-doubters-club / hakomorebi (AO3)

Best Romance

“Empty Nesting” by Flamethemightydragon (AO3)

“Silver Scales” by @mitsiepitsie / Mitsje (AO3)

“an intertwining” by @theawfuledges / abovetheruins (AO3)

Best Rare Pair

“Yin and Yang” by @neutronstarchild / NeutrInu (AO3)

“A Match Made in Alleyways” by @classysassy9791 / ClassySassy (AO3)

“pomegranates & honey” by @inussunflower

“Prismatic” by @the-lone-huntress / Wandering_Huntress (AO3)

Best Fluff

“Of snow angels and memories” by @cat-zchen / Catzchen (AO3)

“Mayhem, Merriment, and Matchmaking” by momstable (AO3)

“A Sweet Story of Us Two” by @ anyara

“The Scrooge and The Sugar Cookie” by @rainandyarn

“So Impossible” by Icy_Touch (AO3)

“This Is How I Show You” by @minakok

“Hungry Like A Wolf” by @mynightshining

Best Serial

“The Journey of a Lifetime (With You)” by @ ruddcatha

“Fresh Stuff - Inuvember 2024” by @alannada

“This Is How I Show You” by @ minakok 

Best Ficlet

“Amaterasu Turned Away” by @ rileyoe1 / RileyOE (AO3)

“Casual(?)” by @ ruddcatha

“Star Man” by @ jewel-shard / Jewel_shard (AO3)

“Pillow Talk” by @ sereia1313 / Sereia13 (AO3)

“soft spot” by gigifigiwater1 (AO3)

Best Character Development

“From Beginning to End” (Inuyasha) by @ dawnrider

“Adventure of Little Raven” (Sesshomaru) by Kait_Layne (AO3)

Best Completed

“The Scrooge and The Sugar Cookie” by @ rainandyarn

“The Journey of a Lifetime (With You)” by @ ruddcatha

“Deck the Dumbass: A Christmas Banger” by @ elkonigin

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 1

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.9k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

fic summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

a/n: here we go! Chapter 1 starts sometime in late fall, November-ish. See my notes on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions), a bit of angst

Chapter 1

“‘In a surprise move that shook the dance world, the Concordia Ballet Company announced yesterday that they have parted ways with principal dancer Din Djarin.’”

You could hear the sudden gasps through the open door of the large studio as you walked towards it. You recognized Clara’s voice as she read the news aloud, you assumed from her phone. 

“‘Djarin, 27, who trained at the rigorous Concordia Ballet School from a young age, has been with CBC for 10 years and is in the prime of his career. He was promoted from soloist to principal two years ago, as is the norm at CBC, where they do not promote dancers younger than 25 to principal. His performances have been highlights on the CBC schedule over the last two seasons, earning many rave reviews.’” 

You turned the corner to enter the studio and found most of the company class crowded around Clara as she looked down at her phone.

“‘The CBC press release did not indicate the reason for the split, which only makes this mid-season decision more disconcerting for fans and donors alike.’”

The group around Clara murmured and shifted their weight. You had just read the article on the bus and knew what was coming next. You slid down to sit against the wall by the door, watching.

“‘This decision comes amidst the company’s preparation for spring and for the last show on their fall schedule, Don Quixote, with no explanation as to how their roster of principals and other dancers may be adjusted to compensate for this enormous loss. Djarin is well known for his powerful physique, technical mastery, and classically perfect performances.’” Clara paused, and then continued, “then it talks about some of his work, we know all of that already, blah blah blah, ok whoa!” She gasped. “Ok. Listen to this – ‘Djarin has not been available for comment, but was seen boarding a flight to Nevarro two days ago before the announcement was made public!'”

You started to put on your shoes for barre and watched as everyone else in the room started to completely freak out.

“Here?!” Owen exclaimed, hand thrown over his mouth. “Is he coming here here?” He gestured around the studio as he asked.

Clara shrugged. “It doesn’t say, look, that’s the end of the article.”

Sophie had started rising up and down on the balls of her feet by one of the barres and you weren’t sure if she was aware she was doing it. Her tone was excited as she asked, “would he come here? Why? We’re, like, not his style.”

The room broke down into several noisy conversations at that point, and you felt your friend Adrian slip down the wall to sit next to you. “So, what do you think?” he asked, nudging your shoulder. 

You shrugged. “No idea. I can’t see any reason he’d even want to come here. CBC is so…” You trailed off, but he knew what you meant.

“Yeah. Traditional. Rigid. Not like us at all.” Adrian waved his hand towards the mismatched group of dancers in front of you and you both smiled. The Nevarro Ballet Theater was different from the Concordia Ballet Company in many ways, and the diversity of dancers in the company was one of the things that set NBT apart the most.

You nodded. “Right. If his flight destination even means anything.”

“If it does, what would that mean for us?” Adrian looked around the room. “We already have a full roster of soloists and principals.” He bit his lip. He looked nervous, and he wasn’t the only one — you noticed Sasha, Lu, Carlos, and Isaac were huddled around the bar, clearly worried. All principals, you assumed they were nervous about losing out on parts. For Adrian, you knew it was because he had just made soloist at the start of the season. A new superstar coming in might shake things up too much.

You nudged his shoulder with your own. “I was thinking about that when I read it on the bus. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I heard what Karga said, about how good you are.”

He nodded, but didn’t look reassured. “At least you don’t have anything to worry about, Ms. Soon-To-Be-Principal.” 

You rolled your eyes and shoved down the anxiety lurking in your stomach. You’d made soloist a couple of years ago, and then first soloist this season. There were some people (including Adrian) who seemed to think you’d be promoted soon, as early as the end of the current season. But there were at least a few critics who disagreed, and for months you’d been having trouble putting the words of one in particular out of your mind. You could quote it from memory:

“While her lyricism and skill are undeniable, one wonders if she has the artistry or stage presence to carry a narrative. She more than deserves the promotion to first soloist, but is this her ceiling?” 

You wished you’d never read the article, but it had seemed to be the usual season preview and you hadn’t been expecting the targeted commentary. You’d spent the last few months trying not to think about it too much, or you knew you would get all in your head about it.

“Shut up.” You nudged him again and he laughed.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the door opening next to you. It wasn’t your teacher who walked in, though, and once you saw who it was you both leapt to your feet.

Greef Karga, director of the Nevarro Ballet Theater, looked happy, but then he usually did. 

“Good morning, dancers!’ His voice was deep and loud and you all scrambled into a semi-circle facing him at the door, where your ballet instructor, Alexa, followed him in. You chorused a “good morning” in response.

“I’m sure you’ve all seen the news,” Karga continued, with a knowing smile on his face. “And you must be wondering why I’m here!” You glanced in the mirror and noted that everyone did indeed look both curious and a little wary. “Well, I am very pleased to confirm that Din Djarin will be joining us for the rest of the season here at NBT.”

There was some general murmuring and shock in response, but he was not deterred.

“I know we’re in the middle of the season, with many roles already planned. Din and I have agreed to try not to disrupt that too much this year. We’ll be adding some things to the anniversary gala and the mixed programs.” That made sense — the latter were showcases of the work of different composers and choreographers and could be more easily rearranged to include a new dancer. “We won’t be making any changes to Midsummer, Swan Lake, or Cinderella, which I know we’re already planning for and rehearsing.” You felt Adrian take a deep, relieved breath beside you. He was supposed to be Puck this year for the first time and it sounded like that wasn’t going to change. 

“Din will start joining your classes and the rehearsals for the gala and other programs over the course of the next two weeks. Please introduce yourself and welcome him — we are very excited to have him join us.”

You all nodded, of course, even though you knew a lot of your fellow dancers would be wary of the newcomer. 

“Well!” Karga clapped his hands together and smiled. “I’ll let you get started. Continue with your rehearsals as normal unless you hear otherwise. Have a wonderful day, everyone!”

Alexa moved towards the stereo system in the corner as Karga swept out of the room, and you turned to look at Adrian. 

“Well,” he said, turning towards his usual place at the barre. “This should be interesting.”

You nodded as Alexa turned on the music and you took your usual spot next to him at the barre. It definitely would be.

…

After all that excitement, you didn’t even see Djarin for a few days. He didn’t join the morning company classes right away, but you couldn’t really blame him — moving suddenly across the country wasn’t easy. It didn’t stop you from glancing around every room as you entered, trying to catch sight of your elusive new company member. 

You heard from the others that he’d dropped by a couple of rehearsals, and they’d overheard him talking about plans for the mixed programs with some of the choreographers and other staff, including Talia and Jee. You wondered if he’d ever met Kuiil, the current guest choreographer in residence, who traveled and usually worked with different companies every few years. You somehow doubted it — Kuiil’s style was much too contemporary for CBC.

You’d been in rehearsals for Nutcracker and Midsummer all week, though, so you weren’t really surprised that you hadn’t run into him yet. 

Finally, on Friday morning, you arrived early for class to find a group of your fellow company members huddled by the mirror and staring awkwardly across the room. You followed their gaze and found Din Djarin, in the flesh, warming up at the barre. For a moment you couldn’t reconcile the sight of him in your familiar space. He was tall and imposing, and dressed all in black — black ballet shoes, black tights, black sweats that cut off below his knees, and a tight black long sleeve shirt that showcased the breadth of his shoulders and just how strong he was. His curly brown hair was tousled. His signature mustache, somewhat uncommon in ballet, was in place, though you knew he often shaved for performances — there had been articles about his daring breach of the Concordia status quo when he didn’t. At least at NBT he’d be allowed to keep it, you thought. His face was blank, completely expressionless as he stretched. 

You knew he had to know the rest of the group was watching him, and when you glanced back and found them still huddled you sighed. You felt someone step into the room behind you and turned to find Adrian taking in the standoff. 

He shook his head. “Great start.” His tone was dry, and you laughed under your breath. 

“Should we say hello?” You sat to put on your ballet shoes and Adrian sank down beside you.

“Who, us?” Adrian raised an eyebrow at you. “Do I look brave to you?” 

You laughed again, and were about to suggest going together for moral support when Alexa walked in. She took in the situation and sighed, shaking her head as she crossed the room to where Djarin was still warming up alone.

“Look! Alexa took care of it.” Adrian nudged you and smiled. “No need for us to take one for the team after all.”

The two of you watched as she spoke with him, though you couldn’t hear what they were saying. He nodded at her, and she smiled before walking towards the stereo.

“Alright, let’s get started!” She called out without looking to see if anyone listened, but you all did. You realized as you took your normal spot that you were diagonal from Djarin across the space between two of the barres in the middle of the floor. You’d be able to see him whenever you were working your left side, and somewhat in the mirror on your right. You resolved not to stare.

You only sort of succeeded.

The problem, you quickly realized, was that his movements were beautiful. Even while doing simple pliés or tendus you could see the power in his body, the strength in his muscles, the rigor of his training. Every movement was precise, clean, and perfectly placed. The elegant line of his arm and the curve of his hip drew your gaze like a magnet, over and over again. His effortless coordination and control were mesmerizing. You watched the slow extension of his leg into grand battement until you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away.

Well, you thought, he certainly lives up to all of the hype about technique. CBC had a reputation and he more than exceeded it.

It made you painfully aware of the limits of your own abilities. You knew you were good – you’d made it this far, of course, and now you were first soloist, despite having what was seen as a late start in ballet (at age 7). And despite what the critics said, you were considered to be one of the better technicians at NBT. But you were no match for his level of skill, for the rigorous training you’d heard about at CBC. That much was obvious just from looking at him. 

You tried to clear your mind as the class continued, knowing your worries would start to show in your movements if you let them. It was hard to do that when so much strength and technical perfection stood only five feet away from you, demonstrating the ideal version of every move and transition that you attempted.

As you finished at the barre and quickly put on your pointe shoes to work in the center of the room, you finally put it out of your mind. There was no use in comparison, you’d learned that a long time ago. In the end, the only dancer you could compete with was yourself. And NBT was not a company that encouraged that kind of competition among dancers anyway.

You found your feet going across the floor, letting yourself sink into it as you moved through some jumps and short combinations. You tried to feel nothing but the pull in your muscles and pattern of your breath. By the end of the class you felt a little steadier, a little more centered.

Alexa dismissed the class, and you started to gather your things. As you slipped off your pointe shoes, you felt someone brush past you, heading for the door — Djarin didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold into the hall. You realized as he did that he hadn’t spoken a single word for the entire class. You wondered if he was unhappy to be here, after all. 

By the time you stepped into the hallway, he was nowhere to be seen.

Adrian fell into step next to you as you walked towards the larger rehearsal studios at the other end of the building. He hooked your arms together and looked around quickly to see if anyone was nearby. He leaned in to whisper, “did you see that? He was amazing!”

You nodded. “I know. I didn’t think anyone could live up to all that hype, but he does.”

Adrian shook his head, looking dismayed. “I know they said some roles wouldn’t change but, ugh. I wouldn’t blame them.”

“Hey,” you elbowed him lightly. “Don’t. You’re going to be amazing as Puck. And you know that role plays to your strengths. I don’t see him taking that one from you. It’s not really his style.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Ok, let’s hurry, I need to tape my knee before Nutcracker.” You winced in sympathy, knowing how much he’d be jumping in practice for both the Russian dance and the jack-in-the-box roles. But his words jogged your memory.

“Shit.” You froze in the hallway. “I left my tape in the studio. Go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

He nodded, but you were already turning as you said it, waving him on.

You heard him jog off towards the rehearsal rooms behind you as you walked quickly back the way you’d come, turning past the bathrooms and the administrative offices. It didn’t take long and your tape was right where you’d left it. 

Tape in hand, you turned around again and started walking back down the long hall. 

As you approached the offices, though, the sound of Karga’s raised voice stopped you in your tracks, just around the corner from his office door.

“We talked about this, Din. It's part of this company’s identity. You want to break away from them? You need to make a statement.” You heard the slapping sound of one hand against another and imagined Karga hitting his hand with his fist for emphasis. 

“No, Greef, listen. I don’t—“ You startled. It was the first time you’d heard Djarin’s voice and it was much deeper and more pleasant than you would have imagined. 

Karga interrupted him. “No, you listen. Din, you can do this. I know you can. And it will show them everything they’re missing, everything they let slip through their fingers. They are so stuck in their ways, they have no idea what you can really do. What you’re capable of. Let me help you get there.”

You heard Djarin sigh. “This will go badly and I’m going to blame you.”

Karga chuckled. You tried to picture Djarin looking amused, too, and failed. All you could conjure was the expressionless mask he’d kept in place for all of class that morning. Karga continued, “I’ll take it happily. This is going to be great, don’t you worry! We’ll ease you into it. Now, let’s go share the news.”

You heard them start to move around in the office and startled into motion. As you turned the corner, the door to Karga’s office swung open in front of you and Din Djarin stepped out of it. He was moving quickly, shoulders hunched, brow furrowed. He barely glanced in your direction, but when he did, you took a surprised step back at the fierceness of his glare. It was the most emotion you’d seen from him so far, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. He didn’t stop, though, and quickly turned away from you to move down the hall towards rehearsal. You blinked, frozen mid-step, unable to shake the look he’d just given you. What was that about?

...

| next

a/n: sooo what do you think? ballet terms in this chapter:

see the masterlist for principal, soloist, class vs. rehearsal, season

plié - a bending of the needs (you've probably seen dancers standing at the barre and bending their knees -- that's a plié)

tendu - tight or stretched out - stretching one leg out long, often in brushes along the floor

grand battement - the leg is raised from the hip into the air and brought down again, both knees straight (with apparent ease)

barre - the rail that ballet dancers use in class (don't lean on it!). usually you'd wear normal ballet shoes at the barre and switch into pointe shoes (toe shoes) to do exercises in the center or go across the floor

and if you'd like a visual aid, one of the dancers I'm mentally modeling Din after is Carlos Acosta, who you can see in this compilation (~6:49) doing a variation from Don Quixote.

tag list coming in a reblog!

[tarpiteyes]

This is inspired by a WONDERFUL!!!!! fic called ‘pas de deux’ by @somerandomauthorrr on AO3!!!!

PLEASEEE CHECK IT OUT!!! (There is smut, so read at your own discretion! 🫶)

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ Good Luck, Babe! - [Part 1]

♥ next | ao3 link | masterlist

♥ pairing: oscar piastri/carlos sainz jr 

♥ ballet au - enemies to lovers

♥ PLEASE READ THIS AUTHORS NOTE (none of the pictures are mine)

♥ warnings: this fic has swearing and uses some ballet terminology

♥ taglist; @liamlawsonlesbian 

♥ a/n: I’m finishing the folklore series I SWEAR I just really wanted to start this as well lol

No one has ever gotten under Oscar’s skin the way that Carlos does. Since the beginning of time there’s been competitiveness in ballet, but as two of the very few men at their company, their rivalry became a little more personal. 

Carlos took his spot at the barre, a few people lunging out of his way. He practiced a few relevé’s to get his feet moving until he heard a group of girls whispering. 

“He talks so much shit about Carlos…” one of them said as he reached down and fixed the elastic on his ballet flats. 

“I guess Oscar really does hate him.” another mumbled with a shrug. 

“You can tell him it’s mutual.” Carlos pipes up, staring at them directly. 

The group quiets down, turning away from the man and pretending to stretch. 

“Who are we waiting on?” Toto, their instructor said, strutting into the room. 

A few people mumbled Oscar’s name in response. Everyone knew it was a dangerous game pissing off Toto. He never forgave tardiness.

Oscar showed up a few minutes late, sneaking through the crack in the door with his head ducked. Toto had his back turned to the class, adjusting the speaker. 

“Piastri,” he said, turning around. Oscar dropped his bag and lightly placed his hand on the barre beside him. 

“You’re late.” Toto crossed his arms. 

“I suppose I am,” Oscar smiled and a few girls around him giggled. 

“Get out of my class.” Toto nodded towards the door. 

“Sorry?” he questioned. 

“You heard me. Out. Late students do not dance.” 

“You’re joking,” Oscar grabbed the barre tightly. “I’m the leading man, you can’t practice this dance without me.” 

“Carlos will take your place today,” Toto stated. Carlos met Oscar’s eyes, smirking at him deviously. This did nothing but inflate Carlos’ ego. 

“This is a fucking joke,” Oscar mumbled, grabbing his bag. 

“Watch your mouth before I replace you completely.”

“Let that be a lesson to all of you.” Toto sighed, watching Oscar leave the class. “We’re going to start with some simple grande plié’s, tendu’s, and penché's. Then the girls will put on their pointe shoes, we'll do a few across the floor combos, and then work on the pas de deux. Carlos, thank you for filling in today.” 

Carlos nodded in response. 

“Looks like Oscar fucked around and found out.” A girl in the class whispered, eliciting a few laughs. 

-

Oscar was first in class the next day, stealing Carlos’ sacred barre spot. It was ballet etiquette to let the older and more experienced dancers take their position first. A couple of people eyed him while he warmed up. Carlos arrived just a few minutes before class started as always and immediately noticed the man in his place. He took the spot behind Oscar and whispered: 

“You’re petty.” 

“You took something of mine, now I take something of yours.” he referred to the incident yesterday. 

“Still mad that you showed up late? That was your own fault.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes. 

Toto entered the room, a group of women following behind him. The last person through the door was Susie Wolff, prima ballerina. The girls sat on the floor with their pointé shoes, hitting them on the floor to bang the noise out of them. No one wanted to have them clomping around the stage during their graceful variations. 

“Abbi and Oscar, you’re up.” Susie said, gesturing for them to come to the center of the room. Oscar snuck a few glances at Carlos as the other dancers watched from the sidelines. Everyone stood with a complete poker-face, watching intensely for a misstep that never came. At the end of their performance all the students clapped and stared blankly.

"Abbi that was truly amazing." Susie praised her. "Try to get your leg a little bit higher during your développé's and I think it will be perfect."

Oscar was too busy watching Carlos to hear Toto’s critiques. “Piastri, are you with us?”

“Huh?” he snapped out of his stare. “Yea, yes I am, sorry.”

Toto sighed, “Alright, you two go stretch while Amna practices her solo.” As they made room for her, Oscar could hear his phone buzzing in his back. This caught the attention of both him and Carlos. He snuck over to it pretending to get water, hoping his instructors were too preoccupied watching Amna to notice. He checked the notification on his phone reading:

Lando 

party tonight @ Charles’ be there at 10

Oscar 

sounds good i'll be there

“Too bored to be paying attention to your fellow dancers?” Carlos asked.

Oscar flinched, not expecting a voice to come from behind him. He quickly shut off his phone and hid it in a pocket.

“I just had to check something,” Oscar muttered.

“Well, try to stay off your phone before you get in trouble again.”

Another hour passed and class ended.

Oscar

Is there anyone at your company you just despise?

Lando

no…?

Oscar

no one, really?

Lando

should I? lol my company is contemp, jazz, and hip hop so the vibes are pretty good over here 🤷‍♂️

-

Oscar pushed himself through the crowded party, spotting Lando and Charles laughing and drinking.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, noticing another person with them. It was Carlos.