#i'd say ''like if you read through'' but this is so long i doubt anyone could heh sorry

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I��ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[deathbxnny]

HI BXNNY MY LOVEEEE

hehe I'm here another time with a platonic pairing~

Once again with a fem, little sister child! reader but this time it's not a specific scenario like my recent request for Aventurine, just headcanons with Argenti (never seen you write for my man? Idk if you write him, feel free to ignore him or add another character if you don't ♡) Jing Yuan and Dr. Ratio?

TAKE CARE OF URSELFF💕💐🌻

Hey there, dear moot!! This is such a cute idea, and I'd LOVE to write for Argenti, so thank you for including him!!<3

Content: Reader is a child, fluff, unserious, big brother characters, platonic relationships, slight angst, sfw

Reader is afab here!!

((Not proofread))

》ARGENTI

Argenti saw you as a blessing from Idrila, something he was very vocal about to everyone and especially his little sister. He spoils you greatly and has an inability to say no to you. However, he often still wonders if it is right to bring you along on his journey through the cosmos in search of his lost Aeon. He knows it's dangerous and most likely could cause his death one day... but he still can't find himself leaving you behind.

Since he is such a strict believer of Idrila, you ofcourse begin to mimic his devotion in your behavior, something that means way more than words could describe to him. His heart swells with pride when he sees you recite the prayers and praises or dress the way he does. It makes his worries and doubts melt away.

With that said, you truly have him wrapped around your little fingers, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

》DR. VERITAS RATIO

His expectations for you were high and perhaps even stressful at times. He wanted you to be the best, to exceed him in ways not even he ever could. Ratio believed that what he was doing was for your own good, for your own perfect future... which, however, unfortunately meant that he often times forgot that you were still simply a child. This, in turn, just means that he'll self-reflect often and try and give you more breaks in-between classes and studying whenever you need them.

With that said, he is a busy professor and scholar, which often leads him to not be home as much as you want him to. He tries his best to find some time to spend with you however when he is home, although that's usually spent either reading books or listening to long lectures from him. He thinks that that is great bonding time for the both of you.

Ratio may not be very vocal or open about his love for his little sister, but it's obvious with how much he cares for your well-being and future, even when he can come off as mean or harsh at times. He wants you to have a good life without him one day and will make sure you're prepared for it.

》JING YUAN

Jing Yuan adores you greatly and doesn't shy away from spoiling you with anything you want. He often gets accused of perhaps spoiling you even a little too much from Fu Xuan, but he simply waves it off with no concern. You deserve way more than he can offer you, after all.

With that said, Yanqing is indeed your designated babysitter, much to the boy's annoyance at times. On one hand, it's because Jing Yuan trusts him way more than anyone else with you... and on the other, he knows that the blonde will learn to behave himself and slow down better with you around. Or so he thinks, at first. Once you're old enough to become best of friends with him, the days of your mischievous pranks on the general start, mainly out of spite.

Jing Yuan finds it cute and amusing until he's dowsed in water as you both run away laughing hysterically. Maybe Fu Xuan was right...

Alrightttt... I hope this was okay, dear moot!! Thank you again for the request!!<33

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello! Would you be able to do a hero x villain scene where the villain catches the hero doing something he's not supposed to and the villain uses that to blackmail the hero? I love your snippets, i could literally read them all day like a book lol

"Tsk. Tsk. What have we here?"

The hero froze. They ran through a million different versions of how screwed they were. Then, they swore quietly, and turned. "Is there any small chance that you're not going to make a big deal out of this?"

"You graffitiing the side of parliament? On-" The villain's gaze raked over the colours, the style, clearly matching it to the other acts of vandalism that had been making the news of late, "-multiple occasions." Their eyes it up. "Oh, they'll have your head, hero."

The hero's stomach sank. It wasn't even an exaggeration. "So no biggie. Right? You love a bit of chaos?"

The villain smiled. It was not a comforting smile.

The villain might appreciate chaos, but not so much as power.

The hero folded their arms across their hoodie, like that would somehow cover the bloody scrawl of 'inaction in the face of evil is evil, you bastards' behind them. It was complete with a rendition of the head minister's face with a moustache and devil horns and a list of the dead.

"Why are you even here?" they snapped.

"Consulting with him of the devil horns."

"Of course you bloody are."

The villain shrugged. "This administration is evil, as you say. It's very convenient. They're oh so eager to get me on board, yada yada."

"You in government?"

"Mm. It's horrifying, isn't it?"

Horrifying seemed like too mild a word. The villain was already powerful, with legal and official backing - however unjust - they would be unstoppable. Never mind that...

They were probably using the villain. Or, at least, trying to. The idiots didn't realise that the villain was a different sort of beast entirely; difficult to tame, malice not contained to cabinets and board rooms and cruel detachment. Or, maybe, they knew but were simply too greedy for what the villain could give them.

There was no way it would end well either way.

And now...

The villain's smile broadened, at the hero's expression.

"Relax, hero," the villain said. "I won't tell anyone."

"...you won't?"

"Not if you do a little something for me."

The hero stared at the villain, flat.

"Oh, come now," the villain purred. "I'm being nice."

"By blackmailing me?"

"By giving you a chance to avoid being executed on the front steps. By not instantly taking away the last hope that all these poor..." The villain swept forward, "downtrodden," they captured the hero's chin, "peasants have."

Their eyes met. The hero swallowed.

It didn't need saying that the villain could. Which meant that whatever they were after must be awful, for them to give up the chance of their ultimate victory, of the chance to get rid of the hero forever.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I have no doubt you're aware of the dance tomorrow."

"The one that costs an obscene amount of money that could be used on public infrastructure or the welfare of people who live here."

"That's the one," the villain cooed. "Come with me."

"Excuse me?"

"Come with me to the dance."

"As your accomplice to what?" The hero's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to kill them all, are you?"

"As my date."

The villain dropped their chin.

There was a long pause. The villain was implacable. The hero was having some sort of internal seizure. Emotional whiplash. Possibly an existential crisis.

"...you're blackmailing me to be your date."

"Astute observation."

"I notice you didn't say you weren't going to kill them all."

"I notice you didn't say no."

"Well," the hero huffed, face hot. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"I was half-expecting an 'I'd rather die', I'll admit."

"I mean, it was a close shout. It is..." They looked the villain up and down, then quickly looked away from the disgustingly perfect body. "You."

The villain smiled again. Wild. Savage. No politician's curve of the lips.

The hero wet their dry lips, resisting the urge to clear their throat. "And if I do this...you won't tell anyone about..." They waved a hand at the wall. "I have your word?"

For what is was worth, and the hero had never expected it to be worth quite so much, the villain always kept their word. Unlike some people.

"You have my word."

The hero felt dizzy as the adrenaline in them bottomed out. Shaky. They realised abruptly how clammy their hands were around the cans.

It still seemed too easy. The villain could have finished them. It was a stupid, ridiculous thing to be murdered for...but exactly the kind of thing the current administration didn't tolerate. That along with free speech, empathy and the other hallmarks of a caring society.

The villain turned to look at the vandalism, attention roaming over the names, the words. It was impossible to tell what they were thinking.

"Go on then," the villain murmured. "Finish up."

"You're going to watch?"

The villain didn't deign that with a response. The hero tried - and failed - not to feel self conscious as they got back to work. They'd, for obvious reasons, never had an audience before.

After what it had cost, though, they couldn't leave the job half done.

They felt the villain's eyes on them the whole time, intent and electric. It made the hero feel like they were stripping.

By the time they were done, the hero's hand was shaking.

"Very good." They felt the villain's chest pressed against their back, their breath against the hero's ear. "Remember to wear something pretty for me."

Then, they were gone.

The hero had to get out of there.

[leighsartworks216]

Prompt for whenever you want it: the reader grew up in a household where she wasn't allowed to be very feminine/like cute things. Her family was adamant that she be tough and that anything remotely feminine or pretty would be wasted on her. So she secretly likes cute and pretty things, but has internalized all the things her family told her so she never let's it show. I would love to see astarion pick up on it and how he would react? I just imagined one day he presents her with a delicate handkerchief with her initials (he embroidered them himself) and I practically bawled my eyes out 😭😭😭

Idk why I really struggled to write this one. I just had a hard time starting it. So I'd write an opening, hate it, leave it for a bit, come back, leave it again. But I finally got it to a point that I am happy with it

Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader

Warnings: vague references to trauma, self-doubt, swearing

Word Count: 1,041

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

One gets quite good at reading people when that’s all you did for 200 years. Someone would twitch and Astarion could know exactly what they were thinking. Reading you was as easy as opening a book.

Every time you passed a market or merchant, Astarion could see the way your eyes flit longingly over jewelry or dresses. It was always brief. If the vendor noticed, they’d try pitching the item to you; the same old lines: “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful lady!” But you just smiled politely and shook your head, muttering how it wasn’t your style.

It was curious. Throughout your journey so far, he’d noticed other things, too. How you’d save the most beautiful, feminine dresses for your female companions. At first he just thought you wanted to give them something nice, but it was odd when you’d provide them an item much more suited to your strengths than their own. How your eyes would linger a little longer on flowers and lace gloves. But the moment you felt eyes on you, you’d turn away, the distant longing gleam in your eye replaced with a set determination.

He’d even caught you staring at the embroidery on his clothes once or twice.

(“Distracted, are we?”

“I was only wondering what it says. An odd poem for a shirt.”

“Hmph. Clearly it’s meaning is lost on you, darling.”)

So, with 200 years of experience, Astarion came to the only conclusion he could plausibly find. He accounted for your own attire - masculine or purely functional - your steadfast avoidance of anything feminine, the sorrow that visibly washed over you when you came across something particularly beautiful.

You didn’t allow yourself these things, because you couldn’t.

Well, you could, he supposed. But you weren’t. Perhaps, like him, you felt you didn’t deserve it. Or perhaps, like him, it had been ingrained into your very being that you couldn’t have it. Either way, the result was the same.

He wasn’t honestly sure what came over him when he realized. And it had taken him a few days to think about the idea that formulated unbidden, itching at the back of his mind in a way that put the tadpole to shame. But one night, after feeding (on you and a boar), he sat within his tent and got to work. He threaded the eyes of needles with practiced ease, steadily guided it back and forth through the material in his hands, creating elegant shapes. If he was being honest, it was some of his best work.

It took him even longer to gather the nerves to give it to you. You handed out gifts freely - armor, weapons, trinkets, blood. But he’d… well, he’d never really given anyone a gift before. Nothing as genuine as this, certainly. His mind, his own worst enemy aside from Cazador, kept plaguing him with thoughts of how you’d hate it. How you’d take one look at it, struggle through a smile, and tuck it away at the bottom of your bag. And so it remained in his belongings, safely hidden.

And then you just had to go and be so damn good. You just had to stand up to Araj Oblodra when she kept insisting he drink from her. You just had to quietly tell him that he could, if he wanted to, but only if he wanted to. And you just had to respect his choice. He’d never been so overwhelmed with emotion before. Nobody had ever done that for him. His choices didn’t matter, his comfort didn’t matter. But you didn’t even hesitate.

When you sought him out at camp later that night, you even told him he was free. No longer a slave who had to get on his back for mere breadcrumbs. Too many emotions - relief, fear, euphoria, worry, gratefulness - flooded his chest.

He cleared his throat. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to give you,” he admits with a nervous chuckle. “Consider it a… thanks, for what you did for me back there.”

He pulled the neat, white handkerchief from his pocket and presented it to you. Red eyes flit over your face, trying to read every little expression that passed, as you stared at the cloth. On the corner, embroidered in the same golden thread as he used on his shirt, were your initials. Immaculate and shiny.

Your mouth opened. Your eyes were wide, your brow furrowed and then raised. You struggled for words. You met his eyes with shock. “A-Are you sure? I mean, this is much too fine for me - I was happy to stand up for you - Not that you needed any help! I mean-”

“Darling,” he hushed. So you did enjoy it, after all. “It’s a gift. Consider it repayment for all the nights you’ve bared your neck for me, if nothing else. A simple exchange.”

A dying sound left your throat with a breath as you looked back down at the handkerchief. With shaky hands, you took it from him. You held it as though it was a religious artifact from the gods, not a folded square of soft silk with lace borders. It had the same smooth feel as running your fingers over the surface of still water. Tears welled at the corner of your eyes as you ran a thumb over the letters.

“I…” You took a shaky breath, looking up at him again through the building water in your eyes. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

He smirked, though your blatant joy made his lips twitch into the start of a genuine smile. “You… deserve something nice. Something more than, well,” he gestured vaguely at your worn cotton attire, “this.”

You laughed and brushed away the tears beginning to slip down your cheeks with the back of your hands. “You’re still a bastard.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“But a nice bastard.”

“Careful, darling.” He leaned forward with an even wider smirk, fangs peeking out as a mischievous twinkle glinted in his eye. “We wouldn’t want word getting out.”

And if he caught sight of that little cloth poking out from a pocket or resting at the top of your bag, well maybe he let himself enjoy that warmth in his chest.

---

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[makenoplans]

all gale banter! (that i am currently aware of)

hiii gale enthusiasts, i just spent the past few hours picking through videos trying to find all of gales party banter and transcribing it! check under the cut for verbose details

copied directly from the doc i transcribed this into so youll have to bear with the initials to denote who is speaking when! generally speaking, initials are a=astarion, g=gale, h=halsin, j=jaheira, k=karlach, l=lae'zel, m=minthara, s=shadowheart, and w=wyll

(except for two minsc quotes that are also m, both where he mentions his name so like... it's obvious)

transcribed with attention paid to particular noises characters make that aren't quite whole words and also words that are emphasized!

please let me know if youre aware of any banter ive missed!

warning: long

G: Karlach! A hypothetical question for you. If someone - not me, of course - detected a hint of romantic interest in them from another… unnamed individual, erm, what might that someone… do about it?

K: Whoever it is, just talk to them, Gale! And leave out the hypotheticals.

G: Talking. Right! I'm good at that!

A: So, Gale, how is your sad, hopeless pining going?

G: [Ach!] I'm hardly pining! Been a year or more since Mystra cast me aside!

A: Oh, my dear wizard, I wasn't talking about Mystra.

W: I used to believe the beauty of first love was unable to be surpassed, but Gale, you are so much more tolerable now that you've found your second.

G: I'll take that comment with the sincerity and good will I assume it was intended.

G: Have you noticed any attachments of the more, er, romantic variety flourishing in our camp, Wyll?

W: I think I'm not the right person to be asking. I can recognize a troll silhouette on a far horizon, but I wouldn't know a flirtation if you whacked me alongside the head with it.

G: I see you waste no time pursuing your quarry, Astarion.

A: Hmph! I rather thought I was a little slow this time. Usually they're begging me to dream them on the first night.

G: Tell me - you always woo your lovers with such patient attention?

A: As the vampire ascendant I can grant my lover immortality and bind them to me forever.

G: Hmm. I trust you speak of the bonds of love, not the shackles of servitude.

G: Am I to understand that you are in love now, Karlach?

K: I sure am. [heh] If there's hope for me, there's hope for anyone.

G: I'm surprised you're permitted to choose a partner outside of your own people.

L: We had to use and misuse each civilization in the stars in every way we know. I do not conquer by blade alone, Gale.

G: I can't imagine Mother Gith would approve. Doesn't she prefer us lesser species enslaved? Or eviscerated?

M: You've been smiling like a fool of late, wizard. Explain yourself.

G: I found love. Surely even you wouldn't begrudge me some happiness?

M: All I can say on the matter is that you were wise to lower your standards from the godly to the ghastly.

G: Tell me, Lae'zel: is it common for githyanki to fall in love?

L: Love? Is that this feeling in me, then? This passion to peel every layer of one's heart to see what light and shadows lurk there? I doubt I am the first githyanki to… to feel this way, but few would ever declare it. Githyanki have playmates, thrill partners but I've never heard anyone profess love, nor read of it in our slates.

L: Gale, I've heard you talking in your sleep. Your mate needs better rest for our journey.

G: And deprive them of the pleasure of hearing my nocturnal postulations? I'd never be so cruel. The mind absorbs much while we believe ourselves dormant. To lie beside Gale of Waterdeep is positively educational.

G: If you're feeling faint after your bout with Cazador, Astarion, I don't mind donating some blood.

A: Aha! Well, you're still full of that Netherese bile, I'll pass, thank you! Besides, I have someone else to nibble on, and they are delicious.

G: I'm glad to know you have a softer side, Minthara. I was beginning to think you rather… heartless.

M: Loving another is not soft, wizard. It is one of the hardest things a person can do.

G: So you admit you found love! Aww. How delightful. I'm happy for you both.

A: So, how was your night with Gale? Did you have a long, hard debate?

G: Ugh. Ignore him. Astarion envies the depth of a bond because he's of a shallower inclination.

G: So Astarion, I hear your relationship has taken on a new aspect recently.

A: My life has taken on "a new aspect." It's only natural that my relationships change as well.

G: Halsin! You must have accumulated considerable wisdom on matters of the heart in your long life. Anything you'd like to pass on to a… strapping, lovestruck wizard such as myself?

H: [hehehe] Dispensing advice on matters of the heart would be like swapping boots. What suits me may be a… poor fit for you.

G: Ah. Well. There's no faulting that logic. At least you didn't tell me to "be myself."

H: Oh no, perish the thought. That can be outright cruel advice to offer in certain cases.

G: Indulge me, Lae'zel, as someone unfettered by Faerunian beauty standards: how would you appraise my appearance?

L: Your beard looks like the hairy tufts upon the [surlon], the largest of wyrmkind that sliver our skies.

G: Hm. I suppose that's… a bad thing? No. Don't answer that.

G: Wild-shaping must sprinkle some spice on your love life, Halsin.

H: Heh. Indeed it does. Did you… never experience such delights with Mystra? I, uh, hear the gods enjoy taking on the forms of swans, horses, eagles and the like when… visiting with mortals?

G: Oh no, quite the opposite, actually! She mostly preferred our interactions to be abstract, and incorporeal. Most invigorating.

G: So, Lae'zel, have you ever been tempted to use psionics in your, uh, romantic endeavors?

L: Only once. Did you know, in low-gravity settings, githyanki can maintain aerial suspension for hours at a time?

G: Fascinating! I think the arch-mage Tasha described a spell with similar affect! I really must look that up.

G: I've always felt flames to be a rather perfect expression of love, Karlach. Passionate! Primal! Capable of bestowing the most life-affirming comfort - or - inflicting the profoundest damage.

L: That's… pretty nice. Never thought about it like that. But… now I will.

G: I've been pondering something, Lae'zel. Why is it that githyanki have bellybuttons, hm? When they hatch from eggs?

L: I did not grant you permission to gaze upon my midriff.

G: I- I wasn't gazing! Merely observing! Though that can hardly be said for a certain someone else.

G: Y'know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love beyond run-of-the-mill physicality.

K: Ugh! Are you going to try and teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what?

G: W-well actually, I was thinking of poetry!

K: Oops. Sorry. But, uh, now that I think of it… is mage hand especially hard to learn?

G: Even shaped by shadow as it is, Sharran architecture has a kind of beauty to it.

K: Beautifully intimidating. This place was meant to scare people into submission.

G: There you go. Cutting right through the ephemera to the heart of the matter. Hm! Your finest quality, I think.

K: Uh. Here I thought I rubbed you the wrong way.

G: Nothing wrong with a bit of friction now and then. You help me keep my mind sharp.

K: Aw, thanks, pal! I think.

G: When we met, Shadowheart, your gaze seemed to linger in the distance on some unseen goal, some insubstantial purpose. But I notice now your gaze settles on something or someone much closer.

S: Is it that obvious?

G: Of course! There's nothing escapes a wizard's powers of observation.

A: I gave my return to Baldur's Gate a lot of thought. I never pictured this, though.

G: Ah, what did you have in mind? A quiet party? Toasting your own return with a few good friends?

A: Less "quiet party with friends", more "days of hedonistic debauchery", but otherwise… yes!

G: Hmm. Sounds like a recipe for disaster. But you know what? I'm learning to enjoy the taste of chaos. Count me in.

G: I've heard that in Baldur's Gate, "wizard" is also a term used for one who eschews their more, [hr-hrm] carnal desires. Is that true, Wyll?

W: Where are we going with this, Gale?

G: Oh, nowhere. Just think it's a rather cruel misnomer, not at all reflective of the glamor wizarding life affords.

A: So Gale, you laid with a goddess? You must have some sordid tales to tell.

G: Sordid? I lay with the Mother of Magic herself! What we had was… transcendent. Euphoric. Incandescent. Not sordid!

A: You actually made sleeping with a goddess sound boring. Hm. Incredible.

A: I am enjoying our walks together, aren't you, Gale?

G: Uhh… sure! In silence.

G: When you've loved a goddess as I have, people often think you less experienced in the way of romance.

S: She just lives on another plane! [heh] Only jesting. I'm in no position to judge, especially after what happened with Shar.

G: It's true for a time, I neglected the physical in favor of celestial euphoria. But our relationship was no less real for it.

G: I feel I've been rather hasty to judge you, Astarion. One heartbreak was quite enough for me, but to experience it as many times as you have… must change a person.

A: Thank you, Gale, but let us both hope that broken hearts are a thing of the past.

A: So, do you have loves waiting for you once this is all over?

G: You know what, that is not the easiest of questions for me to answer.

S: You mean just… waiting? Like a lovesick puppy?

M: Do you have elder siblings, wizard?

G: You're about to say something awful, aren't you?

M: In Menzoberranzan, after a house has two sons, every subsequent male-born child is slaughtered at birth, as it is useless, even for breeding. You have the aura of a third child about you.

G: The architect who built this must have been remarkable. Pity their vision didn't stand the test of time.

K: All's not lost. I mean, just look at this place!

G: You've quite the knack for finding the bright side of things, haven't you?

K: Hope keeps you going.

K: So Gale, got any book recommendations for me?

G: You can read?

K: Hmph. Yes, very funny. I can read. School put me off big, boring tomes. Sometimes I wonder what I'm missing.

G: Ah! Say no more. I'll find the perfect book for you. I might even lend it to you from my library in Waterdeep, ooh.

K: Ooh, something with magic please! And no devils!

G: Do you feel that? The darkness, pulling at the strands of the Weave?

K: Er, you'll still be able to do your wizard thing though, right?

G: Of course. Doesn't make the shadows less dangerous.

K: Joy.

M: Gale. Minsc worries you might send a fireball up his butt with all of this… stringy hair in your face.

G: Is that why you keep your head shaved? I assumed it was a custom of some sort.

M: Oh, no. Most warriors of [Rashinan] wear long battle braids weighed down with stone. Minsc can show you, when next we camp.

G: Thank you, but I'm more wizard than warrior. Not sure my scalp would stand up to such a plaiting.

A: Gods! We're not back, are we?

G: On the Nautiloid, no. This is a different nursery. Similar, but not identical. There's likely one in every colony.

A: I don't care what's in every mind flayer colony, Gale. Nobody does. Except you.

A: Ugh, another ruined temple full of foul-smelling beasts spoiling for a fight.

G: No mere temple. This was a monastery, devoted as much to study as to worship.

A: Oh, how ignorant of me. So it'll be free of foul-smelling beasts then?

G: Quite the opposite. Some monastic orders celebrated their pungency as proof of their devotion. "To think is to stink" was the motto of one ill-fated brotherhood near Arm. Oh! Huh, but you meant beasts of the life-threatening variety. Yes I'm sure it's teeming with those.

A: Moonlanterns to keep the curse back? Burly guards to fight off any monsters? I could get used to this place.

G: Don't get too comfortable. We shouldn't overstay our welcome in such a place.

A: No, of course! Why stay somewhere safe and comfortable when we could be in mortal peril?

H: Ah, Last Light Inn. Half aglow and lanterns lit. Just like a hundred years ago.

G: I imagine the vista was more idyllic back then. As were its patrons' chances of surviving the walk home.

H: [Grunt.] Still though, when you are expecting nothing but desolation, even a small glimmer of hope fills the heart. To think long ago, the druids feared this market down would grow into a city and threaten nature's realm… little did we realize what the true threat was.

G: Divination is a skill few can master. The rest of us must simply muddle along, content to view the past with a clarity the future rarely offers.

H: Perhaps I can yet turn hindsight into foresight, provided the curse is lifted. The better way for all. Whole generations were denied their chance to flourish… I must put this right, for them.

A: That orb seems powerful. What could it do once it's extracted?

G: Nothing good can come of it unless it is contained. Why.

A: It might be useful. Who knows?

G: I must tell you, Shadowheart, the bathing waters here leave much to be desired. The ablutions offered at the Temple of Beauty in Waterdeep were far superior - and, they have the most excellent soaps.

S: Hmm. I was wondering why you always smelled like a wealthy dowager.

A: From sweet woodland to stinking swamp. Can you do tricks like that, Gale?

G: Easiest thing in the world. Though I'd do it the other way around.

H: Brickwork and stonework. This place is far out of balance with nature, but the Oak Father will reclaim this all eventually.

G: Not too soon, I hope! I've a craving for a soft bed, a hot bath, and a large glass of Arabellan Dry. None of which I've ever found hidden under a log.

H: Hah, you may thrive, but what of other life? A city is no place for wild creatures.

G: Cities teem with life! Rats, pigeons, flies… they count no less, for all their more pestilent qualities.

G: The Society of brilliance has quite the reputation. Even Waterdhavian academics refer to their works from time to time.

S: They talk a great deal but do very little. Which may be for the best.

G: I take it you're not inclined to study the wonders of the Underdark?

S: Its inhabitants and cultures, maybe. Its fungi and cave slime, no thank you.

W: Ethel mentioned Netherese magic. What in blazes does that mean?

G: Magic from the fallen empire of Netheril. Ancient. Exceedingly dangerous. And quite unrivalled.

A: Wonderful. I'd hate to be destroyed by any common old magic.

G: Home and hearth, reduced to ruins. The shadow curse stole more than the light from this place.

H: That is why it must be stopped. Imagine a whole century of life and love denied the chance to ever take place.

G: A hidden shrine dedicated to the Moonmaiden herself. Even amidst this darkness, Selunites are stubborn enough to cling on.

K: Pretty beautiful, isn't it?

G: Look around you! Indulge your curiosity! Sorcerous Sundries is the finest purveyor of magical miscellany for miles around.

K: Where's the axes?

G: What they sell is far more precious than mere sword or shield! They sell knowledge! Ingenuity! The wisdom of mages past.

K: [yawns] Ugh, sounds like more your thing than mine.

K: Doing alright, Gale?

G: Oh, you know. Still alive and kicking despite being surrounded on all sides by an endless manifestation of… darkness and decay.

K: I feel it too. Here if you need a pick-me-up.

G: It strikes me that, for a mind flayer colony, there are remarkably few mind flayers about the place.

K: Squiddies have gone to war, is my guess.

G: On the Absolute's behalf? Now there's an alliance I'd've been quite happy without.

K: Aw, man, adventuring is thirsty work.

G: There used to be a monastery in this region known for producing a wonderful ale.

K: Ah, that sounds like heaven. Wait. Used to?

G: Oh yes, long ruined, I'm afraid. No chance of a frothing pitcher awaiting us there, but still. At least your thirst for knowledge is quenced!

K: Ugh!

W: It might seem a bit ramshackle, but this place is a boastworthy bar.

G: A bar is only as good as its cellars. Which vintages can we expect on its racks?

W: Here, a bottle is judged more by its ability to crack heads than the quality of its contents.

G: Ah. If that's the main criteria then I shall reset my expectations accordingly. Water it is!

K: We're not taking a boat to Baldur's Gate, right?

G: And give the Absolute free reign to use us as target practice from the banks? I think not!

K: Ugh. My mum always said the Chionthat was unlucky.

G: I don't suppose you've any clue where we are in relation to Waterdeep?

K: From this distance between Elturel and Baldur's Gate, I'd say… a long way away.

G: Ah. That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky. No matter. What she doesn't know can't hurt her. Not at this distance, anyway.

G: Nothing like a brisk stroll through the forest to invigorate the spirit.

K: I was just thinking the same thing! But… poetically.

G: And without so much as a stirring from our tadpoles.

K: A girl could get used to this.

L: These children and their pets lack discipline. Were they githyanki, I'd recommend further training.

G: Not everyone approaches the raising of their young with such militaristic vigor.

L: That is the very purpose of training. To determine which children shall be warriors, and which are suited to other roles. As for the unruly animals, they would make for nutritious marching rations.

G: Mm, that's certainly one way to make them behave.

L: These flowers are quite vivid, not to mention pungent. Not to my liking.

G: Are there no flowers in [tunirath]?

L: In the city of death, the m'lar cultivate the fruiting bodies that sprout from the corpses of the slain.

G: Huh. I'd rather get them from my florist in Waterdeep, if it's all the same to you.

G: That zaith'isk you mentioned intrigues me. Care to tell me a bit more?

L: An intricate device crafted by m'lar, our most gifted artisans. I am sworn to say no more.

S: Why must the Dead Three be so obvious and ugly with their decor? Blood and bones, bones and blood… Pointy nonsense. At least Shar had some panache.

G: As did Mystra's home on Elysium. Her ribbed vaults and buttresses created a magic entirely of their own… not to mention their pleasure domes.

S: Hah! Pleasure dome.

G: It's a perfectly legitimate architectural feature!

G: The road to Baldur's Gate is a long one. Who knows how long it'll take these folks to get there on foot.

S: If they make it. They're slow, vulnerable. Half or more will die long before Basilisk Gate.

G: Doesn't seem to trouble you a jot.

S: What good would it do for me to be troubled? We can't save them all.

S: You seem to know a good deal about our condition, Gale.

G: Everything, really. Not to put too fine a point on it.

S: A humble specimen, aren't you?

G: On occasion.

G: They're not mutually exclusive! The weave is served best with a dash of eloquence.

G: There's magic here, but it's of a rancid, impure form. Nothing like the true Weave at all.

L: This is why I appreciate a sharp blade to a ball of fire or a bolt of lightning. The Weave is inconsistent, unruly.

G: The Weave is constant, but its users - anything but. We must be on our guard.

L: A githyanki warrior hardly needs to be told that.

L: What is this? This place makes me feel sad, melancholy.

G: Ah, so you're susceptible to the tragedy of a broken home. Maybe you've more in common with us weaker beings than you thought.

L: There's no call to be insulting.

G: Not to diminish our efforts, but. Was rather simple getting here in the end, wasn't it?

L: The obstacles ahead prove to be higher still, which will make the pleasure of overcoming them all the more potent. Imagine the glorious din of it all, the streaming banners, the charging knights. The piles of severed limbs and heads.

G: Mm, I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you.

G: Whatever I expected to find lurking in this cursed gloom, it certainly wasn't this. A glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

S: That's one way of looking at it. You could also say it's a prime target, the one pocket of light in the gloom.

G: Oh pragmatism, thy name is Shadowheart. You're not wrong, though. Best we keep our sojourn here to a minimum.

G: So! Shadowheart. Such a name implies yours is a difficult heart to find.

S: It's not that hard to find. Perhaps any difficulty is more telling of you, Gale.

G: I always wondered what a vampire's lair would look like. Can't say I pictured it being quite this… theatrical.

L: I find it surprisingly similar to Queen Vlaakith's aesthetic.

G: That makes sense. She does have a flair for the dramatic.

G: No day, no night. It's as though time itself has abandoned this place. Similar to the Astral Plane in some ways, wouldn't you say, Lae'zel?

L: Mm, hardly. It is said that the Astral Plane is threaded with light and silver, life-giving and wondrous in all directions. Nothing like this dismal abyss.

G: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me.

L: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral.

L: A tadpole nursery, as on the Nautiloid.

G: Quite right, so long as the attempt won't leave us similarly dismantled.

L: Caution is commendable. Boldness is extraordinary. In this case, I recommend the latter.

W: You're an impressive fighter, Gale. You should consider a new name.

G: I take it you have some suggestions?

W: The Wizard Wonder. Or, how about… the Master of the Weave?

G: Tempting, but I think we already have the maximum number of theatrical titles.

G: Pigeons, gulls, sparrows. These streets would make a fine hunting ground for a tressym like Tara.

M: In the Underdark, we have packs of winged hounds to deal with vermin like your precious Tara.

G: Flying hounds? Come now, you're pulling my leg. Aren't you?

M: Yes, I am. It is the bats that would make a meal of her.

M: Umberlee. Her clerics possess a nasty streak as wide as her oceans.

G: So their reputation suggests, especially among the good folk of Waterdeep. I'm curious to learn how you fell foul of them.

M: Blasphemy, said the temple priestess, but Minsc says do not give horns to your statues if you do not wish the visitors to try and make them toot.

G: Yes. That would probably do it.

W: I admire your courage, Gale.

G: Thank you! Any particular reason?

W: Between the orb and the bug, you've got more than your fair share of unwelcome passengers.

G: What can I say? Mother always told me to be a gracious host.

G: My, my. Well I'll say this for the bonecloaks: they know their mushrooms.

S: Perhaps they should expand their horizons. Too much time spent obsessing over fungi seems to leave them a bit, well… like them.

G: Oh, a byproduct of their profession. Few can spend a lifetime inhaling fungal spores without turning out a bit… muddled between the years.

W: This is it, Gale. Today, we annihilate the heart of the Absolute's power.

G: Entirely unnecessary. Though, if they are so inclined, I might be convinced to share a stanza or two of my own for inspiration! Whatever outcome of what's just ahead… it will be the stuff of legends.

G: I knew you were a graceful man, Wyll, but I hear you're quite the dancer, too! I've been known to trip the light fantastic myself. Mine was a popular hand at the annual Blackstaff's Ball.

W: I'd have loved to have witnessed it, Gale. I wager you are as elegant on the dance floor as you are on the battlefield.

S: What did you mean before, Gale? "A woman with shadows for eyes", you said.

G: Merely that if the eyes are the mirror to the soul, yours have dark curtains across the mirror. No offense taken, I hope.

S: Not necessarily. I haven't made up my mind about you yet.

A: Ever heard of a vampire called Cazador, Wyll?

W: I don't think so, no. Why? Friend of yours?

G: He's patriarch of the Szarr family. Nasty fellow, if the histories are accurate.

A: I imagine they are.

L: The right of these prisoners to die in mortal combat was stolen from them.

G: Hardly the worst atrocity the Absolute's committed.

L: One of many, but by no means the least. To die properly is a matter of honor.

W: This is no aimless horde. The Absolute's forces are organized. What do you make of it, Gale?

G: All enemies have some chink in their armor, no matter how much they like to believe themselves invulnerable.

W: And if we don't find any clear weakness?

G: Then we hope our mutual strengths are enough to dominate them. Or! We die nobly in the attempt.

G: I was wondering about your queen, Vlaakith. What tales of her reach us are terrifying. I suppose that's not how you would describe her.

L: Vlaakith is unity. Fear and beauty, life and unlife… eyes like onyx, teeth like daggers. There is none more perfect.

S: Sounds vile. I assume the meaning of perfect was lost in translation.

G: Moonrise Towers lies ahead. We're nearing the heart of the Absolute, I'm certain of it.

W: Then let us push forward, head high, weapons in hand, and turn this tower to rubble.

G: Your confidence is encouraging, but a little premature. Let's keep our eyes on the task ahead- or eye, as the case may be.

W: Who's in charge of the mind flayers, Lae'zel? Is there a squid king or something?

L: No. Each ghaik is servant to an elder brain. No king unites elders, only their collective tyranny.

G: A mind flayer monarch! Imagine that. Such a thing could shatter worlds!

K: Ready to enter the belly of the beast?

G: Ugh. It's the stairs I'm dreading.

G: No sign of tentacles so far.

S: The same. Except for a knot of worry in my stomach that's in no rush to go away.

G: That I can relate to.

G: The masons here thought they were building something to last. How wrong they were.

W: Perhaps it's a blessing that none of them survived to see it fall to the shadows.

G: No need for such a grim assumption. Halsin helped many to escape these shadows before the town was consumed.

W: Then some masons were more blessed still, if they could put their talent to use elsewhere. Perhaps some of their work even graces Baldur's Gate.

S: You seemed quite forward with your compliments earlier. We'd only just met.

G: Seize the day, I say. More now than ever.

S: Careful you don't pull a muscle in this place.

S: Isn't it so that every time you speak as you cast a spell, you're endeavoring to call upon Mystra? I'm surprised she still listens to you.

G: She has no choice. She's sworn to hear all magic users. Even me. I'm sure she at least stuffs her fingers in her ears to muffle my invocations.

G: The history of the city itself is captured in the archives here. A fascinating resource.

W: I wonder what those archives will reveal about us a hundred years hence.

G: Only the most excellent and complimentary things. With some encouragement from us, of course.

G: Look at this place. Such horrors defy description.

S: Silence can be best. Give it a try sometime.

S: What if this creche doesn't work out, Lae'zel? What if your kin fail you?

L: If I can reach the creche, my kin will provide. Any failure will be mine alone.

S: If you say so. Just don't expect me to put all my eggs in the same basket.

G: That expression must sound curious to a githyanki ear, given the way they're birthed.

G: Gods. Who knew such a vile abscess lurked in the bedrock of this city? The very stone reeks of misery and despair.

J: Mm. A sad shrine kept by the lunatic and the lost. The last time I was here, I promised myself I would die beneath open sky. I have not changed my mind.

G: Nor should you. Far better to feel a cool breeze on your skin than whatever foul expirations blow through these halls.

A: Eh, can't say I love what they've done with the place.

G: Unsurprising, really. Fanatical cultists tend to care more for ambience then aesthetics.

A: Hrm. Reason enough to put them all to the sword, I say.

A: Heh, what's this? A clever little hideaway. A little too clever, if you ask me. Watch out for traps.

G: Not just clever. Rather ingenious! Somehow its construction keeps the shadow curse away.

S: The end must be near. No regrets, Gale? You may have been better off staying inside this boulder.

G: Unlikely. Had I stayed there much longer, the orb would have reduced it to rubble. Besides, think of all the fun I'd've missed out on.

S: Fun? Well, yes… I suppose we did manage to make the best of things.

[brucewaynehater101]

Look maybe it’s just me but if I saw my little brother spiraling I wouldn’t just corner him in a graveyard once to talk about therapy then let him fuck off to go globe trotting

I mean... kind of I'm trying to be more canon accurate in my posts, so I apologize for correcting ya.

Cassie was the one to meet Tim in the graveyard. Dick met him at the city bounds.

Here's a funny pic of Dick as payment

Bruh. I'd either be so intimidated or so mad if Dick did this to me.

"We need to talk." After what Tim walked into of Damian wearing the Robin suit because Dick didn't talk to him until after the suit was made? I'd be mad (this is not an anti Dick. This is just how I would feel).

Anyways. Dick didn't let Tim go. Tim held him at staff point and guilt tripped the man into letting him go (not anti-Tim either).

Re-reading it again, I still think Tim is an unreliable narrator.

However, Tim is all like, "Hey, I know I sound nuts. I know how it looks, but I know I'm right." He provided examples of how he can, in fact, understand where Dick is coming from.

And then Dick is all like, "I know how you feel, but you need a therapist." Which... yes, but that's not the point. Tim is bringing up all this horrid shit in his life and acknowledging how he understands Dick's viewpoint (while also saying Dick is only there cause Cassie called him). Then Dick claims to understand Tim's perspective, but only from Dick's "Tim must be seeing things where isn't anything instead of grieving" viewpoint.

Basically, they aren't communicating with each other efficiently (they are also physically fighting each other while doing this too).

It's a mess. A hot mess.

Dick is trying:

But he's also just not listening to Tim. He's not giving Tim the benefit of the doubt. He's concerned af, but he's not listening or trusting Tim. He's just going at it from his own worried mentality that Tim's going down a conspiracy bender. I don't blame Dick for not communicating well (poor man is going through so much at this point [Damian, JLA, switching to Batman, etc]).

However, I also understand Tim's perspective. He doesn't trust Dick to actually listen to him. Dick wants to help Tim Dick's way and not what Tim believes he needs.

I personally get very very triggered if my boundaries are not met. If someone held on after I told them to let go? Yeah. Hands are being thrown. I also get triggered if people try to force me to do shit, don't listen to me, or try to do "what's best for me" when I've told them no. Real quick way to get cut off by me.

That's off topic, lmao.

Anyways, Dick kind of let Tim go, but that's because Tim forced him to. It wasn't because Dick didn't care, but he didn't care in the way Tim wanted him to (debatable if that's not how Tim needed either).

I'm curious. Are there any comics that cover that scene from Dick's POV? I'd appreciate it if anyone could let me know ^^

Also, I agree I would not do what Dick did here. On the other hand, my siblings and I have worked very very hard for the relationships we have. It's taken years of trial and error to get the boundaries and level of communication the way it is. We all agree to allow the others to make decisions for themselves and fight their own battles unless otherwise asked (I had a habit of trying to help and fix the situation for them when I was a teen. Now we just inform and offer help. Lots of acknowledgment for boundaries as well). If my siblings want to make dumb decisions, I let them. Just as they would for me. I might tell them I think that's dumb as hell, but it's their life.

If Tim was my sibling, I'd say something like, "I'm not sure I believe you, but I trust you. If this is what you need, if you think this is true, I'll support you. Would you like my direct assistance with this?"

If they say no, then I'll respond with, "Okay. I can handle Gotham as long as you keep me in the loop. If it's been 48 hours without contact, I will hunt you down. I love you."

Then we'd hug goodbye.

On the other other hand, there's not this age gap between us. Dick is 7 or so years older than Tim, and Tim is a teen. Dick may feel it's his responsibility to look after Tim and might be hitting the road bumps I did with my siblings (of giving them the respect and trust to handle their own issues as well as know what they need).

So, the situation is a hot mess :)

[sillyrabbit81]

Fuse

Prompt: Sleepy & Lazy, Daddy Kink from @myaimlessuniverse (x) Thank you so much for sending the prompt in. Sorry its taken so long.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 600

Warnings: Smut, daddy kink, praise kink, probably some dd/lg vibes (I don't know! maybe!), p in v sex, Sy POV

Authors Note: Hi... Been a while... Probably not what you expected, but I swear I'm working on the Brotherhood, but I also have quite a few of these left so I thought I'd knock one out as a warm up for the smut I'm trying to write in the Brotherhood (the Brotherhood won't have daddy kink in it fyi) I'm not feeling Daddy kink like I used to and so I tried to write this a little different from what I had done before. Fingers crossed! As always I need to thank my amazing mate and reader @nashibirne , your thoughtful and honest comments are always appreciated. I also need to thank @augustsprincess for her reading and suggestions.

It was edited by me, on the fly, there will be errors

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Celebration Masterlist

Sy tightens his jaw and he breathes out a ragged curse through his teeth as he slips past your slick, velvet folds and into your silken heat. He watches, enthralled by the utterly carnal vision of himself disappearing inside your impossibly tight core.

“Stop,” you gasp and he peers up at you perched precariously above him. 

Your thighs tremble beneath his hands and it takes everything he has to stop himself from grabbing your hips and sliding your blossoming core all the way down his cock.

“You’re doing so well, babygirl,” he says, dropping his gaze back to the explicit view between your legs. 

You’ve only taken the tip of him inside yourself and already he feels that tingle brewing in the base of his spine. He’s waited so long for you, longer than he ever thought he’d wait for anyone and he could barely stand it.

“Just a little more, I know you can do it.”

“Daddy,” you whimper. “You’re too big.”

He groans as sweat breaks out over his forehead. “Fuck, baby. You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say, in a voice that quivers as much as your pouty bottom lip.

Sy’s heart breaks and he sits up drawing you to his chest. “Hush. You did so good for me baby. Daddy’s proud of you for tryin’.” 

With the tip of his cock still trapped within your snug pussy, he rocks you slowly, murmuring his sweet praise in your ear as he strokes your hair. His thumb caresses your cheek and he smiles when he feels your soft lips against his pad. His cock pulses inside of you as your plush tongue curls around him and you begin to suck. It doesn’t take long for him to feel your quivering body relax against him. He closes his eyes, content as he feels you hum happily within his arms.

He doesn’t really notice at first, he thinks the soft warmth enveloping his cock must be his imagination. Then he hears you moan.

“Babygirl?” he murmurs, softly.

“Hmm?”

He looks at your pretty head resting on his shoulder. You look almost asleep, your eyes seem to have trouble focussing and you’re still sucking hard on his thumb. But then you sigh and nuzzle into his neck while you roll your hips and there’s no doubt about it, you’re slowly sinking lower onto his cock.

“That’s my girl,” he growls into your ear. “That my good fuckin’ girl.”

Sy clenches his jaw to keep himself in check, each moment you rock your hips and take more of him into you is the most exquisite torture he’s ever had. 

“Am I doing good, Daddy?” you ask, hesitantly, dropping his thumb from your mouth.

He’s trembling as much as you were earlier. He has no idea how you can’t see how much you’re affecting him, that you can’t see that in this moment he’d give you everything, anything, just for a little bit more of your sweet pussy.

“So good baby,” he groans. “But don’t stop, Daddy needs more.”

He has to lay down, he has to see his thickness stretch you open. He holds your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he falls back to the bed. His mouth falls open as he watches the last of his cock vanish and your bodies completely fuse. 

He can’t hold it back, that orgasm that threatened from the start tore through his spine and his hips bucked up from the mattress. His eyes force themselves shut as hot pulses surge through him and even though he can’t see anymore, the image of your bodies finally together is burned into his psyche.

[666writingcafe]

A Lesson in Demon Anatomy (NSFW)

Asmo has made a huge mistake.

Okay, maybe "huge mistake" is a bit dramatic, but there's no doubt that he messed up in his calculations. He thought that everyone was out of the house and wouldn't be returning for quite a while, so he felt okay walking around in his birthday suit.

It's something that he used to do nearly every day, but when the exchange program was in the works, he agreed to put a stop to it in order to create a good impression on whomever was going to stay with him and his brothers. However, when he got the opportunity to be alone, he couldn't help but resort back to old habits.

So, one could imagine his surprise when he strolls into the sitting room to find MC stretched out on the couch. They were reading a book, but of course they looked up when they heard footsteps heading their direction, and now...

"I'm so sorry, MC!" Asmo exclaims. "I had no idea that you were even in here! I thought you were studying at the library, but if I'd had known you were coming home, I would have put something on so that I would be presentable and---"

"It's pretty," MC murmurs, interrupting Asmo's train of thought. In that moment, he realizes that his beloved human has their eyes directly trained on his nether regions.

That's odd, he thinks. I didn't think I had that effect on MC.

"Oh, this ol' thing?" Asmo asks, gesturing downwards. MC nods their head, failing to look up at his face.

"Would you like a closer look?"

Why am I so nervous? Millions of individuals have seen me naked before. I should be used to people's reactions.

"If you're okay with it," MC responds. Gingerly, Asmo walks over to them. MC sits up as he approaches, and when he's standing in front of them, they finally look into Asmo's eyes.

Asmo nearly falls backwards from the sheer amount of lust that suddenly surges through his body. Avatars of Sin are like lightning rods in that way; they are attracted to the energy of their sin, and the energy is attracted to them.

Usually, Asmo is able to mitigate the effects of someone's lust with his own, but he hasn't felt this much of it from another individual in a long time. And the fact that it's coming from MC of all people, one of the only beings he's ever known that has been able to resist his demonic charm...

"Can I touch it?" MC asks, forcing Asmo to focus on the present moment.

"Of course you can!" he answers, trying to hide the fact that he's starting to hear the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. MC gently wraps their hand around the underside and runs their thumb over the skin.

"Is there a reason why it's bumpy?" A part of Asmo is relieved by the question, because it means that he can put aside his feelings for a bit and focus on the answer.

"It's part of a defense mechanism. As you might have learned, a demon has different levels to their form. You've seen the first and second, but I'm not sure if you've witnessed anyone shift above that. Anyway, our appearance significantly changes in the third level, and things begin sprouting in all sorts of places."

"Including dicks?"

"Especially dicks. Mine sprouts stringers. They become poisonous in the fourth level."

"Like a scorpion."

"Exactly."

"Have you killed anyone with it?"

"There was a period of time where that was my weapon of choice, yes."

Why is MC staring at me like that?

"Is it safe in this state?"

"It better be, or a whole lot of people would be coming for my ass." MC's hand moves to the small of Asmo's back, and the Avatar of Lust allows them to guide him closer to them.

"May I?" they ask. Asmo can only manage a nod. He shouldn't be this nervous; he's received plenty of blow jobs before. Why is this one any different?

Perhaps it's because it's been a while since someone's been this...enthusiastic.

What Asmo is unaware of in the moment---and what he doesn't learn until after the fact---is that MC's discovered that they derive intense pleasure from sucking dick. However, once he knows that this side of MC exists...

Let's just say that he sits back and watches as his brothers fall prey to MC's wild side.

[fizzie-frog]

Look I've never been much of a shipper but Fizzarolli with Asmodeus really demolishes me I swear to God. Just the way they know each other inside and out (which, obviously, they've known each other for possibly a decade). The way Fizzarolli sleeps without his cute little jester hat on, the way he, in general, trusts Ozzie with his body and his being and just-- Agh.

And the little things too like how he finds comfort in things from Ozzie and helps him calm down (as showed above). The way Fizz can just be bare, scars out front and broken horns and know that Ozzie will continue to think he's the best fucking thing ever. How Ozzie is always so supporting and finds just the right words and brings him up when he is down.

Also I know it tends to be shadowed cause it's not discussed much, but let's remember that Fizzarolli is disabled. And I'd assume he has more issues than just being an amputee (I love fics that approach that subject but I understand why there's not many as you can go wrong with this so easily).

He was in the god damn middle of an explosion as it happened and he survived something that by all means would've killed him, by some miracle (side note: omg just the thought of him being conscious even long enough to see Blitz while burning alive, I don't doubt he'd have preferred to just black out right away). I highly doubt such a thing wouldn't give him some other sorts of physical damage too. The whole speaking and hearing thing (why he probably knows sign language), the pain stuff, so many things.

Not to even go over the mental trauma and probably years of help and sleepless nights he'd have had on a psychological level. So when I say Ozzie has been through thick and thin with him, it's probably an understatement. But he loves him and aaaaghhhh I'm just so happy for Fizz that he has someone who will be by his side no matter what, to bring him up and help him out. Not many people get that, so many turn and run the moment their partner hits even the slightest hard time.

But hey, I guess this is why it's a fictional couple.

Btw, maybe I missed it but I haven't seen anyone mention this: I don't know if I'm overthinking it - I've already seen the whole pointing out of Mammon's mirror being shaped like him, specifically his mouth, but I'd like to also go into the metaphorical senses of the mirrors. With Mammon's mirror, he's looking into Mammon's mouth, like he's eating Fizz alive. But then he turns his attention to Oz's mirror, the heart shaped mirror, and looks in it to calm down. He opens the heart shaped mirror that reads "Oz". He's looking into Ozzie's heart, and Fizzarolli is reflected in his heart.

Could totally be accidental lmao but I think it's such fkin good symbolism I-- Don't even get me started.

[gemini-stories]

remember me | j.wy x reader

synopsis: the years may have passed but he always remembered you. even when you didn't. pairing: wooyoung x fem!reader genre: idol!AU, friends to strangers to partners to lovers (?), smut (minors do not interact!!) warnings: idol wooyoung, idol reader, smut, face riding, cunnilingus, protected vaginal penetration (wrap it before you tap it), oral (female receiving), reader is bitchy, one sided pining, wooyoung is dumbly in love. if I miss anything pls let me know! word count: 7.6k ish a/n: tbh I wanted to get out of my comfort writing zone and decided to post my first fic here! this was supposed to be a one shot but it was getting too long for my liking, so maybe a part 2? anyways I'm open to any feedback and criticism so don't be shy to let me know and if you'd actually like to read the second part (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

The first time Wooyoung saw you was at the Junior Local Dance Competition you both participated when you were both 10 years old. He was dancing for the first time in front of a public after he started dance lessons three months ago. He messed up the steps. He was so nervous that he forgot a step and after that the whole choreography was a mess. He was on the floor sulking, in a corner backstage, far from anyone. 

“I knew I'd find you here crying,” you said with a warm smile. 

Wooyoung raised his glance towards you.

“I’m not crying!” he said embarrassed, crimson blossoming on his cheeks. 

“Yet. You’re upset and in the crying corner.You were about to cry if i wouldn’t have come here.” 

“Crying corner?” he asked, looking at the pink ruffles of your dress.

“We all come to this corner after our first performance. Usually everyone’s first performance is bad. Like really bad. So everyone who wants to cry and wants to do so alone comes here.”

He brought his knees to his chest and hid his face. “So I was really bad. Maybe I should quit before it’s too late.”

“Hey,” you lightly pushed his shoulder, your voice calm, “if we all were to quit, no one would come to this competition again. You should’ve seen me here the first time, I was a disaster,” you chuckled.

Wooyoung was emotionless. You seriously had to lighten him up somehow, otherwise he might mean what he is saying. You wished someone would have cheered you up when you were in his place four years ago. Now, you felt it was your duty to do it for someone else, so they wouldn’t go through a spiraling of self doubt at such a young age.

“Look, this was your first year, right?” you started cautiously. He slowly nodded his head and you took it as a sign to continue. “I bet next year you’ll even win the competition if you don’t give up now!”

“What?” he finally looked at you suspiciously.

“Practice every day and snatch the first place from me,” you said in the most serious way possible.

“How do you even know if you’ll win today?” he asked, laughing in your face. There it was.

“Well, I know I can win today, so you have to do it next year,” you grinned with a smile from ear to ear. “Pinky promise and all!” you extended your arm, fluttering your pinky finger.

Wooyoung looked at you puzzled. But why not, he thought. There was no guarantee you’d win today. So, he put his pinky into yours and you two sealed the promise with your thumbs.

“You can’t go back down now,” you said while getting up. “You have to win next year. Of course, you’ll have to beat me for that..but we made the promise, so work hard.”

Wooyoung was still as puzzled until you left. Does this mean he can’t give up now?

He got up and went to search for his parents in the audience. His parents waited for him with a sad smile, telling him he still did great and not to think about any mistake. He thought how you didn’t smile sadly at him. 

Then you came on stage. With your pink ruffle dress and glitter makeup. The audience clapped, wishing you good luck. It all went to silence and the music started flowing through the whole stage. And you started dancing. Wooyoung could only compare your dance to angels flying on the stage. You graciously moved on the song, smiling and lip-syncing to the song. 

You noticed him in the audience and you thought you should show him how confident you are. How confident he should be next time as well. You decided to improvise by getting closer to the edge of the stage, where he was sitting. You winked at him, sticking out your tongue and turned around to continue your choreography. The audience cheered.

Wooyoung was damn stunned. Did you just wink at him? Did anyone notice? He looked around but everyone seemed to think it was part of the dance. Maybe it actually was part of the dance. Your facial expressions were matching the mood of the song, which was very cheery. 

You finished your choreography with a courtesy and the whole public erupted in applause and cheers, while you went backstage.

You were right. You did win.

You fulfilled your side of the promise and now it was Wooyoung’s turn. He didn’t give up. He continued going to the dance classes. He thought about your performance every day. How confident and pretty you looked on stage, like the stage was your home. Like you were born to be on stage. He thought about how everyone in the audience was looking in awe at you, admiring the way you moved and clapping and cheering and smiling. And he thought that’s exactly how he wants them to look at him.

So he went to class after class after class for the whole year. He thought about his promise every day, motivating him to go forward. Quickly enough, it was time for the Junior Local Dance Competition. He was confident in his performance this year. His dance teacher complimented him so many times in the past months, even telling his parents how quickly he made such a progress. He was confident. Confident that he could beat you? Not so much. But he still had a promise to fulfill. Just you wait!

But he ended up being the one to wait. On the podium. With the first place medal in his hand. Alone. Because you were not there. He won but you were not there to see it. You didn’t come to that year's competition. Neither the next year’s. When he won again. Or the next, when once again he won.  

He thought he’ll never see you again. He thought about your performance that day. About how happy everyone was watching you. About how happy he was watching you.

Until you were dancing on the stage in front of him again. At the Regional Competition he attended when he was 14. You were dancing on a rendition of a popular pop song. Smiling and lip-syncing, while the audience was clapping and cheering for you. As he once remembered. Of course he’d recognize you and your smile, because you didn’t change at all. In reality, you changed a lot. You were taller, with shorter hair than he remembered, and not wearing the pink ruffled dress. 

You won. He came in second. He didn’t lose the competitions in a long time. But he was not upset because it was you. You won. You were there.

He wondered if you remembered him. You didn’t. You congratulated him for his performance telling him it was amazing after the awards were given and everyone went backstage. You didn’t bring up your promise and neither did him. Because immediately after you went to a group of girls, laughing and jumping in happiness. He looked at you and your group longingly. It’s been four years, of course you wouldn’t remember him and the stupid promise you both made when you were 10. 

He looked at you taking pictures with the girls. He recognised one of the girls. She was also attending the local competition every year and she briefly attended his classes as well, where she asked for his Instagram. She thought Wooyoung was a great dancer. She also thought he was very cute. That night he wondered if he could find your social media, maybe she would be following you. The girl had hundreds in her following list on Instagram and he didn’t know your name and neither did he see your picture in any tiny icon. 

He was almost going to give up when that girl posted an update. A picture from the regionals. And you were in the picture. Smiling so wide that your eyes closed and holding up the first place medal. The universe listened to his prayers. You were tagged in the picture. Jackpot!

He looked at your profile picture. Of course he was never going to find you, your picture was a cute bunny cartoon munching on a raspberry. Then he saw your name. He thought it was such a pretty name, suiting you perfectly. Your profile was not private so he spent the rest of the night looking at your pictures. That’s how he found out why you haven’t been attending the local competition in the last few years - you moved to a neighbouring city. Still in the same region, hence why you were at the regionals. You still attended the competitions in your city. And won every time. You were on a winning strike for sure! He wondered if you’re still as confident. Your posts were pictures from everywhere and everything you were doing. Dance practices, competitions, hanging out with friends, pretty sunsets and bunnies. 

He really wanted to follow you but he was scared. What if you would recognize him now? And think that it was rude he didn’t recognize you!

After a few minutes and not that many thoughts, he made a new account, hiding his name and followed you. 

He was so happy. Not only did he see you today. But he found your name. He was thinking that maybe, just maybe if he wins next year you’d recognise him and remember him. 

You didn’t. The next year at the regionals, you won again. And you didn’t recognise him. Again. He looked from afar. Again. 

After that year you also started to post pictures and videos from singing lessons. He guessed you were training now to be a singer as well. Your voice changed so much, from the tiny voice you had when you talked to him when you were 10 to your voice now at 16. You had a beautiful singing voice too. You were going to make a great artist.

The next year you didn’t show up at the regionals. That proved his theory you were probably a trainee now and didn’t have time to go to competitions anymore. 

He ended up winning. Once again you were not there to witness it.

But someone else was. They made him a proposition he couldn’t say no to. And that’s how he became a trainee as well.

Your last Instagram post was a picture of you with your eyes closed from smiling, captioned: “see you at my debut stage:)”.

You were going to debut.

At 18 you debuted in a trio with two other boys your age. Rhythm was your group's name. Very fitting, one could say. You all had great rhythm, were well synchronised, with powerful vocals, and energetic choreographies. You took the country by storm. The general public adored your group's music. The general public adored you. You and the boys. Your group was everywhere, interviews, radios, talk shows, music shows. And you were winning every time. As you once said.

You opened a new and official Instagram account and stopped posting on the old one. Wooyoung still followed your old one from his secret account. He started posting nature pictures with a tad bit of poetry in the captions. It was nothing too big, too deep, or too poetic. Just some of his thoughts that once in a while he felt the need to get out of his chest. He updated the profile picture to be his hand in a pinky promise stand. He thought it to be extremely fitting.

Wooyoung followed your every step, watching all the performances and interviews. He was so proud. He knew you’d be a star. You gave him courage and confidence once and you kept instilling it in him, in his trainee days and once he debuted as well. 

He debuted a few years later in an 8 members boy group - Ateez. They were gaining popularity fast, even though their music was in its own niche, with a unique concept. He was dying to be on the same stage as you. Maybe just maybe you’d recognise him. 

You never did.

“Y/N fucking mentioned us!” Hongjoong screamed entering the dance practice studio.

“Shut up!” San raised his eyebrows, his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets. He couldn’t believe it.

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped and he wasn’t able to close it yet.

Hongjoong held his phone up as proof. “Look!”

They all gathered around him, looking down at his phone. There you were, your smile too big for the small screen. It was a video from last night’s radio interview that Wooyoung didn’t have time to check yet. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see it first. He started smiling as soon as Hongjoong pressed play.

“So, Y/N, you always give amazing song recommendations. Any new music we should start listening to?” The radio host asked you.

You chuckled and Wooyoung was ecstatic waiting for your answer.

“I wouldn’t say new music, but these days I caught myself listening to Ateez a lot!”

The boys screamed. “OH MY GOD THAT’S US! IT’S US”

Wooyoung just kept smiling. That means you listened to him too. Maybe you even watched their music videos. Maybe even their performances. Maybe even..

“Ateez you say?” the host nudged you to continue, a little bit impressed as you usually wouldn’t recommend groups.

“Their songs really put me in a good mood, you know. And motivating. Also the lore behind their concept? It’s soooo good! I even caught myself watching fan theories and explanations so I can understand it, that’s how caught up I am,” you said laughing.

A general sound of gasping erupted in the room. Wooyoung was shocked. You definitely watched the music videos. He was more than curious to know what you were thinking of them.

“You know they are all very handsome, do you have a favourite between them?” such a sly question.

The room was silent, everyone expecting your answer. Wooyoung saw a tiny bit of blushing in your cheeks that went away in less than a millisecond. You were a pro at these interviews.

You licked your lips and answered, “You know I try to not show favouritism,” you giggled hiding your face, “but Hongjoong writes and produces a lot of their songs. I’d love to have a collaboration or something on a future song. I think it would turn out to be amazing!”

“Fuck.” Wooyoung muttered under his breath.

“No way!” Hongjoong exclaimed. “Did I hear right?”

“Bro,” Mingi patted his shoulder. “There’s no way. No way. She said your name. She wants to collaborate with you? For a song?”

“It’s nothing official though. It might never happen.” 

Hongjoong said, trying to stay calm, looking at Wooyoung, seeing how his shoulders deflated. Something he does when he’s on the verge of sulking. Hongjoong knew how much Wooyoung admired you. He never explicitly expressed it but it was obvious. He’d always listen to your group’s songs and your solo songs especially. He’d always smile fondly when you’d appear on TV, and he was always extra nervous when you would share the same stage. Wooyoung didn’t have to say anything, Hongjoong would notice. The same way he noticed now that your answer did bother him, more than either of them would expect.

What bothered Wooyoung even more was how a few weeks later you contacted their manager to go forward with a song collaboration. Your answer wasn’t just for the show. You really did want to collaborate with Hongjoong on a song.

Wooyoung was furious. But not with Hongjoong. he deserved the attention and this would be such an opportunity for him. He was furious with himself. Maybe if he went to you when you were 14 to say “hey, remember me?” he wouldn’t regret it so much. Like what even is he expecting now? For you to what? Name drop him in your interviews? He needed to get a grip.

“I don’t know, I feel like that part comes in too early, you know? Maybe we can add five beats before it to prolong the pre chorus just a bit?” you said scrunching your eyebrows.  

It was already your eighth time sitting in the studio with Hongjoong. You were surprised how well you two clicked. You didn’t lie in the interview when you said you were impressed by their songs. But you did always find it hard to work with new people. You were comfortable with your people, and the point of this new album was for you to get out of your comfort zone. That’s why you wanted to try something new. New sounds, new choreos, new videos. If all the collaborations were to go as smooth as with Hongjoong, the new album will be a piece of cake.

It was easy to talk with him and express your ideas. He was eager to listen and implement all your suggestions but was not afraid to implement bold decisions of his own either. You loved that.

“No, nevermind. It sounds weird as fuck. I don’t like it.” you sighed. “I’m sorry I know we changed this specific ten seconds a billion times today.”

“No sweat! That’s why we’re here. That’s why I’m here.”

There he is. Sweet Hongjoong. No matter how bitchy you are about the song he would help you fix it. 

“I’m sorry, I think I’m a bit in a slump today and that’s why I don’t like anything.”

“What’s bothering you today?” he asked while still looking at the screen.

You groaned loudly. “They are pressuring me to find a partner for the dance segment I want to perform for the end of the year awards.”

“Anyone on your mind?”

“Not one person,” you closed your eyes, leaning your head on the couch. “Anyone on yours?”

“Actually yes,” he said, turning in his chair.

At this you perked you head towards him. “Really? Who?”

“One of my team members. He’s fucking good.” Hongjoong smiled. 

“Hongjoong, you are the best thing that happened to me!” you beamed.

Hongjoong was so excited. He could finally make it up to Wooyoung. He avoided talking about his studio sessions with him around, although the others would pressure him A LOT. Asking him everything. He always kept everything brief. But many times it sounded like he had something to hide. Which he didn’t. He didn’t want to make Wooyoung upset, that was it. Hongjoong, like the others, would look at you as you were - their senior. With a lot of respect and admiration. But Wooyoung always looked at you with more, with pride and happiness. You definitely meant more for him than what he wanted to show. 

“Hey man,” Hongjoong entered Wooyoung’s room, finding him in bed on his phone, “great news!”

“What’s up?” Wooyoung asked, concentrating on his phone, playing a game.

“I might have booked you a dance segment at the end of the year award ceremony.”

“Cool.” Wooyoung said unimpressed, still focusing on his game. He trusted his leader’s decisions. If he told him he had to dance at the awards, he was going to dance.

“A dance segment with Y/N,” Hongjoong smiled. 

“What?” Wooyoung finally paused his game and looked at Hongjoong. “Absolutely not.” he shrugged as if it was the most expected answer.

“The fuck? Why not?” Hongjoong was flabbergasted. Why would he say no to such an opportunity?

“Our dancing styles don’t match,” he blinked. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” he said, returning to his game. His heart beating faster and faster. What the fuck is he doing?

“Well too late. It was already discussed and agreed between the higher ups. Everyone loved the idea.”

Wooyoung paused his game again. He was opening his mouth to protest but Hongjoong cut him off. “Y/N is waiting for you at 8 in the morning at her dance studio. I’ll share the location with you. Don’t be late!” and he left. Leaving behind a confused Wooyoung.

What just happened? 

He was going to see you. Talk with you. Dance with you. No. This was not supposed to happen. He convinced himself he had to see you from afar and that’s it. His heart was going crazy. How was he going to survive this?

He was late. Oh, so late. He couldn’t fall asleep last night. He was too nervous, too excited. He was thinking about you the whole night. He even looked at your old profile, something he didn’t do in a long time. And so he fell asleep. But it was too late because as he fell asleep, he had to wake up and so he slept through his alarm.

“I am so sorry!” he shouted the moment he barged through your dance studio.

You were on the floor, doing some warm up exercises. He was 47 minutes late! How disrespectful. You slowly got up while he hurriedly left his bag in a corner and ran to the middle of the room. He was gasping for air, definitely ran to get here. 

You stared up at him. He was a head taller than you but you were not going to feel smaller. You looked him up and down and went back to look in his eyes.

“What? Your coffee date with your girlfriend ended up later than you expected?” it was wrong for you to make assumptions and you knew it. But you were oh so angry! You hated hated people who were not keeping their promise.

Wooyoung choked on his words. He should’ve apologised. Said it won’t happen again. Instead he said: “I don’t have a girlfriend,” while keeping his eyes on yours.

“That’s your private life,” you blinked, “and I don’t care about it. I only care for you to be here on time. Dance. And leave. Hongjoong is a great guy, don’t disappoint him.”

Wooyoung raised his eyebrow. Indeed, Hongjoong is a great guy, but why would you say that? 

“Let’s not waste any more time and start,” you turned to reach for your tablet. 

Your dance was a beautiful choreography on a melodic hip-hop classic rendition. The choreographer did a fantastic job. You worked with him on previous projects and you really really wanted this number to be touched by his creative vision. 

The only downside… he was living in New Zealand. That never stopped you before. He used to send you videos of the choreographies and you’d send him videos of you dancing it and ask for feedback. It worked fantastic before and it will work fantastic now.

Or so you thought. The choreography was not too difficult. It was intricate with many details that you really loved focusing on. You used to learn the steps very fast, maybe in a couple of hours, but this time it turned out to be more intricate than you expected. 

The two of you spent more than half of your allocated time just analyzing it. Pressing the replay button over and over and over again. Changing the speed and trying to absorb everything to the smallest detail.

Both of you were extremely focused and everything seemed to go on the right path. You were confident this will turn out well even with the slightest hiccup in the morning.

You were wrong. 

The moment the two of you started to physically learn and count your steps, everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. 

Wooyoung’s body was not listening to him. He was too much in his head, nerves, guilt, stress, fear, of failure and disappointment, everything was just overwhelming him. He felt as if his body was separate from his mind. The two doing their own thing. And he was in the middle, trying to bring them together and failing miserably.

You, on the other hand, were frustrated. With yourself and with him. With his delay this morning that gave such a wrong impression on him. He is sloppy, careless and unreliable. That’s what you told yourself the whole morning while trying to watch the choreography video. It didn’t help that when you started actually dancing he was making such…stupid mistakes. Then you went completely spiraling. Why did Hongjoong recommend Wooyoung? It was obvious he had no idea what he was doing. Was he setting you to fail? Was that his plan? 

You literally had to slap yourself to stop thinking. Which startled Wooyoung from his self-destructive thoughts as well.

You grabbed your phone, quickly typed a message and resumed your practice in no time.

Around an hour later, your phone was blinking. A sign that you got a new message that was not silenced by your do not disturb status. That could only mean one person.

“Let’s take a break,” you said looking at your phone, “20..no 15 minutes should be more than enough.”

It was the first proper sentence, besides some counting, any of you spoke in hours. 

“Ok,” was all that he could say as you left the dance studio in seconds.

He didn’t know what to do. He would’ve liked to get some fresh air but he was not familiar with the building and had no idea how to get on the roof. He didn’t want to get lost or anything. He decided the best idea was to ask you next time.

He ended up just rewatching the dance video, mentally noting some moves. Then slowly practicing and watching himself in the mirror. He was doing great. Way better. As he usually was doing when learning a new dance. Why wasn’t he like this the whole morning?

15 minutes sharp later, you opened the door, stretching your back with your arms above your head. 

“Did you spend your whole break here dancing? Why didn’t you rest?” you stopped yourself, inhaling, then adding coldly. “You know what, it’s your time. You are responsible for it.” 

“I am really sorry I was late this morning.”

And so you continued your rest of the practice.

After Wooyoung returned to his dorm, took a shower, and laid in his bed, contemplating how miserable he felt right now, he thought there was no way you were not going to complain to Hongjoong about today. And he was going to return home and scold him so so much. And not in a good way.

He knew the best way to get over it was to dance. So, in his tiny room, he got up and continued practicing the steps. Tomorrow will be better.

It was not.

He was so tired from not sleeping the previous night and from a double dance practice yesterday. Of course he overslept.

He was late.

Only 10 minutes.

But he was late.

You were lowkey furious. Was he testing your patience? That must be it. Otherwise why would he be late on your second day of practice. After you already made such a big deal about it yesterday.

When Wooyoung opened the door, gasping for air and ready to apologise, you immediately cut him off.

“Don’t even. Let’s just start.”

Sloppy, careless and unreliable.

And so you continued your practice in the next few days. Wooyoung was dying inside. He disappointed you but you were so mean.

“Don’t you know how to raise your hand?”

“This is a six count not eight. Can you even count? ”

“Did you learn to dance yesterday?”

“People will start falling asleep.”

“Why are you like this?”

And so much worse.

Wooyoung would clench his jaw in anger and just swallow his words.

You were indeed mean. You knew that. You did have extremely mean dance teachers growing up. Which was very toxic and haunted you your whole life. Apparently it still did.

You did start making these comments out of pettiness because you were annoyed with him. But then you noticed he wasn’t replying back. In the beginning he would only apologise. Then you noticed how his jaw would clench, how his nostrils would flare, how he’d roll his eyes, how he would deeply sigh. He was getting annoyed. But, nevertheless, he was not making any mean comments back. You did want to get a reaction from him. See what he had to say.

Sloppy, careless and unreliable.

And spineless too?

Your phone blinked notifying you of a new message. And so you announced the 15 minutes daily break.

You left the practice room and went to the familiar dimly lit storage room.

The moment you closed the door behind you, you felt yourself being lifted up and placed on the drawer nearby.

Your lips immediately parted, sinking in the kiss. You loved Hajun’s kisses. They were always exactly what you needed when you were stressed and annoyed. Which was a lot these days.

He trailed kisses on your jaw and down on your neck, nibbling at the cusp between your neck and shoulder.

“How is your pretty boy today?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t wanna talk about him,” you rolled your eyes, unbuttoning his pants.

“But that’s your favourite topic these days,” he said, playing with the waistband of your sweatpants. “Almost like foreplay.” He yanked your pants down to your ankle in a swift movement, placing deep kisses on your lips.

He quickly put a condom on, aligned in front of your entrance, and pushed himself inside with no warning.

You gasped and bit your lips to keep quiet.

“He’s just..driving me..crazy,” you breathed. 

“So sloppy.” 

Thrust. 

“So careless.”

Thrust.

“So unreliable.”

Thrust.

“So spineless.”

“Spineless?” he groaned, increasing his pace. “That’s new. What did he do?”

You rolled your eyes in unison with your hips. “It’s what he didn't do. No matter what I say, he only gets annoyed but doesn’t talk back.”

He put his hand under your shirt, caressing your bare torso, moving up towards your chest.

“Sounds like you want someone to put you in your place.” he cupped your breast, pinching your nipple in between two fingers. “Am I not good enough for that, love?” 

You met Hajun a few months before your debut. He was training with you briefly, until he realised he is not cut for the entertainment industry. He was not sad or anything, rather happy. Studied to enter a good med school and never regretted his decision. The two of you became close friends. Venting each other’s frustration. Until one day, you both figured out the best way to vent. A kiss here, a kiss there, and then you were fucking on his couch. No strings attached and ready to break this deal whenever one of you was over it. 

You were stressed through the roof because of your upcoming album. He was stressed through the roof because of the exam season. All this stress combined and you were bound to see each other often. And fuck often.

“Oh, please,” you moaned in his mouth, “you never knew how to put me in my place.”

After a week of practice, you and Wooyoung filmed your dance and sent it to the choreographer for feedback. He immediately video called the two of you to deliver his response.

Which was a disaster.

He said your chemistry was lacking big time. No synergy whatsoever. And that you basically looked like amateurs. 

“Look guys,” he continued on the screen, “I'm not trying to discourage you. I’ve seen this happening a lot. With people that never danced together. Or never met before dancing.”

Wooyoung stole a glance towards you. Your face was expressionless, carefully listening to the choreographer's points. 

“In order to make my dancers have a more natural chemistry, I ask them to do a different dance. Don’t worry, it’s really short. I reckon in two weeks you’ll master it and can get back to your original dance. Just go with it and stop fighting it.”

Once the call ended you immediately got a message with the video of the new choreography you were told to do.

The video started with a sultry melody. As for the choreography? It was very sexually suggestive. Your original dance had a lot of touching and caressing, so it made sense why you needed perfect chemistry for it to not look weird. But this new one? It was something you never did before. A lot of floor steps that were very intimate. And oh so suggestive. How were you gonna pull this off?

Wooyoung was panicking. He didn’t touch you like this before. And he wasn’t sure he was gonna be able to without his hand trembling.

“Ok, let’s start I guess.”

You avoided looking in his eyes for the first time. You felt a blush creeping on your cheeks and fought against it. You were a professional. This is nothing.

That night Wooyoung looked through your Instagram page. He didn’t get it. You used to be such a nice and sweet girl. And you still were as sweet. Just not with him. 

He wanted to check the comments of your last before debut picture (very stalkerish) when he finally did it. Instead of pressing the comment button, he pressed the heart.

“No, no, no”

He got up in panic and did the best thing he thought of doing. Revoked the heart. It’s only been a few seconds. The notifications for sure didn’t come through. Right? And even if it did, what are the chances you are still active on that account? Right?

You were. 

You loved scrolling on your old account. You barely interacted with anyone on it and that’s why the notification startled you. 

It was from a photography and poetry account. You never even noticed when this account followed you. 

The latest post was a picture of the sky through a cracked window from two days ago with the caption ‘your words are grazing my heart like broken glass does to my skin.’

You liked it in a heartbeat, then followed the account.

Wooyoung’s phone vibrated in his hand. He got the notification of you following his secret page from your old account.

“Shit.”

The new choreography had some tough moves. In which both of you needed to rely on your own strength but also on each others’. 

One of these steps was requiring you to be on your knees on the floor. Wooyoung to slide on his back through your legs. Grabbing your thighs and lifting you and himself, while carrying you on his shoulders, and then dropping you to his arms. 

It was definitely an uncomfortable move that you had to practice a lot. It was risky too. And it wasn’t even the worst. 

And so you did. With every touch and caress from Wooyoung burning above your skin.

The same way every snarky comment from your side burned in his mind.

Of course you couldn’t help yourself. You would get even more critical and sarcastic the more you would feel threatened. And heated. 

After you went on your break, Wooyoung decided he desperately needed air to cool down. Jesus it was only the first day you were trying the new dance and it was killing him. How could he help himself when his skin tasted yours like that. 

He listened to your directions about going on the terrace you once gave him. Your building was huge and he couldn’t believe the whole floor was for you and your group. He turned left and left again. He heard a loud thump right before turning right on the tiny hallway. A faint sound continued to be heard. He approached the door, wanting to make sure nothing wrong happened.

His hand stopped on the door handle when he heard an almost imperceptible moan. The moaning continued in unison with the faint thumping. Mystery solved. And his cue to get back to his objective.

Much needed air. He didn’t need to know people were having sex when he was barely trying to stop a boner himself.

Cold air was blowing over him on the small balcony terrace that was as secluded as you mentioned.

Wooyoung stayed there for what felt like just a minute or so, when another man also joined him on the balcony. 

They only glanced at each other to acknowledge each other’s presence. Men. The other man took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. Puffing slowly.

“I know it’s a myth but cigarettes after sex are still the best.”

Wow too much information, much?

At least Wooyoung knew that this guy was one of the people in the storage room. Not that he wanted to know that.

“So you’re the pretty boy, huh?”

“No?”

What was wrong with this guy?

“Look, there are only two people that ever come on this balcony and I sure as hell didn’t tell you about it.”

The realisation hit Wooyoung like a brick.

“Isn’t your break over?”

That motherfucker.

Wooyoung left Hajun before he could wipe his smug smirk with a punch.

Not that he could be mad that you were having sex. You were a consenting adult woman. But while on the clock? While training and practicing? How was that professional?

When he returned to the dance room you immediately rolled your eyes. The break was already over for a couple of minutes.

“Seriously what is your deal? You want to test my patience or what? Can’t you be on time once? This is so unbelievably unprofessional! We agreed to 15 minutes!”

“Seems that 15 minutes wasn’t enough for either of us,” he said barely a whisper trying to stay calm.

What did he just say? You were flabbergasted. Is he starting to finally talk back? What a horrible moment for that. And what even was that comment?

You decided to ignore it and just continue your practice from where it was left of.

Both of you were unprofessional. And both of you were blaming each other for it. You were blaming him for being such a pain in the ass and making you so frustrated, you couldn’t help but reach for Hajun. He was blaming you for being so mean and making him so nervous that he couldn’t function properly.

With every dance move, every touch he was exploding like fireworks. His shirt and sweatpants felt like paper. He was feeling every trail of your fingers on him as if you were following a gasoline path and igniting flames that were burning and consuming his being.

He was fine. He was fine. He was fine.

Just a tiny little boner.

Fuck.

He couldn’t ask for a break now. You were already pissed and he was sure you’d kill him (metaphorically or not) for daring to request to stop the practice so soon.

You were on fire too. Although making many mistakes, Wooyoung’s touch was so caressing every time. So soft. That you barely felt his contact through your shirt and sweatpants. As if feathers would gently kiss your skin, too afraid you may break.

You needed more.

He was laying down on his back. You were on top of him, trying to dance a new move that looked awfully much like dry humping him.

You are fine. Why are you so horny again? 

You are a professional. Which is why you continue rolling your hips. 

Dry humping is nothing. It’s driving you crazy. 

Not even when you feel him getting harder under you. You don’t want to stop. 

You are fine! You need to stop.

“Are you ok?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“You seem to have a small problem.” it was feeling anything but small. “Down there,” you deadpanned.

Wooyoung was mortified. How, why, and when. He was making sure he was subtly arranging himself in between moves when you were not looking.

You lowered yourself on your elbows, getting closer to his face, and staring into his eyes. 

Wooyoung immediately blushed, frozen in place. You could almost chuckle at his reaction. But you had to keep the appearances.

“Don’t worry, it’s a normal bodily reaction,” you whispered close enough for your noses to almost touch, “not many can resist.” you smirked.

You fucking smirked.

Wooyoung was so turned on he was certain he would’ve cummed in his pants if you wouldn’t have gotten off him and suggested to continue with a different move.

He was so embarrassed though. Not only he still had to deal with his boner. You were aware of it. And he was painfully aware you were. 

You were on your knees. For the move when he slides in between your legs. Until now, the easiest move and the least promiscuous. 

However, when he slid in between your legs this time, his head got stuck in your baggy sweatpants.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Jesus fucking christ. You are mocking him again.

“So sorry. I think for this move i should take off the big pants. Don’t worry, I wear short leggings underneath.” you said winking.

Fucking winking. How much were you going to embarrass him today?

Your short gray leggings, more specifically booty short leggings, were thin and more or less you were wearing them as underwear. But Wooyoung didn’t need to know. It was your turn to mentally blush.

You were back on your knees and Wooyoung slid with no issues on the floor this time. Booty short leggings for the win!

“Wait, I want to check what I need to do with my left hand. I don’t want you fucking drop me.”

You bent over reaching for your tablet.

He could swear you were doing this on purpose. I mean how could you not, your crotch was not even 10 centimeters from his face. He was doing god’s work trying no to look. But he couldn’t help but notice the damp spot in between your legs. Which looked so goddamn delicious.

“Are you ok?” Wooyoung asked to which you didn’t pay much attention. “You seem to have a small problem.”

“What?” you asked, straightening yourself and looking down at him between your legs.

“Don’t worry, it’s a normal bodily reaction,” he whispered sultrily, getting closer to your core, “not many can resist.” He fucking smirked, making eye contact and immediately dragging his mouth over your damp spot. Payback time.

You stopped a gasp with your hand over your mouth.

Wooyoung continued licking your spot while maintaining eye contact. The look in his eyes being so different now, from the sloppy, careless, unreliable, spineless person from earlier.

You couldn’t believe you got so wet earlier. That he got you so wet. You admit he made you very aroused with that small dry humping session but that aroused? That you started to leak through your leggings? This will be the last time you don’t wear underwear!

With each lick you were getting wetter and wetter, and your leggings soaked with your arousal and his saliva, until the leggings became paper thin and you were feeling every flick of tongue.

Wooyoung was circling around your clit with lewd slurping sounds. 

The movement was making you crazy enough that you started gyrating over his tongue, making you want to moan. But you muffled the sounds with your hand over your mouth.

He was feeling so good.

Wooyoung grabbed your thighs, pulling them apart, which made you lower yourself on him even more. 

You could barely stand straight.

You were eaten out before, with no clothed barrier whatsoever. But like this, with your thin leggings sticking to your sensitive parts, soaking up your arousal and his saliva, with his tongue pushing harder and harder to make up for it? There was something about it that felt more sensual than any other oral session you received.

Wooyoung was enjoying this as much, if not even more, than you. Savouring every lick, every slurp, every drop. As if drinking sweet mead from the gods themselves. You were tasting as sweet as he ever dreamed. Not that he had dirty dreams about you. Or at least not that often. How could he not though? You were on his mind every day. And then you started to show the sexier version of you with the newer comebacks. And then he heard you moan on another dude’s dick in a storage room. How could he resist without imagining anything? With knowing how sweet you can sound. He wanted to hear you sound like that. Your sounds to be the anthem of his life. If only you could take that goddamn hand from your mouth and moan freely. 

You felt the familiar knot in your lower belly and clenched on nothing. You grabbed Wooyoung’s hair with your free hand to steady yourself. He gasped from the sudden pull of his hair. He didn’t expect it. You didn’t expect him to make such a delicious sound either. You wanted to hear more.

You continued rolling your hips with more confidence now, chasing your high. So close, so close. 

And then you exploded, feeling fireworks going off. You collapsed on your back on top of Wooyoung, gasping for air. What just happened?

Wooyoung swiftly got up and lowered himself on top of you. He was looking so hot with his face glistening from his sweat, saliva, and your arousal dripping on his chin. He licked his lips while watching you with dark eyes.

You couldn’t help but stare at his lips and tongue. Which just made you cum. 

“If you needed help, all you had to do was ask,” he grinned, a big shit-eating grin. The asshole.

You blushed the whole way home. You blushed the whole getting ready for bed routine. You blushed the whole time trying to fall asleep. You blushed the whole time scrolling on your phone trying to fall asleep. You blushed when you got a notification that your favourite poetry account just posted. You blushed looking at the picture - a steamed shower glass with a finger drawn heart. You blushed reading the caption - ‘your taste is the poison that kills me; your sounds are the hymn that bring me back to life.’ The universe was laughing in your face. part 2 | © 2024 gemini-stories All Rights Reserved.

[jangofettjamz]

The Birthday Boy

Jenna Ortega x Autistic!Male!Reader

Summary: You finally get to celebrate your birthday for the first time, and with the one you love.

Words: 1552

Y/N POV

Today is my birthday. I've never really celebrated it; family never really bothered. Now that I'm older it just seemed more insignificant. No one to celebrate it with, and let's be honest and no one wants to celebrate it on their own.

Jenna was out working, I never told her when my birthday was because I didn't want to interrupt her filming schedule, she's already got enough on her plate she doesn't need to worry about getting me gifts for my birthday she has a career to grow.

I've turned 20 today; Jenna turning 21soon. 20 years feel a bit surreal not gonna lie, crazy to think it's been that long since I was born. I try not dwell on that to much, it'll just send me spiralling.

I do wish I had a good birthday though, the feeling of being celebrating. I know this may sound narcissistic, but I always wanted to be celebrated, have a day just about me. I wanted to feel like everyone could come together and show support for me even if it was just for one day, I never had that kind of love growing up so I'd like to know what that's like, though I doubt it'll happen.

My father never paid any attention to me growing up, saying I was too much of a hassle to put up with. You know you have a bad parent when they have to "put up" with you  instead of loving you unconditionally, but hey beggars can't be choosers, right?

Me thinking about how life could've been was making me depressed so I decided to go out for breakfast, I got dressed and got the keys to my car and went out get food.

On the way there I get an incoming call from Jenna, thought she would've been busy this morning so this was a pleasant surprise. I answered but kept my eyes on the road.

"Hello darling, how'd you sleep" she asked, she knows I don't sleep well when she's gone.

"Um... I slept okay, probably could've got more sleep though. I'm just going to that Italian place we went to a month ago for some breakfast. How's shooting going" I asked, she's currently filming for her new movie 'death of a unincorn' with Paul Rudd.

"Filming's going great, Paul's really cool and I can't wait for you to meet him, he's knows you're a marvel fan too." She giggles mischievously, that little minx.

"Jenna why'd you say that." I whine feeling embarrassed.

"Aw babe, don't be shy he thinks you're really cool." She says reassuringly.

"Yeah sure he does" I say sarcastically, making her laugh. "Do you know when you'll be home?" I miss her dearly, I need to see her soon.

She let's out a sigh, I brace myself for bad news. "Sorry, sweet boy. I won't be back for another week." I let out sad sigh and a whine, I missed her alot.

"Hey, hey, don't be upset baby boy, I'll be home before you know it and we'll have so much fun together. The week will go by quick I promise." She cooed, she always knew what to say to put me at ease.

"Alright sweetie I have to go, drive safe for me and I'll see you very soon." She blew a kiss through the phone "I love you, sweetheart"

"I love you too, Jenna." We end the call and I continue my journey.

I arrive at the restaurant, this is gonna drain my social battery for today so I hope I don't have to to anyone that much, I just wanna get my food, eat then leave.

I ate my food peacefully, the staff were wonderful, definitely going there again for breakfast. I leave the restaurant and do some birthday shopping for myself, figured I may aswell treat myself to something nice for my "big day"; I sound miserable.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts when I feel my phone vibrate, a few text messages from some of my friends and cast mates from scream 5 and 6. I read them and I was shocked, how did they know...

Jasmin

Hey Y/N/N, hope you're having a lovely birthday. Can't wait you see you soon.

Devyn

Howdy stranger, happy birthday my love, you're 20! Hope you're doing well and I'll see you soon... very soon. 😈

Mikey

Looks like someone has a birthday today... AND YOU DIDNT TELL ME! HOW DARE YOU! Besides that betrayal I miss you so much Y/N, happy birthday my sweet.

Mason

Hey man, looks who's 20 years old! Happy birthday bud, hope you have a good one.👍

Melissa

Hey hey, it's the birthday boy! Happy birthday honey, you deserve the best birthday in the world. All the best from me and my husband.

Jack Quaid

Hey buddy, happy 20th birthday! I miss you alot pal, Karl and Antony send their birthday wishes too. Hope to see you soon, buddy.

I was shocked; flabbergasted even. How did they know, they couldn't have possibly...unless. I looked the last message, it was from Jenna, the mastermind behind this.

❤️Jenna❤

Hi baby boy, guess who found out when your birthday is! You never told me when it was but I asked around and viola! Happy birthday sweet boy, I promise we'll see each other very very soon. I love you so much, sweetheart.❤

That little minx... this is why I love her so much, I can't begin to express how much I love her and this just solidifies that. I sent her a message back saying I love her and continue to the mall.

But as I walk to the shopping mall I see three woman who look very familiar, they're wearing party hats too. No... no way... it can't be...

Jenna POV

The look on Y/N's face is priceless, he looked shocked, excited, and emotional at the same time. I think me, Jasmin and Devyn did good on surprising him.

"JENNA?!" He says with glassy eyes.

"C'mere sweetheart" I say and open my arms, he runs towards me and I wrap him in a tight hug.

"I missed you so much" he said while crying, he's such a cutie oh my god.

"Aww sweetie, I missed you too, so much honey. I've been tracking you on Life360 and we intercepted you here. Happy birthday my love, I know you don't like big crowds so I brought Devyn and Jasmin with me" they spoke up.

"Happy birthday, Y/N/N. It's so good to see you, I've missed you alot." Devyn says making him smile widely.

"It's been too long since we've seen you Y/N, how have you been?" Jasmin asks. He lifts his head from my neck and speaks.

"Better now that you guys are here, I haven't really been feeling the best since I've been on my own, I'm so glad you're here Jenna." I hold him and rub his back in comfort.

I want him to really enjoy his birthday today, I already have stuff waiting for him at home. I think he's gonna love it. "Let's go do some shopping and then we'll go home, I have a surprise for you." His eyes lit up and I kiss his cheeks.

- 2 hours later

Y/N drove behind me as we made our way back home. Jasmin and Devyn went home soon after we shopping. We park up to the driveway and he joins me at the front door.

"Close your eyes, birthday boy" I ask and he looks at me with caution.

"What are you planning now, Ortega?" He asks me; suspicion in his voice.

"Just close them silly" he obliged and I take his hand to guide him to his surprise. We reach the living room. "Okay, open your eyes sweetheart."

He opened them and is met with countless presents ranging from: action figures and Lego sets from their favourite franchise, new clothes, PC parts and much much more. I wanted to spoil him and make up for the 20 years of birthdays he missed out on. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Jenna... is this all mine?" He asked, still not believing that he finally had a proper birthday.

"All yours, sweetness" I hug him as tight as I can, he cries into my shoulder out of, what I can only assume, happiness. "Don't cry honey, it's okay. That's all for you because I love you so so much, you deserve this my love, you deserve the world." I cooed softly.

"Thank you so much" he said through his cries.

"You're so welcome, my beautiful birthday boy." I say then kiss his forehead, cheeks and lips.

"Wait here, baby boy" I head into the kitchen and grab his cake. I light the candles and head back into the living room.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Y/N, happy birthday to you." I sing and he blows out his candles.

I cheer and set the cake on the table. He smiled so brightly, he finally got to have a real birthday to celebrate.

Happy birthday Y/N.

A/N

Not my birthday, but I thought it'd make a good story. I hope you enjoyed.

[atelierlili]

This is the second time, this annoying asshole has come to crying/complaining about the skintone of MY Katniss. When it happened the first time, I gave the user the benefit of doubt as Katniss skin tone is only mentioned in the book and in the movies she's portrayed by the pale Jennifer Lawerence. But since this topic crop it's ugly head around again, it's coming off as very racist and woefully unwelcomed, @bethaniagia.

I want to preface this incase someone wants to twist my words, I have nothing against black people and I don't wish to offend anyone when I say my Katniss isn't black. I don't portray her the way I do with the intent to characterize her a person of black descent. Aside from being part Seam and Merchant, Katniss is racially ambiguous. The only canon thing we know from the books is that she has darker skin than those of the merchant class and sliver eyes. Therefore it's within my right to portray her however the fuck I want to portray her. And I portray her as someone as Seam descent.

Now i'm going to gush over MY Katniss because I love her exactly the way she is and no one will convince me otherwise to change her. I love her dark skin, the rich warm hue that's reminiscent of the woods and the forests she loves so dearly. I love how it makes her silver eyes pop and how it makes her favourite colour, green, shimmer off her skin. I love giving her a reddish, warm undertone, indicative of her inner fire. She's our girl on fire, after all.

I love how her darker skin tone is visual indicator off the very real class divide that exists within District 12 and how her relationship with Peeta and her mother and father, display that class CAN be crossed and genuine love can be find despite it all. Katniss holds her identity of Seam close to her. The movies cut it out, like it does many things, but that doesn't mean its no less important, no less meaningful. So if I wish to portray this class divide through her skin tone, I can and I will.

Anyway, @bethaniagia, I just want to say your behaviour is very not cool and its, quite plainly, shitty community/fandom etiquette and behaviour. I take time out of my day to share and create my silly drawings of Miss Katniss Everdeen kissing her boyfriend. If you don't like it, block and turn the other cheek. This kind of attitude KILLS engagement and fun in any community. It can cripple the the motivation to share work with the fandom. I don't give a shit. I do what I want. But I KNOW there are writers and artists that keep thier work to themselves because they're worried about blacklash from people like you.

Now, I don't expect you to give it nor do I expect you to read to the end of this post, but I'd like an apology, otherwise, I'll be blocking you at the end of the week. I'd like to keep this up long enough for you to read it. :)

[evellynssocbrainrot]

An Important Notice

Almost every time I read a fanfic or see what people say on Tumblr and Pinterest, Inej is perceived as this perfect angel with no flaws and Kaz is the one who needs fixing.

This is really annoying.

Listen, people, Inej is amazing, don't get me wrong. She's one of the best characters in all of literature and I look up to her as a role model, but she's not perfect. She is not a saint or an angel, she's a human. Even she can be stubborn and arrogant from time to time. Let's not forget how she doubted Wylan's demo ability at the beginning of SOC. Her line, "I will have you without your armor, Kaz Brekker, or I will not have you at all," is iconic and I understand the meaning, but it's still a bit hypocritical when you think about it. She's telling Kaz to make himself vulnerable but it's not like she's that open about her own vulnerabilities either.

As for Kaz, the poor baby is almost always painted in the wrong light. He's the one with all the flaws, the one who doesn't deserve anything but misery, and the one who needs fixing. Even if he's just a character, I feel bad and think perhaps sometimes the Grishaverse fandom isn't fair to him. In the books, Kaz told Wylan how he shouldn't feel ashamed of his disability, VERBALLY said that he wanted to give himself up for the Crows, and didn't allow Jesper to use Parem even though it was a very efficient way to gain the victory. He even gave Nina Matthias's share of the kruge despite having the option to take it for himself.

And for Inej, the sweetheart did as much as he could. 😭

He was dead set on saving her at the beginning of CK and stopped at nothing until she was with him again. And his line, "I would have come for you, and if I couldn't walk, I'd crawl to you." He said he would crawl, CRAWL!! Fucking crawl to her, and knowing Kaz, he so would if he had to. And then he liquidated all, not some, all of his assets, every single cent, he gave it all up for her. To fully free her from the Menagerie. In the end, he bought her a ship, found her parents, and even went as far as taking off his gloves and holding her hand for a long time IN PUBLIC!!!! At the harbour where anyone could see. In fact, he's the reason why she's where she is in the first place. He got her out, gave her a knife, and made her dangerous. He gave her the freedom to grace the rooftops in the dead of night and haunt the streets. He gave her the option to leave if she wanted. HE LOVED HER TO THE POINT WHERE HE LET HER GO BECAUSE HER HAPPINESS AND DESIRES MATTER MORE TO HIM THAN HIS OWN!!!

He's not that bad okay. I know he's very flawed and traumatized, but he's got a very big heart, he just doesn't show it. He gave Jesper a place to go, provided Wylan with protection, and allowed Nina and Matthias to reunite. He formed the plans for the Ice Court and ended Van Eck and Pekka Rollins while doing his best to ensure that the Crows would stay alive. But still, he's the only one who has to fix himself. Some fans still think that he isn't worthy of Inej. Meanwhile, Inej is the perfect, flawless angel. I thought people didn't like a Mary Sue. And Inej isn't a Mary Sue, she has flaws, she has weak points, and she has things that she needs to work through as well.

For those of you who read all this, thank you for sparing some time.

[notmorbid]

happiness falls.

dialogue prompts from happiness falls by angie kim.

there's a fine line, if any, between optimism and willful idiocy.

why would you assume things can't go wrong just because they haven't yet?

hanging up an iphone isn't nearly as satisfying as slamming down a landline.

hope is dangerous.

intuition trumps intellect every time.

it isn't like i was keeping it a secret.

i'm working on seeming less bossy.

you are too old for this juvenile bullshit.

bring a first aid kit, just in case.

i never read the articles, only the cartoons.

i know what you're thinking. i'm thinking it, too.

i won't tell you not to worry, but take care of yourself.

sometimes it's the tiniest difference that can make the most difference.

are you a spy?

my life just isn't that interesting.

no shutting me out and trying to do everything yourself.

i have no idea what you're thinking, but i'm thinking i need coffee asap.

'greetings'? who in hell says 'greetings'?

i'll never scare you like that again.

don't force me to ask.

i wanted to just fucking die.

i feel badly about how we left things.

i thought we were open with each other.

shame is the most powerful and long-lasting emotion we have.

the best defense is a good offense.

stop talking. don't make it worse.

it's easy to be generous when you've taken so much.

i can't fall apart. someone has to get shit done.

i care more about authenticity and honesty than tact.

i didn't realize you still did that.

sometimes, in moments of great stress, we revert to childhood behaviors.

i love your sarcasm when it isn't pointed at me.

thinking and planning are luxuries we can't afford.

'no withholding anything from anyone'. that's my new mantra.

you have to save the highest penalty sin for last. build up slowly.

slow down. start from the beginning. what happened?

i don't care if i never find out what happened.

have you ever noticed how different things sound out loud instead of inside your head?

you can be honest without being cruel.

what are you hiding? i can see it behind you. what is it?

when you can't talk, people assume you can't understand.

i am a different person in english.

can you blame me?

sometimes semantics matter. words matter.

i'd rather give you the benefit of the doubt.

i would be horrible at your job.

you know a lot more than anyone's given you credit for.

a fucking break is what i want.

it did not feel 'rare', living through it.

everyone thought they were next.

there are some things you can't say out loud.

i'm glad we tried.

anger feels so much better than grief.

i don't like remembering it.

it's okay if the answer is no.

god, we're a mess.

this isn't a movie. this is real life.

if this was a 'choose your own adventure' book, what would you hope for?

when did you wake up?

there's no harm in hoping.

how long will i feel this way?

the first try is always the hardest, right?

the world should have to accommodate you, for once.

you can squeeze my hand when it hurts too much.

stop playing games and say what you mean.

you've been doubted long enough.

you doubted me, didn't you? just a little.

i don't want to forget. i want to remember.

i still have good days and bad.

[babycharmander]

TW ANTISEMITISM. THERE WILL BE DEPICTIONS OF ANTISEMITIC ARTWORK AND TEXT IN THIS POST.

Okay so, this is not the kind of post I normally make, ever, nor a sort of post I ever wanted to make. But this is an incredibly important issue that goes beyond fandom stuff, and I've talked with a few other people about it to confirm that it is something concerning.

I want to start by saying that I am not Jewish, but I know that you should never let antisemitism get its foot in the door. (If anyone who reads this is Jewish and needs to correct me on anything, please do so immediately.)

This was posted to the tags yesterday:

[ID: A screenshot of a post from @/liu4ka. The caption at the top reads "well he looks at me / and i look at him / and then he smiles" in very small, stylized text. The image below is artwork of Otto, facing right, with his eyes squinted and his mouth in a skewed, toothy grin, with his hands held up in a strange way. /end ID]

This picture looks perfectly fine at first glance... but the thing is, that caption you see there was not the original caption. I managed to get a screenshot of it before it was changed, and the original caption was this:

[ID: A screenshot of the original caption of the above post, which reads "well he looks at me / and i look at him / and then he smiles like sly jew" /end ID]

That's... a weird way to describe a smile. I'd wondered if this was referencing something, and apparently the first two lines are lyrics from a Weird Al song, but the third line is definitely not. That was making alarm bells ring in my mind, along with the pose Otto was in (which I'll explain in a moment).

Still, I wanted to give this user the benefit of a doubt, because it's entirely possible to unknowingly say something that sounds Bad. So I looked at their other account on VK (which is a Russian website that is, as I understand it, similar to Facebook--they have the same name there and post some of the same art). It didn't take me long before I found... this (photo taken with the google translate app). (I hate sharing this, but I need to show proof here):

[ID: A photo of a computer screen taken from the Google Translate app. It features a character facing right, with their eyes narrowed and with a toothy grin on their face and their hands clasped in a specific way in reference to the "happy merchant" Nazi meme. The caption reads "SCARY JEWISH MUSIC PLAYS." /end ID]

It's not in the screenshot here, but the post this was in also had a song linked with it whose title directly referenced the "happy merchant" meme.

If you're not familiar with that meme, please look it up, as I'm NOT comfortable putting that image on my blog. But it's an image people should be familiar with because it is VERY FREQUENTLY referenced by white supremacists and nazis, and that's what's being referenced here.

Obviously not every single piece of art with a character giving a sly look is going to be a reference to that meme, but CONTEXT is important. The Otto image isn't posed exactly like the meme--the hands are not the same--but alongside the original caption AND given the other art this same artist has drawn, I don't think there's any room for doubt here.

What also doesn't help the case is that there was misinformation going around that Otto was canonically Jewish, so I don't think any of this is coincidental.

I feel awful writing this stuff up. I never wanted to make a post like this, but this was a case where I felt like I should not remain quiet. Once again, this is something that goes beyond fandom. Antisemitism is not something you ever, EVER want let through the door, ANYWHERE. I do not want it in this community, and you shouldn't either.

If any member of the Jewish community wants to correct me on anything or add to this, please do so.

Thank you.

[differenteagletragedy]

Teen angst Our Life Swap AU! I will never stop!

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Positive."

You looked down at Baxter, then to the box of hair dye in your hands.

"Ok, here goes nothing."

If someone had asked you to describe what your best friend looked like, "black hair" would be near the top of the list. You knew he had an issue with it -- he thought it was grey, not black, and so he saw it as an imperfection. Fourteen-year-olds didn't have grey hair, so it must have meant there was something wrong with him.

There wasn't, you knew that. Baxter's hair may not have been jet black, but it wasn't nearly light enough that anyone would notice. Besides, regardless of hair color, he was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen. You didn't know why the color mattered so much.

But it did. It mattered to him, deeply. And he mattered to you. So you opened the box of dye and started reading the instructions.

He was uncharacteristically silent as you sorted all the little bottles then mixed things together. Sitting on the edge of the tub in the upstairs bathroom at your house, an old towel wrapped over his narrow shoulders, you could tell he was upset about something.

Before you slid on the gloves that came in the box, you took one last opportunity to check in on him.

"You sure you're ok?" you asked.

He nodded, but he wouldn't meet your eyes. That's when you sat down next to him and, after a moment of hesitation, reached over and grabbed his hand. He held it back automatically, giving it a squeeze out of second nature, but when he did look at you, he was confused.

A moment of silence passed. You knew he knew that you knew him well enough to see through this.

Finally, he sighed. His eyes went back down to his lap.

"I'm fine, it's just ... I want something to be different," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

He squeezed your hand again then slipped it out of your grasp, folding in on himself, and said, "I don't imagine it will come as a shock that I'm unhappy with certain things in my life."

You nodded. It didn't come as a shock. He didn't get along with his parents, he didn't like his private school and most of his classmates there. The only time he really seemed happy anymore was when he was in the comfort of your home, or really just in the comfort of you.

"I can't change so much," he continued. "I can't make most decisions for myself, I'm at the mercy of my parents which is ..." he looked off and scoffed, "not ideal."

"So what's the hair dye got to do with it?" you asked.

"It'll be one thing fixed. One less thing to think about --"

You cut him off to say, "It doesn't need fixed. Your hair. There's nothing wrong with it."

Baxter smiled at you, but there was a sadness behind it. He looked deeply in your eyes, and you knew that he was desperately trying to see himself the way you saw him -- despite his own self doubts, you'd always made it abundantly clear how wonderful you thought he was. He wanted to see it too, and he tried, but he just couldn't.

His eyes fell, and he said, "I believe I'd still like the black, please."

You took one more moment to look at him before standing up and putting on the gloves. You couldn't reach him today, but you felt confident that someday he'd grow to love himself as much as you did, if by no other means than your own dedication to him.

After going over the directions one more time, you got to work. You'd never dyed anyone's hair before, but it seemed straightforward enough. The two of you stayed silent as you went, working the dark liquid into his locks. It didn't take too long to get a mostly even coating everywhere, and then it was time to wait.

There was some idle chitchat, but he stayed quiet for the most part. It wasn't an easy silence like the kind you normally shared -- you were aching to make him feel better, and the concept of "feeling better" wasn't in the realm of possibility for him at the moment. When the timer you'd set on your phone went off, indicating it was time for a rinse, it was a relief.

After a slightly awkward bit of scrambling, Baxter ended up on his knees, his chest resting on the edge of the tub and his head down near the faucet. You pulled the showerhead down close to him, turned on the water and started spraying it over his hair, which was already clearly a pitch black. You stayed like that, not talking but just pulling him gently where you needed him, until the water ran clear.

"Ok, that should do it," you told him as you turned the water off. You pulled out a fresh towel so he could dry himself off.

He stood up, careful not to look in the mirror just yet as he scrubbed his head with the towel. But you could see everything.

The smoky grey you'd always associated with your best friend was gone, and in its place was a flat black. It was strange, and it didn't look like it belonged: what it looked like was an outward expression of the darkness that had seemed to be taking him over on the inside. You didn't like it.

When he finally put the towel down, took off the one around his shoulders and looked in the mirror, you saw that he didn't like it either. Or, as you suspected was more likely the case, it wasn't the automatic fix he'd hoped it would be for how low he felt.

Bravely, he put on another smile at his reflection, then turned it to you and said, "Well, that's something."

Without thinking, you threw your arms around him in a tight embrace. He was surprised at first, then brought his arms around you to return the hug. You weren't sure how long you stayed like that -- you were too focused on trying to press some warmth into him. Something to fight away the sadness.

"Not that I'm complaining," he eventually said, "but to what do I owe the pleasure?"

You pulled back enough to look at him and blurted out, "I love you."

His eyes widened and he flushed bright pink across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. You felt your own face turning hot -- no matter how true the sentiment was, it wasn't one you were ready to share with him.

"You're my best friend," you quickly added. "You're like family. I love you. That's all."

After a pause, the corners of his lips stretched upward. There was a little light in his eyes -- for the first time that afternoon, a smile had reached his eyes.

"I love you too," he said softly, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

He pressed himself back against you, holding you tighter than he had before, and that was fine by you. Maybe someday you'd see that familiar, pretty grey again, and maybe someday you'd be able to tell him the real nature of the love you had for him. But for right now, just in this moment, he was right -- this was something.