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

[livingformintyoongi]

Poème | Kim Taehyung

Summary: For centuries, Taehyung has roamed the world, trapped in an eternity he never truly desired. Desperation led him to accept an offer of immortality, a gift that quickly turned into his greatest curse. Once a hopeful young man dreaming of a future with the love of his life, he now wanders through time burdened by regret, forever mourning the one he lost. No amount of power, beauty, or wealth can fill the void left by you. If eternity means living without you, then what is the point of living at all? Author’s note: Hi again! I hope everyone is well ^^ I know I had said I was going to focus on GAS? but…. Tae vampire came to my head and demanded to stay until I managed to bring him to this world :) Soooo, I don't know if most of you read this but I seriously, seriously need your help for this, I really don't know how to move it forward :(( so please, if you have any ideas on how to move it forward or any scenes you'd like there to be, send me an ask or a dm, I'd really appreciate it <3 Pairing: Vampire!Taehyung x Human!Reader (female) AUs: Vampire!AU Word count: 4.6k Status: Unedited Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthougths Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop and @strangergraphics

What would you do if you were given the option to live for all eternity? If someone offered you the secret behind immortality and eternal youth, would you accept? Would you be capable of leaving everything behind just to avoid facing death?

Taehyung wished with all his heart that he had asked himself those questions before saying yes to the beautiful woman in the elegant dress who offered him a second chance at life—one without sickness or poverty, a life filled with luxuries and privileges he could never have had as a mere villager in the Victorian era. Something he could have never even dreamed of when he was still human.

When desperation consumes you and you don’t know what else to do to avoid falling into the clutches of death, you… accept the first offer placed in front of you, no matter how risky it may be. That was exactly what led Taehyung to an eternity of regret, suffering, and torment.

He had been blessed with eternal life, but what was the point of living until the end of time if he was alone? What was the use of existing for centuries, watching people be born and die as if they were nothing more than tiny toy soldiers with an expiration date set by a child who had decided it was time to discard them, believing he was too grown up to play with them anymore?

He refused to live an endless life if you weren’t in it.

But you had been gone for so, so long, and he could never forgive himself for it. He could never turn back time and reject the offer from the one who was now his creator. He would never see your smile again, hear your laughter, or smell the soft scent of flowers, of the forest, of you. If only he hadn’t left home that night, if only he had waited a few more minutes… If only you had gone with him, perhaps… Perhaps now, the two of you would be living a long life together, enjoying each other’s company until the end of time.

But that wasn’t how things happened. He left his home that night. He didn’t wait. You didn’t go with him. And now, his fate was sealed. He couldn’t die, he couldn’t be harmed, he would have eternal youth and an ethereal beauty that could make any human give him anything he asked for with just one look. He could have everything—everything except you. And that, without a doubt, was the greatest torture anyone had ever inflicted on him.

That had happened over 170 years ago, and he had spent each one of those years tormenting himself. When he was still human, he had been vibrant and full of life, a social butterfly who, even without the seductive abilities of a vampire, could charm anyone with a single smile. Now, he was nothing but the empty shell of the man he once was.

During that time, he met many like him—those with whom he managed to form something close to what he could call a "family." Jiah was his mentor, the woman who had turned him and helped him through the difficult transition from human to vampire. Chaeyoung was the second oldest, a cheerful and optimistic young woman who had been a vampire for over a thousand years. Sooah and Hoseok came next, both turned in the 15th century. Then there was him, Jiwon, and Jimin—the three of them transformed in the 19th century, all saved from the brink of death by the compassionate leader of their small group.

They had been his family until now, and though he loved them as much as he was still capable of love, his love for them would never amount to even a fraction of what he felt for you. Not even a hundred people could mend the wound in his heart, no matter how hard they tried.

He could still remember his life by your side, when his body was still warm and his heart beat in a rhythmic melody, reminding him that he was alive. The two of you met because of Taehyung’s father’s work—you were a young lady from a wealthy family, and he was the son of a tailor who barely had enough money or resources to live. Yet, you noticed him—his smile, his playful jokes, and his flirtatious charm, reserved only for you.

You weren’t supposed to be together—you both knew that. But neither of you wanted to give up, you didn’t want to lose the only real thing in your lives. So, you ran away. With no money, no place to stay, only the hope of finding a place in the world where you could live without regrets or judgment.

It was his selfishness and foolishness as a teenager that led you both to that situation.

He should have realized it was madness, that there was no way you could survive in the outside world with dreams and hopes coated in sugar and honey. This was the real world—it was cruel and ruthless, showing no mercy to anyone, no matter their age or gender.

The first few months on your own were peaceful. You traveled from town to town on horseback, living freely, loving each other with all your hearts, talking about your dreams for the future, and how exciting it would be to have a family together.

You had managed to stabilize your life—Taehyung making elegant garments for high-society ladies, and you painting beautiful portraits under a pseudonym, which he promoted and sold with his natural charm.

For the first two years, life had been peaceful. Until smallpox arrived. That was when everything fell apart. No matter where you went, how much money you had, or which doctor you saw, once you were infected, there was no escape.

You both caught it at the same time. He did everything he could to keep you both from falling into death’s hands, but it was a fatal disease—there was no cure, especially with their limited resources.

It was on a dark winter night that everything changed. You were starving, and Taehyung was determined to find something—anything—to feed you. Despite his weakened, trembling body, he walked through the dark streets of the coastal city until he reached a shop. But his body was on the verge of collapse, and he fell just a few meters away from home.

He clung to the last bit of strength he had, trying to crawl back to you if necessary—anything to avoid dying far from you. He didn’t want you to think he had abandoned you, didn’t want to make you suffer when you found out he had died in the cold, damp streets, all for the sake of bringing you something to eat. He didn’t want to die without you by his side.

That desperation was what made him accept so quickly the offer placed before him by a complete stranger. “Just one drop, and you will never feel pain again.” And he accepted. He drank whatever she gave him, clinging to the hope of surviving a few more minutes. Then, everything went black for a moment—until he opened his eyes again.

Everything felt new, as if he had been reborn and was rediscovering the world. He felt good, healthy, strong, and maybe a little thirsty—but alive. And that was all that mattered.

When the initial shock passed, he begged the woman to do the same for you, to save you just as she had saved him. She smiled kindly and let him lead her to your small home.

But she stopped before entering, giving him a look of pity and compassion. At that moment, he didn’t know that he could hear a human’s heartbeat from a distance. He didn’t know that, even before stepping inside, she already knew that you were no longer in this world, and nothing could change that—not even her blood.

Taehyung may not have died that night, but his heart… His heart shattered into a thousand pieces the moment he laid eyes on your pale, lifeless body. His body had survived death—but his soul never would.

For a long time, his life had become a series of meaningless events that only served to make his desire to die grow stronger. He knew it was foolish to feel this way when he had what many would kill for; his eternal life was a miracle that tormented him every damn day, and he knew that would never change.

It took him 138 years to get over you—if that was even the right word to use in this context. Perhaps a more accurate way to put it would be, well, trying to forget you through other people. 138 years of solitude, where his only company was six other vampires just as reserved as he was, each keeping the scars of their previous lives a secret, each too afraid to open up to the others and relive memories of a past they all wished to forget.

The first time he tried something with a girl was because of Jimin, who insisted that he should look at someone else besides your portraits—the ones he himself had painted back when he had wanted to immerse himself in your world. He went to a stupid bar, too loud and filled with drunk and high people looking for something casual. But he didn’t want something casual. He wanted something lasting. He wanted you.

Hours passed before a rather beautiful girl approached him. Her shy smile and flushed cheeks seemed endearing, but nothing inside him stirred the way it had when he first met you; her eyes weren’t like yours, her essence wasn’t like yours. He didn’t like her, but still, he forced himself to try.

That night was the first and last time he attempted to move on with someone else. There was only a kiss, a brief brush of lips that the girl gave him as a thank-you for walking her home. That night, he cried like he hadn’t in years, clawed at his lips with his nails until they bled, and his screams were so agonizing that everyone in the house had to check if he was okay, because it sounded as if someone had just run a blade of iron straight through his body.

Taehyung felt that kiss exactly like that—like someone had just plunged an iron sword into his heart and desecrated his body in every possible way.

Sooah called him dramatic. Jiwon even mocked him for making such a fuss over a simple kiss. But it was Jiah who ordered them to be quiet and stayed by his side all night, comforting him as his tears fell ceaselessly down his cheeks.

After that day, he resolutely refused to go out with anyone else for the rest of his life. He didn’t need a replacement—he was much better off living with your memory than trying to forget it.

That was exactly how he managed to slowly overcome his pain—by treasuring your memory through the works of art he created, reliving every one of his feelings for you with each brushstroke on the blank canvas, until there was no trace left of the pain he had once felt. Now, all that remained was peace and a beautiful memory that he would keep deep in his heart for the rest of eternity.

It took him 175 years to achieve that peace—175 years in which he held onto the one thing he had left of you: your last painting, the one of a young wealthy woman standing alone in the middle of a grand ballroom. The soft tones and the contrast between the setting and the woman in her simple pastel dress gave off a strange warmth. It wasn’t one of your best paintings—he knew that better than anyone. You had created true masterpieces, works that your clients back then would have died to own. But this one… this one was simple, more discreet, with much less detail—mostly because you were already unwell when you finished it. But your essence, your touch, the feeling you poured into it… all of it was still there. And that made it the most important piece you had ever created.

That was why, as the last act of love he could offer to you and your memory, he traveled to Paris to present it at the Musée d’Orsay. The meeting with the museum’s curator was far more pleasant than he had expected, and he even considered making a generous donation after they agreed to exhibit the painting.

The inner peace he felt when his eyes saw the painting hanging on those cream-colored walls, among hundreds of other paintings from important figures of his era… was something he could never put into words. For the first time, his heart felt at ease—it did not beat, it did not pump blood, he knew that. And yet, for a second, Taehyung felt as if he had come back to life.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent around him. Despite the years, there was still a faint trace of you in it. And though it hurt to think that he would never again hold you in his arms, never again breathe in your scent, he felt happy.

Happy for you—because finally, one of your works bore your real name, because at last, people could see the incredible talent you had. This had been your dream, and somehow, he had made it come true for you.

He wondered if there was something after death, if there was truly a paradise in the afterlife. He knew that if such a place existed, you would undoubtedly be in heaven—in a paradise unlike any other, shining like the brightest star the world had ever seen. If that place was real, were you watching him from above?

What would you think of him right now? Would you be afraid of the fact that he was no longer human? Or of the fact that, in his first years as a vampire, he had taken the lives of many?

Would you still love him from that place so far away from him?

He prayed every day to a god he wasn’t sure existed, just to hold on to the hope that the answer was yes.

"How are things going over there?" Jiwon asked through the phone.

Taehyung’s feet carried him through the museum for the sixth time that afternoon. He still wasn’t in the mood to leave, and it’s not like anyone needed him at home at the moment. He would probably head to a nearby bar, have a glass of wine, and wander around the city until the sun rose again.

"Fine, I guess," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the paintings displayed in front of him. He had seen many of them online, but seeing them in person… it was definitely something completely different. Noticing the brushstrokes, the old traces of a brush over the oil paint, the colors, the size—everything was a new experience. It was like meeting the same person a second time; the feeling and the first impression could never be the same if you only saw them through a screen.

"So expressive, Kim." Taehyung rolled his eyes at Jiwon’s mocking tone. He wasn’t in the mood to be expressive, and it’s not like he was obligated to be.

"Anyway, Jiah is pretty worried. You know how she is, especially when it comes to you."

Taehyung nodded in silence, even though he was aware she would never see the gesture. Jiah was… she was like a mother to their small family. She was the one who turned them, the one who took care of them and taught them how to maintain their composure, always patient and loving with everyone. Taehyung couldn’t recall a single time when she had ever raised her voice at any of them.

He had always known, just like the others, that she had a certain weakness for him, something he associated too much with the fact that she had witnessed him fall apart upon finding you lifeless that night. She was the one who worried about him, who paid to give you a proper funeral, who helped him get through his sleepless nights, and who showed him a completely new world. She was the mother Taehyung never had, and he was grateful every single day for everything she had done for him, despite all the trouble he had dragged her into.

"I’ll be back soon, I just… I just want to say goodbye properly."

He stopped again in front of the painting he had submitted. That small pang in his chest had returned and, although for a few seconds he regretted it, the weight lifted when he saw someone else stop in front of your artwork to take a photo. He had managed to immortalize your memory—that was all that mattered.

At last, he would no longer be the only one completely in love with your art.

There were a few seconds of silence in which neither of them seemed to know what to say. The stillness was broken by Jiwon's soft and—unusually—understanding voice.

"Are you really okay over there, alone? We’re all a bit worried about you."

Taehyung let out a soft chuckle, lowering his head to glance at his elegant brown oxford shoes. When he was still human, he had longed to wear a pair like these, and now that he could afford them, half of his wardrobe revolved around them. You would probably be just as enamored with them as he was.

"I’ll be fine, Jiwon. It’s just a few days, it’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing."

He made his way toward the museum exit, but not before giving the painting one last look. This would be the last time he saw it—this was the final farewell. He sighed, running his tongue over his dry lips.

"Besides… I need to do this alone."

"Alright, okay, I get it. It’s your healing process and all that cheesy crap you love." Jiwon let out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. Even miles away, Taehyung could feel the worry in her voice. A part of him was touched by it. It was nice to see that, despite everything, she still cared for him.

"Just… call us if anything happens, okay? Jimin is about to lose his mind."

"Jimin is always about to lose his mind," he chuckled under his breath, politely nodding to the guards watching the entrance.

The first thing he saw upon stepping outside was the sky, painted in pastel hues, with a faint trace of stars beginning to emerge, preparing to turn it into a beautiful nocturnal canvas with the moon as its protagonist.

"I’m going to hang up. I need to go somewhere else before heading back to my hotel."

"Alright, I get it, you’re bored of me." Even without seeing her, Taehyung knew she was smiling on the other end of the line.

"See you."

And with that, the call ended, leaving him alone with his own thoughts once again.

He wished that becoming a vampire had meant his emotions—like his heart—simply stopped functioning. Life would be easier that way. Carrying the weight of his emotions would be… probably a little more bearable.

The soft sound of Taehyung’s footsteps echoed through the dark streets of Paris, faintly illuminated by the streetlights surrounding the small, quiet alley he had chosen to escape the bustling crowd—and, in turn, his own thoughts. He had stopped by the bar he had wanted to visit for so long, but after spending a couple of hours sitting at the counter, sipping a drink he could barely taste… it was dull not being able to savor it the way he once did.

He gazed up at the night sky stretching above him, noticing how the stars seemed much closer, as if they had gathered there just to shield his eyes, rather than simply existing as part of nature’s design.

Tomorrow, he would probably buy a ticket back to Korea, still debating whether to purchase a first-class seat or a regular one. Jiah had given him more than enough money to indulge in any luxury he desired, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity. He had his own savings, and not just a small amount—old trinkets he once considered worthless centuries ago were now worth millions, a fortunate advantage for all of them.

A soft melody from a nearby radio pulled him from his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed the old record store beside him, still open for some reason. It had a distinctly vintage, understated charm—exactly Taehyung’s style. He studied its exterior, noting the yellow sign with red lettering perched atop the roof, reading: Le cœur de la musique.

In the display window, several vinyl records from the ’70s and ’80s were neatly arranged, among them the famous Can’t Help Falling in Love with You by Elvis Presley, the very song now enveloping the alleyway with its gentle notes and romantic lyrics.

Taehyung truly loved that song. He closed his eyes, letting the music seep into more than just his ears—letting it settle into his body as well. With graceful movements, ones that seemed almost ingrained in him, Taehyung began swaying to the melody. He had been a great dancer in his youth. When you were both just children, you had asked him to be your dance partner so you could practice. The two of you had ended up falling completely in love with the warm, intimate feeling of it. Even when your bodies had grown cold, even when death gnawed at your bones and drained your souls, neither of you had ever stopped dancing.

His memories of you returned, vivid as always; he could almost feel the soft scent of your skin against his nose, the sensation of your hair brushing against his rough fingertips, your forehead resting gently on his shoulder, your breath against his chest. It was almost as if you were still there with him, dancing in the empty streets of Paris, in front of an old record store, your hearts swaying in perfect harmony beneath the stars.

His feet continued moving across the pavement until a soft click snapped him out of his trance.

Instantly, all of his senses sharpened. He halted his movements at once, scanning his surroundings for whoever had made that sound. He knew it was a camera. And he knew it hadn’t been close—if it had been, he would have smelled the person’s blood by now, wouldn’t he?

His dark eyes flickered with a brief glint of alertness as he surveyed the alley. That’s when he finally noticed her. At the far end of the alleyway, a young woman stood frozen in place, her face still partially hidden behind the camera lens aimed directly at him.

Before he could even think, his feet carried him forward, ready to demand why she had captured such a personal moment without his permission. But then, the delicate scent of strawberries and roses reached his nose. And right after—her blood.

Sweet. Addictive. More tempting than any other scent he had encountered in his 175 years of existence.

For a fleeting moment, Taehyung swore his heart beat again, just from the sheer intoxication of it. His gums began to itch as his fangs pressed against the inside of his lip, the thirst for blood growing exponentially with every step he took. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the overwhelming urge to feed suffocating him, clouding his mind.

Until she lowered the camera.

Until he saw your eyes.

Large. Bright. Filled with life, staring at him from the end of the alley.

His heart—still lifeless, still incapable of pumping blood—felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. And though he had no need to breathe, he swore the air caught in his lungs.

Did that make sense? Of course not, but you—standing right there, smiling at him as if you hadn’t died in his arms over 170 years ago—didn’t make sense either.

And yet, there you were.

The same eyes. The same lips. Your hair was different, yes, but everything else… everything else was exactly as he remembered. Exactly the same as the day death had stolen you from him.

Was this some kind of punishment? Retribution for the countless lives he had taken in his early years as a vampire?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” you blurted out the moment you noticed the man standing just a few feet away from you. A soft, warm blush quickly spread across your cheeks—not only from the embarrassment of being caught photographing a complete stranger without permission but also because that very stranger, the one now standing before you, was breathtakingly handsome. And now he was looking directly at you, so intensely that you could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

“I-It’s just that I was on my way back to my hotel, and I saw you dancing alone. You had this melancholic expression that was just so captivating from here and… I’m sorry, that’s no excuse for what I did, I’ll delete the photo right away!”

As you fumbled over your apology, nervously gripping your camera once again, Taehyung took the opportunity to examine you—every detail of your face. You had the same beauty mark beneath your left eye. The same faint scar between your index and middle fingers. Even your voice—one he remembered as if it were his own—was exactly the same.

Your clumsy way of speaking.

The pink flush on your cheeks.

Your long eyelashes.

There was no doubt in his mind. The young woman standing before him was you.

“I…” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “What’s your name?”

He watched as your eyes lifted to meet his. He couldn’t help but notice how your lips parted slightly at the unexpected question.

Ah.

He still remembered the way your lips moved against his—soft yet intoxicating, slow yet sensual, always keeping him on edge. He remembered the way you used to smile whenever he playfully nibbled on your lower lip.

He missed it.

He missed you.

“Oh! S-Sorry, how rude of me,” you chuckled nervously, carefully lowering your camera so that it hung freely around your neck. The strap dug slightly into your exposed skin, but it was the safest way to carry it without accidentally dropping it. “I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he murmured, savoring every letter of your name.

He knew it. He knew it. It was impossible for you to be anyone else.

His eyes began to sting as the reality of what was happening finally settled in.

After 175 miserable years—

You had come back to him.

Looking exactly as you had the last time he saw you.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said softly, reaching out to take your hand in his own, gently, fearful that the moment his fingers brushed against your skin, you would disappear.

But you didn’t.

You were still there when his lips pressed lightly against your knuckles, inhaling your scent as discreetly as possible.

So this is how you smelled when you were full of life.

Without an illness slowly stealing you away. Your blood had the sweetest scent he had ever known, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes at the steady, rhythmic beat of your heart echoing in his ears, proof that you were alive, proof that you were here.

Taehyung had never believed in God, but now, with you standing before him— he could only describe this as a miracle.

Masterlist.

[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!!! :)

[monalisahyperdrive]

Primarch names from least moanable to the most moanable - entirely subjective.

Factors taken into account:

Name length

How easy it is to say

General vibes ('imagine having sex with a guy and having to moan gilbert')

I wrote this instead of sleeping. I don't know either. This is getting posted and I will probably never address it again if I don't delete it during my break tomorrow. I should not be given internet access past 11pm.

Perturabo

It pained me to put him all the way down (up?) here at the least moanable as I fear he may actually be one of my favourites, however... I am not delusional enough to ignore that not only is this a pretty long name, a good amount of people struggle not only to say it but to even spell it. Not at all dyslexia friendly. I would give it a good go but I feel like in order to enjoy yourself you kind of have to accept you will be calling him 'Perty' or 'Bo' or whatever you prefer.

Sanguinius

Sanguinius fans please spare me but this is a long ass name at 3? 4? syllables. I don't even know what you could call him for short instead. However, I don't doubt that it's entirely possible, I just think it would take a while to stop stuttering through.

Mortarion

Another long name. Are you sensing a pattern yet? I am. More moanable due to having less vowels than Sanguinius and less harsher (?) consonants like in Perturabo. Pretty middle of the road, easy to pronounce, could probably be easier if you just start calling him 'Morty' instead.

Alpharius / Omegon

Alpharius is again another longer name that I feel like I would trip over for a good couple weeks. I am NOT shorting it to Alpha. I must maintain my dignity, whatever crumbs of it remain. Omegon is an easier name - likely due to it having less syllables (3 rather than 4). However, I feel like the only way to shorten it would be 'Meg' and that would make me laugh and I would get distracted. Remember how I said this is subjective? This is why.

Jaghatai

3 syllables, easy enough to say, not a lot of vowels or harsher consonants to trip over. Incredibly doable, and I'm sure many have tried it. Hell, I'd certainly take a good stab at it.

Angron

Harsh G right in the middle, otherwise no complaints really. 2 syllables. Straight forward. You could certainly give it a good go.

Rogal

2 syllables - easy right? Wrong. Evil G right there in the middle again. Probably would have been higher (lower?) on the list if it was softened with maybe an H right after. Alas, it is not so.

Corvus

2 incredibly easy syllables. The V is a little evil (harsh) but with a relatively short name and a soft starting consonant I'm sure it's manageable. Best bird boy. Not much else to say.

Fulgrim

Although apparently a good chunk of people have given it a go - or at least his wives have - we're back to the G dilemma. Personally I'd suggest calling him 'Fulgie' - like Fergie but worse.

Konrad

Quite possibly the most normal name on the whole list. Konrad. Everyone can say Konrad. An easy two syllables with the harshest letter right at the start. Easy peasy.

Roboute

I actually don't know if this is 2 syllables or 3. I even went and looked on Reddit. Some people are saying Ro-Bou-Te, I've been reading it Ro-Boot. Either way these are easy, with the harshest sound being the T of all things. Either way I don't think moaning for poor long suffering Robert is too tricky.

Vulkan

Deceptively soft V and K. What a pleasant surprise. Anyone could moan this easily, and he'd probably be delighted.

Lion

Objectively this is incredibly easy, which is why it made it so high (low?) on the scale. However, I would argue moaning 'Lion' in full sincerity is somewhat hilarious. That sure is the name of an incredibly powerful (and unfortunately incredibly sexy) man.

Magnus

Easy to moan. Probably wouldn't mind if you gave it a go. Again, one of the easier names. I'm sure he'd be happy to tutor you on the subject.

Lorgar

Flows nicely, 2 short syllables, incredibly straight forward. Started mentally calling him 'Lorgie', never recovered.

Ferrus

Incredibly straight forward name. Ferrus, pronounced the same as Ferrous, like the iron tablets. Something something you should do it, it's medicinal.

Leman

Not at the top due to the time it took to decide whether it was Lee-man or Le-man (like lemon). Personal gripe, but if you've gotten this far down without understanding that I don't know what to tell you. Quick, easy, sure why not.

Horus

As much as I wish to be deeply spiteful and shove him somewhere unremarkable in the middle, I just can't do it. This is an easy name. Don't worry, if you struggle at all I'm sure he'd be willing to let you keep trying until you figure it out. Bastard.

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 44 KISS ON THE COURT

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, sexual innuendos, kys/kms jokes

NOTES | and that's a wrap on LOTC ! thank you guys for reading ily all so much! I had a lot of fun writing this smau and I loved all your comments/reblogs/asks about it 🫶 I love LOTC and she's lwk my baby, being the 1st smau i wrote (and finished because im still distraught over cherry flavoured...) but I also think I've learnt a lot in the writing process and I'm pretty sure I can do better (or I hope so at least 😅) so stay tuned for a jeno smau otw !

more cute jaemy/n moments should follow in bonus chapters (if i write them...)! but this is the official end to lotc because I'm impatient and want it to be over 😭 thanks for reading ❤️

"You think we can win?"

Up until now, the room had been quiet, and a lingering sense of uncertainty that no one had spoken of was present.

But Heeseung had never been scared to speak his mind, not directing the question at anyone in specific.

Still all eyes undoubtedly fell to the two captains. Jaemin and Y/n, who sat beside each other, hands clasped together, fingers interlaced. It was only natural that at a time like this, the team would turn to the two of them, and they had no intention to disappoint.

As she looked up, Y/n lifted her head off Jaemin's shoulder, sucking in a breath before rising to her feet.

She refused to back down, standing tall despite the heat on her face, even though every part of her wanted nothing more than to be alone, curled away and to have kept to herself.

She had a team, and she owed it to them to stay strong. They had come so far, there was no way she would let this stop them from making it to the finals.

"I know we can win."

She reached behind herself, for the clipboard she had been messily scribbling notes on for the better half of the morning, until Jaemin had forced her away from strategising. "We have higher points than team B who we played last time, and we're tied for points with team C, so all we have to do is play our best," She smiles, looking at everyone in the room, and though no one mirrors her expression, the feeling of hope begins to rise from the dejected players, slowly, "There's no way we're losing our last game, and we're especially not going to let it be our first loss of the season."

Jaemin smiled, noticing the slightly concerned glint in her eyes, but not speaking much of it, only standing to his feet beside her with another even brighter smile. He wouldn't say it, but for a moment, the thought crossed his mind, maybe she was the better captain after all. That being said, he didn't care all that much about being better than her anymore, as long as he was with her, it would be enough.

"You haven't lost until you think you have," he speaks, remembering what he was intedning to do, "We're in a bad situation but we can always make the most of it. Let's play our best, and we'll walk out exactly how we planned." Jaemin nods, voice full of strength.

Still, the room feels cold, like the wind rushes past them, and happiness with it, low spirits and sighs of disbelief filling the room

Y/n let's her eyes meet Jaemin's beside her.

"We don't say it much" she starts off, "have to keep ourselves humble somehow don't we, but" she scans her eyes across the room, "you guys are some of the best players in the country, that has to count for something."

Jaemin chuckles, "I'd say it counts for a lot"

He hears the way Y/n gulps beside him, her eyes watering as she realises their words aren't being received as well as they'd hoped, his hand finding hers beside him. Though it's loose, his grip is comforting, motivating in the best of ways.

There's a moment of silence.

"Winning is a mindset." Y/n finally states, with perhaps the most rigidity she's ever presented in her voice, confident, and somewhat assertive, "You walk onto the court like you've already won and you will. That's what we’re going to do" she speaks with such certainty. It's almost hard not to believe, "We will win, it's just what we do."

"You're right" Isa stands up, triumphant "Losing is for losers."

"No shit" Chenle hums, sitting up from his previously slumped position, a couple others following as the quiet room begins to grow warmer, laughter echoing off the walls. Conversations follow, like usual pre game protocol, some tactics, some motivation. It doesn't take the room much longer to return to normal. Whatever normal was.

Things would be okay, whether they won or whether they didn't. But losing wasn't exactly one of their options tonight.

Y/n turns to Jaemin again, smiling with more conviction than earlier.

"You know, we make a good team" she looks down for a moment, "even after all that mess"

Jaemin let's his hand rests over her cheek, not specifically worried about who was watching, "Especially after all that mess"

Y/N and Jaemin stood at the centre of the court, the sound of the final buzzer still echoing in their ears. It was over.

The team had fought hard, each possession, each pass, each moment fraught with tension and determination.

The last few minutes of the game had felt like an eternity, with their opponents pressing them to the limit, but it was all over now. Just above, the scoreboard flashing the final score confirmed what they’d worked so tirelessly for—victory.

Jaemin, his chest heaving with each breath, looked over at Y/N. Clear in his eyes, triumph, and an unmasked sense of adoration. Everything he had once been so bitter for, so hurt over, it seemed like a small hurdle to pass, to finally be here today, watching Y/n smile his way with pride. The warmth in her smile, the passion, it was all he wanted to see, now, and for the days to come. This wasn't just winning a game. It was more than just state championships. It was knowing this was exactly where he wanted to be, going through the ups and the downs in life with her. The past seemed so small, so distant now, like all the struggles had never really been. But Jaemin wouldn't forget it, the pain, the heartache, and perhaps he preferred it that way, knowing just how much it took to get to being here, how much it meant. Because to Jaemin, Y/n was worth every struggle in the world.

The sweat on his forehead mixed with the tears that were starting to blur his vision. His eyes, usually full of confidence, were now wide with a slight disbelief and brimmed with joy.

Y/N, equally breathless, met Jaemin’s gaze. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. The court was alive with celebration, the crowd shouting in exhilaration, but in that instant, it was just the two of them. Alone, like nothing else mattered.

Y/N's heart raced, not just from the adrenaline of the game, but from the raw emotion they had fought through together—every late-night practice, every setback, every moment where doubt had tried to creep in.

As they approached each other, Jaemin couldn’t help but pull Y/N into his arms, his hands pressing against her back as he held her close. “We did it,” he whispered, the words soft but full of meaning. Y/N laughed, the sound light but genuine. “You didn’t doubt us for a second, did you?” Y/N teased, lifting her face to look up at him, her hand gently brushing his cheek.

Jaemin smiled, brushing his lips against Y/N’s forehead, a kiss that was tender, full of everything they had been through and more. “Not when you’re by my side.” The words came out low and steady, carrying a depth that couldn't quite be fully explained. It didn't need to be.

Truly, they were in their own world, up until Jaemin heard his name being called from somewhere behind him, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from her.

"Jaemin, don't be a wuss give her a real kiss."

It was jeno shouting from the courtside bench, laughing at the way both of their cheeks flushed bright at his words along with Renjun.

That didn't sound so bad, Jaemin thought.

For a moment, he let his gaze meet Y/n's once again, "That alright with you peach?"

"More than alright."

When Jaemin pressed his lips to hers, soft, tender, and promising, Y/n couldn't help but smile. She hadn't expected to be doing this here, for everyone to see, her lips locked against his,but she didn't mind all that much, not when she was right where she wanted to be.

The arena around them was electric—teammates running to congratulate them, the crowd still roaring with excitement—but in the middle of it all, they found their moment of peace, a quiet connection amid the chaos. They had fought for this victory together, and it was theirs. Their love, their effort, had carried them here—through every tough game, every tough moment, and now, they had this championship to prove it, more importantly they had each other.

“Let’s go celebrate,” Y/N said, her voice soft but dripping with excitement, grabbing Jaemin's wrist.

He shot her a teasing smile, in true Jaemin fashion. “After we have a few more moments to ourselves?”

Y/N felt her heart swell, her cheeks darkening.

"I love you, you know" she chuckles, "I think i could tell you i love you as many times as there are stars in the sky, and it still wouldn't be enough."

"I love you too peach, more than all the stars in the universe combined."

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[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

[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

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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.

[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.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

On the scale from abandonment to 'Oh my God! I'm gunna be a dad?!' level od happiness ...

Where do you think your ghoul harem would fall?

Firstly, I got quite the kick out of you calling it my harem, Anon. I can't lie, that's what my husband and I playfully call it because that's what it feels like. They all live in a little sex paddock in my brain. Also, if you or anyone else is interested and hasn't seen it, I've previously discussed how I think being pregnant by a ghoul would go, as well as what I think the genetic offspring of a ghoul would be like here.

I suppose we'll go "happiest" to "least happy". It's a tad long, but I may add others in the future; some of them are a bit NSFW. Mild trigger warnings for minor discussions of death and forced abortion.

This was a fun ask; thanks for reading!

Cooper Howard would be absolutely over the moon. Puts him in the best mood you've ever seen him in and spikes his sex drive through the roof. Ravenously horny your entire pregnancy, but, as I discussed once before, he refuses to have penetrative sex for fear of hurting you or the baby. He's one of the only ghouls we canonically know has had a child before, and he loves being a father. Though he and Barb had tried with all their might to have more children, it never worked out for them, so being a dad again was a dream he'd abandoned even before the War. Sure, he worries about the world you're bringing the child into, but he's confident in his ability to protect and provide. There would be a thick layer of guilt or sadness, as well, if he's still searching for Janey. But it's not like he's gonna give up looking for his first family just because he's creating a new one.

Edward Deegan is also thrilled, but with an edge of the typical fear you'd feel at knowing your life is about to change completely. I'd say he has the most "normal" reaction out of the bunch. He's wanted a family for a long time and has been slowly planning and building up resources, waiting for the right person to come along. Still, there's no perfect-feeling time to have a baby, he tells himself, so it'll always be a bit scary. Spoils you a ton (if you're getting a "push present" from anyone, it's him or Coop), but also infantilizes you a bit the way people often do to pregnant folks. "First time father" anxiety big time. He also gets pretty horny about it, but he's less afraid of hurting you. Figures that if the pregnancy itself is super radioactive already, a little extra won't hurt. Still, he worries about his size, so you're generally on top of him or on your side when the two of you have sex.

John Hancock is petrified beyond belief and harbors serious doubts that he's worthy of fatherhood, but that doesn't stop him from being happy, especially after you reassure him a bit. He's always wanted family, always searched for and attempted to piece one together, and the fact that you want to build one with him overwhelms him with joy. I will say that I believe John's reaction in his younger days would have been abandonment out of sheer panic. He'd hate himself for it, and he might show back up a few years down the road in an attempt to fix things once he's healed more, but if we're honest with ourselves, he has a history of hitting the road when things get tough.

Joshua Graham is of two minds about it. There's the "Mormon former Legionary and misogynist with a massive breeding kink" part of him that's very excited by the news, so excited that he gets lightheaded from how much blood rushes to his cock when you tell him. On that front, he feels a level of satisfaction he's never felt before and would love to bend you over the nearest stable surface to celebrate. You know, after a good prayer of thanks. On the other hand...he feels immediate panic and fear that it's basically a trap, not from you, but from God. Suspects he's being led into an even worse downfall than before, like he'll have you and the child only to have you both snatched away. He hides that suspicion, though; he doesn't want to scare you or make you worry. You do notice he seems to pray even more than he did before after you tell him you're pregnant, to the point you worry for his mental health (not that you didn't already). You'd worry more if you knew he basically views himself as in negotiations with God for your safety.

Gob's catatonic in shock for a solid half hour, but once his ears stop ringing, he's pretty excited. Granted, he's a massive worrier, and this only gives him another point of fear to whittle away at in his mind, another loved one to fret over. He's very sweet to you after he calms down, though, making his best efforts to apologize for not reacting "properly" to the news the first time.

Raul reacts much like Gob, but the stress literally makes him physically ill when you tell him. The pain of losing the people he already has nearly killed him, and all he can think about is how much losing a child would hurt. He comes around, though, especially once you start to show and he starts to remember what it was like to grow up with a big family full of love. He's overly protective of you, though, to the point where he may become a bit controlling out of fear and be blind to it.

Rotface is excited, but an even larger part of him feels ashamed because he knows he's not in a place to contribute materially to the raising of a child. May become especially desperate for money while you're pregnant to the point where he falls into trouble.

Kent Connolly doesn't really know how to react when you tell him. Feels guilty that his initial feeling isn't joy. He's never pictured himself as a father, and he's not sure he'd be any good at it. Plus, having a child involves looking a lot more at the future than the past, which isn't how Kent's lived his life for a long, long time. His reaction will depend a lot on your own. Will come around to being excited if you are.

Charon's reaction is complicated. He sees how excited you are, and part of him feels excited too, but a much larger part of him feels an existential dread that's trying to swallow him whole. For one, he doesn't see himself as the sort of man who would make a functional father, let alone a good one. But that isn't his primary worry. Mostly, he worries for your health. Between his size (and therefore the likely size of your baby once you reach full term) and the radiation exposure, he fears he could lose you. Traumatic birth can easily kill in the wasteland. Doesn't care for the risk, and you're all the family he needs. He definitely tries to talk you into getting rid of it, which may or may not cause a massive argument.

Harland might actually stick around a bit longer than he'd originally planned if you got pregnant, but only to help you through "taking care of it". Loses all sexual interest in you (or, at the very least, he pretends to so you won't get ideas about things working out between you). He's not a completely uncaring prick, but he's very blunt in telling you he has no intentions of being a father, and that if you choose to pursue parenthood, you'll be doing it solo. He may waver a bit on this stance, but ultimately he'd never be a consistently present father.

Jason Bright evaporates into thin air before you can finish telling him. As far as he sees it, your needs (and the needs of the child) will never matter more than his mission to liberate ghouls. Plus, being a father doesn't fit into his plans to literally leave the planet, so...

Dean Domino will stick around...if you get rid of it. You think ol' Dean-o has never pressured a woman into an abortion before? If only you could ask Vera; she'd have incredibly unpleasant stories to tell you. Don't get me wrong, he gets a kick out of the idea that he's claimed you to completely, and he may even wanna fuck you a few times while you're pregnant. However, it's very much a "Thanks, that was cute; now chuck that thing." scenario. If you're determined to keep it, contrary to what he wants, be very careful. Dean's insidious in how underhanded he can be when people cross him. Your life could be in danger.

[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.

[optimisticgrey]

Sighs. Okay, listen up.

I am going through a rough time right now and usually process by writing. A lot.

So here we are.

Gale's Sneaky God ending is fascinating to me. I know I will most likely never play it because I'd cry too much but I enjoy exploring the idea in writing.

I tried to write this for genderneutral reader, there is no smut.

Just loss, self-loathing, fear and some angst.

This is dark.

In the wake of your departure, Part 1 - Denial

Pairing: Unnamed, genderneutral Tav (Bard/Sorcerer but not really relevant) ; Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, Halsin, Astarion, Jaheira and Minsc mentioned

WC: 1290

Summary: You stand at the docks of Baldur’s Gate, the Netherbrain is slain. You watch Gale leave to retrieve the Crown of Karsus. It takes you very long to realize he is not coming back. This is what happens afterwards and it burns slowly.

Warnings: Just loss, self-loathing, heart-break and fear.

Song recommandation: Ludovico Einaudi - Experience

Read on AO3

The moment he lets go of your hand, you already know.

Deep down, you have always known, haven’t you?

The truth has lingered beneath the surface, buried under layers of hope and denial.

You told yourself a thousand stories, each one carefully constructed to shield you from the inevitable.

But as his fingers slip from yours, that fragile shield shatters, and the truth rises, raw and undeniable.

You call out to him before you can stop yourself.

Your voice trembles, heavy with everything you cannot bring yourself to say.

You are frozen in shock and fear, your body unwilling to move.

Your mind unable to comprehend.

He turns, just for a moment, pausing long enough to offer you a smile.

It is so simple, so heartbreakingly beautiful.

For a moment, you forget to breathe.

The setting sun frames him in golden light, softening his sharp features and making him look almost ethereal.

It is the image that will haunt you.

You know it, in this moment, you just do not realize it yet.

A fleeting, fragile instant where he is everything you love, bathed in a golden glow too perfect to last.

If you could freeze time, you would choose this moment.

And then, he is gone.

He will return, you tell yourself.

He promised.

There’s no reason to doubt him, is there?

He has set out on a task.

An impossibly hard one, perhaps, but one that only he can complete.

He will reforge the Crown, perfect its design, and present it to Mystra.

She will take it, and in return will free him from the orb’s suffocating presence.

He will come back to you.

Surely, he will be Mystra’s Chosen once more.

This is what you tell yourself.

Over and over again and again.

This is what was promised.

The task ahead of him is monumental.

You remind yourself of that, too.

It is not a simple spell or a quick ritual.

It is arcane physics intertwined with Netherese magic, a discipline so complex that you cannot even begin to comprehend it.

He is an Archmage, one of the finest of this age.

His skills are nearly unmatched, and now, after everything you have faced together, he is closer than ever to regaining his former brilliance.

If anyone can succeed, it is him.

So, you wait.

Halsin’s invitation to accompany him to Reihtwin is kind, thoughtful even, but you decline. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, and you feel the weight of his unspoken concerns. He holds you longer, presses you closer and adds a quiet kiss to the top of your scalp when he departs.

When Karlach and Wyll ask you to join them in Avernus, the temptation to escape is almost overwhelming, but you shake your head again.

You stay.

You wait.

At first, the distractions help.

You throw yourself into the city’s recovery efforts.

Jaheira and Minsc are tireless in their mission to rebuild Baldur’s Gate, and you work alongside them, coordinating resources and workforce with Ulder Ravengard.

You ensure aid reaches those who need it most, fight off scavengers who prey on the vulnerable, and oversee the Flaming Fist as they restore order to the streets and clean up the remnants of the Steel Watch.

The city begins to heal faster than you expect.

Streets that were filled with rubble and despair last week, hum with life today.

Taverns reopen, markets buzz, and laughter returns.

For most, life resumes its rhythm.

But for you, the days blur into a hollow monotony.

Your lute sits untouched in the corner of your room at the Elfsong Tavern.

You have not picked it up in weeks.

The melodies you once played with ease now feel distant, tangled with emotions too raw to face.

Instead of creating, singing, or writing, you retreat into the estate Astarion secured.

It is a stunning property in the Upper City, perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. The sweeping views of the horizon and the luxurious comforts it offers are undeniable.

Yet, the beauty feels hollow, a constant, aching reminder of what you’ve lost.

Every morning, you watch the sunrise, and every evening, the sunset, standing on the balcony as the light shifts across the water.

But the sight doesn’t bring peace.

It only sharpens the ache of his absence.

By day, you throw yourself into the city's recovery efforts, shaking hands, attending festivities, coordinating rescue operations, and wearing a smile that feels more forced with each passing week.

At first, the façade holds.

But as time drags on, the weight of it grows heavier each day, and even pretending becomes an exhausting chore.

When night falls, the city becomes your escape.

You join Astarion, wandering the lively streets, visiting bustling taverns, and exploring vibrant markets.

People recognize you, their greetings warm and full of gratitude.

Free drinks are pressed into your hands, flirtatious smiles and whispered invitations offered in abundance.

Each time, you decline with the same response. “I have someone waiting for me.”

The words spill out automatically now, a reflex more than a conviction.

Yet, every time you utter them, you notice Astarion’s gaze lingering on you a little longer.

His concern is palpable, though he says nothing.

Instead, his demeanour changes.

He becomes gentler with you, careful in his words and actions.

At first, the tenderness was only shown during your shared nights.

A bottle of wine he genuinely enjoys, conversations that tiptoe around deeper truths.

But gradually, it becomes his everyday behaviour.

His glances linger, his tone softens, his patience stretches impossibly thin, all without him saying a single word about what he sees.

And in his silence, you feel both comfort and excruciating guilt.

Every morning, you walk to the docks after ensuring Astarion is save asleep.

Continue on AO3

[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.