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allophonicmess · 6 months ago

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Too Sweet

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Act 3

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine

This is a fluff chapter. Gotta give you guys some candy after all that angst

Word count 4.1 K

Life resumed as normal after that. Or as normal as it could be when you are suddenly placed in the new timeline. Logan kept getting confused by little details that were different to the life he had lived before. Professor X ? Sure he exists but he had hair. Cyclops? Oh yeah. He was just as annoying as he remembered. Who are the fucking Avengers and what sort of rich nerd was Tony Stark? And what about Jean?

“A hot red head with the telekinetic powers?” Wade hummed, pretending to be lost in thought. “Uh, no. UNLESS! Charles used to have a beautiful flowing mane that I don’t know about. He is turning grey, you know… but it suits him. Silver fox”

So Jean was out of the picture. That was good, right?

Logan groaned at Wade's bad joke. He shifted his focus outside, watching the landscape change from looming tall skyscrapers to even fields and trees that started changing colour with the season. It reminded him of home.

“Just to get this straight.” Logan shifted in his seat. The car that Wade had bought from the dealership had been heavily discounted and Logan now understood why. You would think it can’t get worse than the Odyssey? Oh boy, were you wrong. It was too small for 4 people, let alone 2 mutant men. He already felt sorry for whoever might have to sit in the back for whatever reason.

“Y/N has powers?” Logan asked, trying to play it cool. The whole drive had been a big Q&A.

“Yup,” Wade said with a pop. One hand on the steering wheel and the rest of him laid back in his seat.

“They call her Osmium, too?” Logan didn’t like this dependency on the wanna-be hero. But he had to make a good first impression.

“Osmimimum? Uh no. She is called Atom” Wade laughed “Don’t if she actually does stuff with atoms… It's more like…” Wade groaned as he tried to think of an example.

“She manipulates density.” Logan pointed out. They had trained together many times. But Y/n was never allowed to use her full potential with the X-men. They condemned violence and so she was often left out on mission and focused on keeping the school running.

“Ugh- I guess? She once told me in great, boring detail why ‘Atom’ is a bad superhero name for her but they kept it for the marketability. “ He shrugged “Oh! I remember that one time we stopped a child-mutant trafficking and she got mad, like REAL MAD, and then she turned this one guy into goop.” Wade nodded fondly, thinking back at that moment. “And I mean like Nickelodeon kids choice award goop, like slurpable slushy goo, like-“

“Okay, alright! I get it.” Logan groaned in annoyance. Shaking his head at Wade. He was thankful for the man’s support and friendship but god was he annoying. Constantly.

“I wish she would do that to me sometime. It’s on my ways-to-die bingo. But she keeps refusing!” Deadpool hit the wheel dramatically.

“You are disgusting,” Logan stated dryly. “The most disgusting person I ever met.”

“Don’t forget the most annoying!”

...

The decision to go back to teaching was not made out of fun or for the joy of doing it. Maybe partially, even though Logan would not openly confess so. It was made out of necessity. Living with Wade and Al became tiresome after the first few weeks. It was always the same antiques, the lack of schedule as well as a constant state of chaos that made him crave the ordered life at the school once again. He hoped that it would give him a sense of belonging. The X-men might be different here, with a few quips and details that didn’t match with his reality. But living at the school would tie him to a strict schedule and by god, he needed some structure in his life.

But all in all, it meant home.

“Okay, peanut. Today is a big day. But I know you’ll do great and meet a lot of new friends.” Wade joked in a motherly tone as they arrived at the Mansion. “And no hair pulling or biting unless they ask for it, okay?”

“I can’t wait to be rid of you” Logan groaned as the car came to a halt. He exited the car with a low groan, stretching to lose stiffed muscles. Not having to constantly ride in Wade's joke of a car was another reason that he preferred living at Xavier’s Institution. Speaking off:

“There you are. Welcome, welcome.” Xavier rolled into the mansions yard.

“A pleasure to have you, Logan. I must say, I was very pleasantly surprised when I received your response to my inquiry.” He moved towards Logan, offering his hand for a handshake.

Logan inspected the man. He was older, in his 40s maybe. But younger than the Charles Xavier he had worked with. He sported shaggy longer hair that was starting to thin out. Soon he would need to get it trimmed to keep his professional exterior. Along with a beard that was rather spotty and seemed too reminisce of his look in the 70s. Xavier looked like a mix of the two versions that Logan got to meet during his time at the school and it made him wonder how time worked here. Events seemed to play out in different order, they didn’t happen at all or much later than seemed correct.

He shook Xavier’s hand, thanking him for the offer. “Of course. I was surprised when you contacted me.” Logan confessed. His gaze shifted towards the grand building in front of him. It was the same old English style build that he knew, with a few modern elements added here and there.

“Is it familiar to you? The school? I assume you have experienced quite a few dejá-vus since arriving here.” Charles observed Logan.

“I do. Some things are the same. Others don’t match what I know or didn’t happen at all.” He confessed. Already feeling the brother connection build, similar to the one he had with the other Charles.

“You will find your answers. I am sure of it.” Charles turned around motioning Logan to follow him inside. “I think it is best if we continue this conversation in my office.” He looked over his shoulder at Wade, who had waited in the car, listening in on the conversation.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be on my way. You call me if you need to get picked up, Pookie!” He waved at Logan in a motherly way.

“You aren’t coming?” He asked, somewhat confused. But then he saw Charle’s face, the intense stare he gave Wade.

“Uhhh, no I technically have a house ban for no apparent reason-“

“You burned down the west wing” Charles answered dryly.

Wade clicked his tongue, “Right, okay. Yeah… But! It’s very modern now.” He chuckled weakly. “You’ll still call me up for a mission, right?” He tried to persuade the professor.

“If the mission takes place outside of my building then yes.” Charles agreed, focusing back on Logan. And leading him inside. Neither of them commented on the cheer that Wade gave as he drove off.

Being back at the school felt surprisingly good to Logan. It was like coming back from a long holiday. Most everything was the same: Students running in the hallways, playing games in the gardens and-

“Fancy seeing you here!”

Logan turned around quickly, looking for whoever addressed him. Some children were buzzing along the halls, none of them too interested in him. Then he spotted her by the stairs. Leaning onto the dark wooden rails of the gallery. The light from the window behind her illuminating her figure.

“Y/n”, he breathed.

“Hi! Charles told me that you wanted to start teaching again.” She made her way downstairs, focus shifting between not falling and keeping her gaze on him. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see him.

He turned more toward her, watching her get closer to ground level. With each step he felt his excitement grow “He contacted me, actually. Asked whether I wanted to work here…”

“Oh really? What a coincidence ”She grinned mischievously, stopping at the end of the stairs and leaning on one of the bannisters. She kept a little space between them. There might be some familiarity between them but she didn’t want to push him too far yet and give him the chance to get closer to her if he felt like it.

But Logan stayed in place: “Do you have anything to do with that?”

She smirked, and he felt some of his charm return to him . He might be rusty but some things were just engraved in him.

“Maybe” She shrugged, smiling softly with a playful sparkle in her eyes “But I’m assuming that you won’t be teaching history, right?” Y/n teased carefully. The multiverse situation was a thing she wanted to be careful about. Wade had told her a little bit about what had happened to Logan before he transferred but she didn’t know any details.

“No, I teach PE and defence classes. You do science, right?” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, hoping to lose the tension in his body. He threw the tidbit of knowledge into the conversation, hoping that he was right and that the two versions of her had that much in common.

“Chemistry and Literature, yeah.” She smiled. She then looked at her watch before pointing towards another corridor with a sigh “I’d love to talk more, but I need to get to class. Maybe we could meet sometime.” She secured the book in her arms.

“Yes.” He answered with a stiff nod, his hands were getting sweaty.

They stood In awkward silence.

“Maybe over a coffee?” She asked, looking up at him, her lip curled upwards. Her look became more expecting as he watched her in silence.

He would catch the bait she just threw, right? Scott had laughed when she asked him about what Logan had been like; What this version might be like.

‘He’s an asshole’ He said ‘a cocky asshole and who thinks he can charm any girl he likes’ she blushed at that comment ‘But he is into the dark, mysterious type if that is what you are after’

“Maybe”, Logan gave cold and curtly.

He regretted his demeanor when he saw her smile slip for just a moment.

Fuck.

Her face slipped for a moment “Oh.. okay.” She huffed softly. “See you around then.” Y/n nodded quickly before running off.

...

A routine established itself after the first weeks back at the school. The work there itself was the same. Teach the children standard curricula, training them in controlling their powers and some extracurricular activities.

He would spend some evenings with the other members of Team X ,as they called themselves here. Sometimes he would meet Y/n in the hallway but he didn’t work up the courage to stop and talk to her beyond a quick ‘hello’.

What is wrong with you? You used to sweep women off their feet. She is offering herself to you at any chance and you still can’t manage to ask her out?

He sighed as he changed back into his regular clothes. The class had just ended. It was Friday, still fairly warm for October and the trees looked beautiful in all shades of red, orange and yellow.

Would be perfect for a romantic walk… A charming, rugged man could ask a woman out for that.

“That guy died a long time ago…” He mumbled to himself. Picking up his bag and closing the locker.

He exited the gym, making his way to his room or rather apartment. Wade managed to burn down the teacher's quarters along with the kitchens and cafeteria in some wicked stunt. No one knew what happened and that was for the best, he guessed.

However, that incident resulted in a modernized reconstruction with more spacious rooms for the teachers and a communal cafeteria that students and members of Team X shared. Great for extroverts but Logan had to pass it every time he went to his rooms, much to his dismay. To make it worse, the communal space was separate from the hall via a glass wall, allowing for a perfect view of everyone who tried to sneak past. Which led to uncomfortable situations such as this.

“Logan!” Piotr called, waving his huge metallic arm to get the other man's attention. Logan's initial reaction was to ignore him as he had done many times with the members of his old team.

No, he wanted to do better. He needed to. It was that kind of behavior that made him spiral in the first place. So he took a deep breath and channeled all jolliness available to him after 6 hours of teaching and a generally low level of it to begin with. He slowly made his way towards the teacher's table.

“Come, eat with us.” Piotr offered him the seat next to him on the thick wooden bench. A seat opposite of… fuck- of fucking course he was in on Wade’s plan to play matchmaker.

“We can’t have you get scrawny, eh?” he joked.

“Not that that would be likely to occur” Y/n joked as Logan sat down. His look snapped towards her and her eyes widened in shock at what had just come out of her mouth.

A knowing, wicked grin spread across Colossus's face. That fucking asshole…

“What are we having?” Logan asked, ignoring the situation that had just occurred. He tried to keep his gaze on Piotr who was busy filling a plate with whatever was in the big metal pot on the side of the table. His eyes shifted to Y/n every so often.

“Pierogi. I am trying out new recipes for a cooking class with my students” He said proudly, placing the plate in front of Logan “Y/n said, they are very good. Right?” He asked her, putting the woman on the spot.

“Oh, uhm…yeah. I like the new… stuffing.” She said, the answer sounding more like a question, carefully looking at Logan when he tried it. She was thankful for Piotr’s brotherly demeanor and gentle nature. Yet sometimes he would tease her as any older brother liked to do. And they sure liked to do it in front of people that the younger sibling might fancy.

Logan nodded in agreement, complimenting the man for his cooking.

“You cook here regularly?” He asked with a mouthful.

“Of course! Cooking is a very important life skill. As well as baking. You should join one of Y/n’s baking classes, she is very talented.” Colossus complimented the woman, making her grin.

“I plan on holding a workshop on the weekend for older students and alumni. You should come.” She offered, a hopeful look in her eyes. Maybe she was too discrete the last time she tried to get Logan to ask her out. So this time she tried to be more direct with her offer.

“I don’t bake,” Logan answered in a backhanded comment as he continued to eat. He didn’t think too much about it. He had planned to ask her out after lunch. He was overly focused on what he would say to her once the others left to notice how he had sounded.

It only occurred to him when he saw how Y/n visibly deflated. “Oh, right” She hummed, swallowing another bite of her food, eyes looking anywhere but towards the man who had once again rejected her so swiftly.

Piotr, just sighed with disappointment, leaning back in his chair. His hard elbow bumped into Logan’s side.

You fucked it up. Again.

...

“Okay, stop. You mean to tell me that she tried to ask you out not once but TWICE and you rejected her?” Wade paced through the living room. Trying to make sense of what his friend had just told him. “You mean to tell me that you now spend 3 months at that school? Being in her proximity 24/7 and actively avoiding her?”

Logan sat on the familiar black couch that looked even more beaten up than the last time he was at the flat. With disgust, he realized that he didn’t even want to know what caused the new damage.

“I don’t avoid her”

“Oh no? And yet the few times she does catch you creeping in the halls you manage to scare her off.” Deadpool said down one of the rotatable bar chairs. Swirling dramatically.

“No wonder the girl’s not interested in a sad drunk fuck like you,” Al commented from the table where she sat, carefully packaging her newest acquisition of sellable goods.

“ No, Al that’s the thing! The girl wants him DESPITE being a sad drunk fuck!” Wade jumped from the chair to pace around some more. He had to come up with a plan to get the two to spend time together, and get to know each other better. Create some closeness to let the sparks fly and catch on.

“That’s even worse.” Al laughed, snoring.

“Thank you for the compliments… Reassuring.” Logan groaned, regretting to even have answered Wade when he asked him about how things were going with Y/n. Maybe he wasn’t ready to be with someone again. He liked her and wanted to get to know her but something was stopping him. The urge to protect her from danger and he still thought of himself as the greatest danger to her and his team.

“On the other hand, she is still interested after being rejected TWICE. So you still have a chance, Pookie.” Wade said, sitting down next to Logan, yet again way too close.

“I’m gonna help you, buddy, Don’t you worry.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing Logan's ears “Act three needs some lovin’ and I make sure you get all the loving you need, baby” He whispered towards Logan. And with dread, and a bit of disgust, Logan accepted that he had no chance of stopping the man.

...

By the time the midterms rolled around, Logan had gotten familiar with the schedule and his profession once again. He slept better, tended to snap less at people and even his drinking tendencies seemed to get better. Being part of a community felt good and it made him angry at his younger self for rejecting the people who loved him out of some ill-placed ideology: that to keep them safe, he had to distance himself from them.

And yet you are doing it again.

He sighed as he trotted into the community kitchen. He broke his coffee maker in a fit of frustration last week and hadn’t found the time or energy to tell Charles to get a new one. He stayed out of the professor's way for the most part, not wanting to be roped into some conversation about ‘needing therapy’. So he sourced his caffeine intake from the machine that sat in the big, homely department kitchen. Another benefit was that there was always a fresh pot ready and waiting for him. Downside, there were almost always people in the kitchen, waiting for others to join in for conversation and breakfast.

This morning he should be safe from conversation. Most students and some staff went home for the fall semester break, leaving the school running on a minimal level to accommodate those who had no home to go to. There were no classes, meaning that the school apparatus calmed to a halt.

In practice that meant that almost everyone slept in with no pressure to get up early. And for Logan, that meant that he could enjoy his drink in peace before people tried to talk to him.

Lost in thought he strolled into the kitchen. It seemed empty, thank god. He sighed in relief, stretching languidly. The air exiting his lungs in a low groan.

Then a soft click sounded through the room.

A fridge being closed.

“Oh hey, you’re up early.” Y/n appeared behind the full-size fridge door that had previously shielded her from his view. She looked a little tired, not yet fully awake and a bit tousled from sleep.

Aww C’mon. Maybe Wade was right about the universe wanting them to come together. But primarily to annoy him and allow for Wade to give him the ‘I told you so’ speech.

“So are you.” He answered, leaving on the door frame and watching her pour some creamer into her cup. Upon closer inspection, she did look younger than her other iteration. Her features were softer looking with fewer wrinkles and scars. He needed to ask her about that at some point.

She leaned onto the counter to reach for another cup, taking it out of the overhead cabinet. Proceeding to pour some coffee in it. “How do you take your coffee?” She asked, turning towards him.

“I’ll take two sugars” He answered, moving towards her with slow even steps. The threat of Wade’s ‘help’ kept looming in the back of his mind, pushing him to be more open towards her and to come out of his shell. Who knows what that maniac had in mind?

Y/n hummed in agreement, dropping in two cubes of sugar and stirring the dark liquid before handing it to Logan.

He thanked her softly, holding the porcelain with his much larger hands. He had moved quite close to her, both leaning against the kitchen counter. The closeness and difference in height between them meant that Y/n had to look up to him, to make eye contact.

With a grin he noticed how she shifted her stand, one hand bunching up the material of her cardigan.

You still got it if you let it happen, man.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying their drinks and watching the sun paint pictures onto the kitchen surfaces, colored by the stained glass windows.

She was the one who broke the silence. “Are you ready for the training session today?” She asked, turning towards him, shifting her position so that her hip was pressed against the counter.

“Training?” He asked confused, setting down his cup to cross his arms over his chest, the muscles shifting visibly under his skin.

That’s right! Show her what you got!

“Yes, staff training? We got the call from Washington about a mutant security threat. Charles wants us to be ready just in case. Do you read your emails?” She teased, watching him over the rim of her mug.

“I don’t know how that stuff works if I’m honest with ya.” He shrugged “Do you go on missions regularly? On Government orders?” He remembered that Xavier had mentioned something along the lines of that. Some complicated struggles between heroes about government regulation and so on.

“Yes, after the blip it was decided that an X-team force should be established to take care of mutant-related threats or endangerments.” She explained.

He had heard of that, too. “Right. What was that blip again?”

The energy in the room shifted suddenly.

Y/n huffed, almost spilling a bit of her drink. “Ha, that’s a bit of a heavy topic for morning coffee talks.” She looked around uncomfortably. Logan seems to have hit upon a heavy subject.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He apologized quickly. Beating himself up for screwing it up once again.

“No, no it’s fine.” She shook her head, setting down her drink to cross her arms as he did. Only that she seemed to do it defensively. “Half of all life stopped existing for five years and… that left a few scars.” She explained somberly, softly nodding to herself.

Logan blinked, his mind moving at high speed to get the conversation on a good topic again. Anything to turn it around and to prevent her from having a bitter aftertaste to their first proper talk.

Yet it was her, once again, that stepped up. She noticed how he got nervous, eyes wandering, shoulders sagging.

“I’ll explain it to you later. When we are not so pressed on time.” She reached out slowly, placing her hand on his arm, squeezing it in reassurance. Y/n smiled at him softly, moving around him to exit the kitchen and prepare for the day ahead.

Without thinking Logan placed a hand over hers, just in time before she pulled hers away. It had her stop in her tracks. Her eyes moved to where his rough callused palm warmed the back of her hand, up to his eyes. He was watching her with intention.

She was nervous. This was either going to be an invitation to finally get to know him or he had enough of her and told her to stop fancying him.

“You can explain it to me on a walk to the lake? Tonight?” He asked, one eyebrow raising in question. His hand squeezed hers gently.

A second of silence followed.

She exhaled, the stress leaving her body but she had to keep her composure. A grin spread across her face “Sounds like a plan.” She held eye contact for a few beats, then let her hand slip out of his hold as she left.

That’s how you do it, Tiger!

Her lips pressed together to keep from smiling too hard as she exited the hallway.

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#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #deadpool wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #x men #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #angst #fluff #deadpool & wolverine

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hivemuthur · 26 days ago

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The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 9.

viktorxfemale!reader explict! (we got there)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 7,2K!

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: spoiler: In the timeline of my writing, this is the first sex scene I've ever written on my own. So, what can I say? This is an imperfect story about imperfect people, but I can assure you it has an eventual happy ending.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

The absolute chaos of Christmas looming spread across the campus like an infectious frenzy. The corridors were decked with the most absurd ornaments the students could scavenge—Santa Claus figurines strung up and dangling upside down from the ceiling of the canteen, Christmas trees adorned with laboratory glassware and angel hair, and a mockery of carols blaring on repeat from the school radio. It was a bizarre fusion of science and art, a perfect encapsulation of the university’s peculiar spirit.

Every student seemed to be racing against time, scrambling to finish their projects and papers before the holidays, determined to return prepared for the looming finals. The labs and library remained open around the clock for anyone desperate enough to study or practise at odd hours.

You and Sue spent every spare moment in the lab classroom, tinkering with projects that needed to be submitted by the semester’s end. Meanwhile, Jayce and Viktor made themselves available to assist and guide anyone who might need their expertise, and the group crossed paths periodically, exchanging polite gestures and jokes to keep up the holiday spirit. Viktor had made a few attempts to talk to you after his mortifying text message, but you did your best to ignore him.

Which made your current situation, to say the least, far from ideal. Sue was rushing you to jot down all the points before she had to dash off and tend to a project for another class. The two of you huffed at each other, frustration starting to take its toll, until you sighed and said, “Sue, how about I finish this, and you go do your thing? I really don’t mind.” You offered your friend a reassuring smile.

Sue hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sick of me or something?”

“I’m never sick of you,” you said, placing your hand on Sue’s knee and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “I just think this needs a bit more work, and I can see you’re in a hurry. Honestly, I really don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Okay, I admit my mind is elsewhere. Fine,” Sue sighed in mock defeat. “I’ll do something for you in return, I promise.” She started packing up her things and leaned over to place a hand on your shoulder.

“Just get me a cookie or something,” you replied with a tired smile, gently brushing Sue’s hand away. You figured you’d probably finish the work faster on your own, and you were running out of time anyway. The lab was already emptying, darkness had fallen outside, your eyes burned from staring at the chemicals for so long, and you’d had more than enough for one day.

After Sue left, you resumed your work, determined to finish everything in one evening. The promise of rest and the satisfaction of completion fuelled you. You were so focused on jotting down your thoughts that you didn’t notice when Viktor sat beside you and leaned over your notes.

“Do you... need help?” His voice was unsure, as if he were asking about something else as well.

You hesitated. Help would certainly be welcome, but Viktor’s presence would also make it harder for you to focus. The final equation seemed to balance out the odds. You looked at him—he looked tired yet sharp. He wore the same green jumper he’d had on that night, with a crisp white shirt collar peeking out from underneath it. His scent was fresh and comforting, and his eyes, full of quiet anticipation, were fixed on you as you calculated your decision. You sighed. Yes, you needed help.

“Alright. Shoot me.”

For a split second, Viktor’s face lit up before he leaned in closer. “You’re pretty far along,” he said, his expression thoughtful, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You can dictate, and I’ll translate it into Heimerdinger’s language?”

“That would honestly be perfect,” you admitted, letting out a huff of relief as you turned your attention back to the chaotic scrawl of notes Sue had left behind. Terrible handwriting.

The two of you worked together in near silence, the hum of the lab equipment and the faint scratching of Viktor’s pen the only sounds between you. You found yourself occasionally distracted by the way Viktor’s long fingers moved as he pointed to your results, his low voice guiding you through adjustments. You tried to stay focused, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself glancing at him, his concentration a tether pulling your attention away from your notes.

Viktor, for his part, couldn’t help but steal glances at you. The faint scent of your perfume mixed with the sterile air of the lab, and it made something in his chest feel warm, almost achingly so. He bit his lip nervously whenever he realised he’d been staring too long, forcing his attention back to writing.

It took the two of you longer than either of you had expected, but when you finally wrapped up, the lab was completely empty. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a soft groan of relief.

“That’s it, then,” you said, your voice tired but satisfied. “Thank you, Viktor. Honestly, I’d still be drowning in that mess if you hadn’t—”

“It’s nothing,” he cut you off gently, placing the pen down and leaning back slightly. He watched as you began gathering your things, clearly ready to leave. But before you could stand, he cleared his throat, his voice softer now. “Hey.”

You paused, looking at him.

“Did you…” He hesitated, the words suddenly harder to push out. He fidgeted with the edge of his notebook. “Did you get my text message?”

Of course, you did. You’d seen his stupid, childish message. The ‘I like you,’ had screamed at you from your phone screen for two weeks now, and you’d both loved it and hated it. Who writes ‘I like you’ like a five-year-old? And not only that, who needs to down an entire bottle of whisky to muster the courage to write ‘I like you’?

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You hadn’t expected this. You shifted awkwardly in your chair, avoiding his gaze. “I did,” you said finally, your voice measured, careful.

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable, but his hands tightened around the notebook in front of him. “And?”

You let out a breath, your lips pressing into a thin line. “And… if I’m to rely on you saying or doing something from the heart only when you get yourself blind drunk, that wouldn’t be the best choice for your health, Viktor,” your voice was quiet, your eyes fixed on the workbench in front of you. “And I don’t want to be bad for your health.” You offered him a faint smile and looked down again. “If it was from the heart, in the first place.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded, his gaze dropping to the table. “It was.” It was. And it shamed him deeply that, indeed, he’d needed liquid courage to admit it. Only now did it strike him how awful it must have made you feel. “But I have a… rabbit heart.”

“Am I so terrifying?” you felt mockery twisting itself inside you with anger. Why were you so angry, though? You also had a rabbit heart. You often caught yourself knowing exactly what Viktor was going to say because you used the same words in your history of backing out. Was this the universe having a go at you?

“Yes, you scare the living shit out of me,” he huffed out a shaky laugh, lowering his voice. It was probably the biggest truth he’d told you in all this time.

“Well, this can’t be good for your health either, then, no?” Deflect, deflect, deflect, hide yourself behind that joke. Very well done, you.

“I—” Viktor paused, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “Look, I lied. I’m not good with any setup—casual or not. I—” He stopped himself, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before looking away again. He was torn, visibly at war with his own feelings.

You didn’t want to hear him stumble over words again. “Viktor, I get it. It’s fine. We can still be friends?” You tried to search your mind for what you’d want to hear all those times when you told someone politely the relationship wasn’t working for you.

You thought this was it—an offer of friendship. Most people got hurt or annoyed with you, and it made you feel guilty. So, you tried to say something that wouldn’t make him feel guilty. As soon as you said it, you realised that what you actually wanted was for someone not to let you retreat—but it was too late for that.

Viktor took in a shaky breath, his gaze returning to yours, but he still looked uncertain. “I can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. “I can’t be just your friend.” His hands clenched into fists on the table. “I... I’ve tried to be fine with it, but I’m not. I can’t pretend.”

“But I don’t know how to be anything else,” he added after a beat, his mind flicking back to all the times he’d snuck out of someone’s bedroom or when he found himself alone in the morning, in his own cold, sweaty bed. After some time, it became a habit, a quiet indulgence that carried no consequences, and it aligned very well with his main goal: to make his life more than it was meant to be. No distractions, only his goal. Some distractions, but not too many. Only friendships, and here as well, only the stimulating ones. To keep his brain fed, so his soul could starve.

“I have worked… so hard,” he brushed his hand through his hair. “To get where I am. I was meant to fail, and I haven’t failed once. I haven’t failed a single time, aside from some tiny, insignificant stumbles that eventually lead me to answers anyway. So many times I haven’t failed that I don’t think I know how to,” his voice was quiet, as if admitting something shameful. He said it as though any slip-up could cost him everything he’s worked for.

“I… understand,” you said slowly, piecing together the crumbs of information. Viktor didn’t come from a place of love, like you did. He didn’t come from a place of opportunity. He probably had to claw his way through pompous academics who didn’t take him seriously. You understood that part. But what was your part in turning it all to dust—that eluded you. So you didn’t understand, not entirely.

“Do you?” he looked at you longingly, expectantly, and it made your heart ache. What was it that you were supposed to give him now? A promise you would never hurt him? That you would never distract him or drag his mind away from what’s important?

“Viktor, this shouldn’t be so hard, I’m not some mythical creature,” you said, trying to inject a touch of humour into your voice, but it came out thin, brittle.

Viktor’s gaze softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and steady. “No, you’re not,” he murmured, as if trying to reconcile something inside himself. “But you’re not like anyone else either.”

Your chest tightened at the words, but you quickly pushed it aside, unwilling to let yourself feel vulnerable. You folded your arms across your chest, as if protecting yourself from something you couldn’t name. “I don’t want to be a puzzle for you to solve, Viktor. I don’t want to be some challenge you feel like you need to conquer. That’s not what I’m here for.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he processed your words. He wanted to argue, to convince you that it wasn’t about conquest, that it was about something deeper, but he could tell it wasn’t the right time. Not yet. “I don’t… I don’t think of you like that,” he said, his voice almost too soft, as if afraid to break the fragile moment between you. “I think of you as someone I want to understand, someone who...” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence, the words feeling too heavy in the air.

You shifted in your seat, your eyes narrowing slightly as you considered his words. There was a vulnerability in his voice, a quiet sincerity that you weren’t used to hearing. You almost wanted to reach out, to ease the tension that hung between you, but you held yourself back.

There was a long, aching pause between you before Viktor cleared his throat and leaned back, trying to break the silence. “So,” he said, the words coming out in a lighter tone, “how many do-overs do you think we can have?”

You rolled your eyes at him, a small, rueful smile tugging at your lips. “I find myself hoping that each one is the last one,” you replied dryly, though your heart wasn’t fully in the jest. “Thank you for all the help.”

Viktor smiled, a faint, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. “Oh, no worries. I’ll see you at the Christmas party?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You nodded, your expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” you said, your tone neutral, but not dismissive. “Take care, Viktor.”

With that, you parted ways, the lingering tension still hanging between you, neither fully satisfied with the conversation, but both with the understanding that you were somehow still connected—however uncertain that connection was.

You found an unbearable thought gnawing at you—that in this state, the only ‘do-over’ you could count on was friendship, and Viktor couldn’t afford that. Inevitably, it would end with nothing.

***

It wasn’t exactly a party, but the pub was completely packed with people—students, assistants, and random individuals who wandered around campus, their roles in it a complete mystery. Everything was bathed in the warm glow of Christmas decorations, making the space feel even more cramped.

You sat at a small round table with Sue, some familiar faces scattered around, including Jayce and Viktor, who had joined after their TA duties. Sue was mid-sentence when you leaned back in your chair, your eyes wandering. You weren’t in the mood for all the noise tonight. The words blurred around you as you half-listened, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of your glass—a quiet distraction. Viktor was talking to Jayce, his sharp voice cutting through the noise every now and then. His dry wit was always on full display, the kind that kept people around him in that odd mix of awe and wariness.

“You okay?” Sue’s voice brought you back. You blinked, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, just... tired, I guess,” you said, forcing a polite smile as you took a sip of your drink.

The room was hazy with cigarette smoke, the heat becoming unbearable. The whole scene was so unbearably sweet and cozy that it made you flinch. Your eyes kept glancing over to Viktor, who would immediately look away as soon as your gazes met. You kept thinking about what another do-over could look like and felt yourself growing more and more frustrated with the space between you, even though you were sitting so close to each other. You could feel Sue's eyes on you but couldn’t quite explain why you felt this way.

Sue raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Well, if you need to bail early, I totally get it.”

You hesitated, then gave a half shrug. “I think I’ll head out. Just... not feeling it, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Sue replied, offering a quick nod. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” You stood, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. As you made your way through the maze of tables, you could hear Viktor's voice in the background—just enough to make you pause. You could feel his gaze on you, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the exit.

Viktor watched as you stood and walked away, a wave of frustration rising within him, forming itself into a long sigh. He had tried, hadn’t he? He had said things—things he never said to anyone—but now you were leaving, retreating like always. His jaw tightened, and he felt his fingers curl into fists on the table. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not after everything. He should’ve known better, but still, your departure stung.

He couldn’t place why, but it felt like you were slipping away just as he was beginning to reach out. You were both so fucking terrible at talking, at letting yourselves feel anything real. Why did it have to be so difficult?

The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for a moment, it felt like a relief. The street was quiet, the only sound the crunch of snow beneath your boots. You slid your headphones on and started walking toward the dorms, matching your steps to the rhythm of the song.

You awaited rest and home and being far away from here with utter impatience. Just one more evening of this. Just one more evening of thinking and biting at your own lips, glancing at your phone, and then it would only be your parents, and Hale, and the quiet evenings at Sheffield, for a week.

Against reason, Viktor followed you, his footsteps soft but steady as he stepped out of the pub moments later. His eyes caught sight of your retreating figure, and a small, amused smile played at the corner of his lips. He’d almost not been surprised—almost expected it.

He called out your name, his voice lost to the wind and muffled by the sounds of the night. But you didn’t hear him. Quickening his pace, his breath misted in the cold air. He called again, louder this time, but still, you didn’t turn.

A small part of him considered letting you go, letting you stew in your thoughts, just leaving it for after the break. But the rest of him felt pulled, like a dog on a leash in front of a vet’s door.

You were nearing the entrance to the dorms when you finally paused, taking a deep breath, and tugging your headphones off with a slight wince. The moment you heard your name, you froze, your heart skipping in your chest.

“Hey you!” Viktor’s voice was closer now, cutting through the night. When you turned, you saw him standing at the edge of the walkway, just outside the dorm. His breath came in visible puffs, his chest heaving as if he’d run after you.

“You walk... so fucking fast,” he said, still catching his breath. “I never figured you for the type to run off so bluntly. But I suppose that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Yes, just laugh it out. Viktor took a few steps forward, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Are you fucking drunk again?” you blinked, your mind racing. You had to admit to yourself that Viktor drunkenly following you from the bar was a coin toss you wouldn’t have bet on. Especially after your last talk. Funny.

“Are you not?” he countered, his words smoother than you expected.

“No. Go back to your pub, Viktor.” Your voice was flat now, each word carefully measured. You exhaled sharply, your shoulders sinking as if the weight of the evening had finally caught up with you. You were so tired of this.

Viktor tilted his head, his smile barely visible in the shadows as he took a step closer. “Eh, make me,” he said softly, though it wasn’t a challenge—not really.

Another step.

“I am so not in the mood for you now,” you muttered, your hands dropping limply by your sides as you turned away, dragging yourself down the corridor toward the elevators. Your voice lacked its usual bite, tinged instead with exhaustion.

“Alright, alright, I’m not drunk, just had one pint. Oh, come on,” Viktor mock-pleaded, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he quickened his pace to catch up with you. “You won’t see me the entire holiday break.”

“And I will savour every single day of this glorious relief from your constant nagging, poking, your sweet side and your dick side, and having fun at my expense,” you snapped, jabbing the elevator button with increasing impatience, your words punctuated by each press.

You were expecting another joke, but Viktor’s hands gripped your waist firmly, twisting you around. Your breath caught as he pulled you flush against him, the heat of his body sharp against the cold you’d carried in from outside.

“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice raw and ragged as his lips found yours. The kiss was unsteady, heated, and messy, tasting faintly of sweet beer and a frustration that mirrored your own. He panted into your mouth, his lips parting just enough to nip at yours.

“Just… shut up, for once,” he murmured, crowding you against the elevator door. It slid open behind you with a soft chime, and you stumbled inside, Viktor’s cane clattering to the floor as he steadied you against the wall. He pulled your turtleneck down to lick your neck greedily over the bite mark he had left there. His hands quickly found their way under your sweater, and he gasped, bemused by your lack of underwear. “No bra?” Again. A low chuckle rumbled against your skin. “Is that your idea of a Christmas present?”

“Fuck off,” you scoffed, your voice still sharp with lingering anger. Your hands pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but the lack of real force and your hands still gripping his coat tightly betrayed you.

“Are you sure?” Viktor smirked, his grip firm as he tilted your chin up, pressing a lingering, deceptively sweet kiss to your lips. “This is your floor,” he said, his voice agonizingly calm as he stepped back, gesturing toward the elevator doors sliding open.

“Or…” His tone shifted, almost teasing, as he pressed the button to close the doors and send them up to his floor instead. “You could come with me. For real, this time.”

You pulled him wordlessly toward you, offering no resistance—nothing more, nothing less. Words had failed you, but your actions were clear. It was enough. Viktor wanted to say, That’s what I thought, the words teasing the edge of his tongue, but he held them back. Instead, he captured your lips again, kissing frantically. He explored your mouth, swallowing the small sounds you made, the elevator a blur as it carried you upward.

By the time you reached his room, Viktor managed to open the door without breaking the kiss, his cane hanging hooked over his arm. You stumbled inside together, the heat between you growing unbearable, and he pressed you firmly against the door, his hands bracing your hips as his lips moved over yours with unrelenting zeal. You pulled him closer, your breath catching as you managed to rasp, “Bed?”

Viktor chuckled softly against your lips; his tone laced with teasing. “Impatient, are we?” But there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze, the way his hands tightened on your hips as he broke the kiss just long enough to guide you further into the room.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, your voice raw as your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him with you.

“Yes. Please, fuck me,” Viktor murmured, sweeping you into another fervent kiss as you stumbled toward the bed. “I’m so tired of you not fucking me.”

You scoffed into his mouth. And who is to blame for that? You sunk into the mattress, pulling Viktor with you by his belt, the cane poking your leg.

“Why are you wearing so many clothes?” he whined, his voice laced with frustration as his clumsy hands fumbled with your coat. His hasty movements betrayed him, and in the rush, his knee accidentally pressed against your arm.

“Ow!” you winced, your sharp tone softening as you glanced at his face. The irritation melted away when you saw the unabashed eagerness in his expression, the way his brow furrowed in determination despite his lack of grace. “Is this going to be painful?” you asked, your lips quirking in a faint, teasing smile, though your voice still held a trace of genuine concern.

Viktor froze, blinking down at you like a scolded child. “Only if you want it to be,” he muttered, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back to regroup. His fingers moved more carefully now, peeling the coat off from underneath you with exaggerated precision. “Better?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Viktor granted you a low chuckle, his lips quirking in that familiar, lopsided smirk. “Ridiculous, perhaps, but effective,” he murmured as he continued with his careful work, peeling away the layers of your clothing like unwrapping a particularly stubborn present.

His own clothes, however, didn’t receive the same treatment. He shed them with reckless abandon, tossing each piece into an ever-growing messy pile near the bed, his leg brace a crown on top of it. His cane clattered softly to the floor as he leaned back for balance, the faintest flush spreading across his cheeks.

Once you were both were bare, he ran his palms gently along your sides and pressed his face to your hip, your belly, your neck, inhaling your skin. “God, you are so infuriating,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your body.

He glued himself to you, his hands roaming wherever they could reach, as if this were the moment he’d been waiting to happen for the longest time. And it was, of course. The decision to toss everything aside and just jump in might have been reckless, but he had no capacity to decide otherwise.

“Infuriating?” you laughed, feigning offense. “Is that the way you treat all of your conquests? Make them follow you around by the nose for months, until your resolve finally breaks after one pint?”

“No, only you,” he replied smoothly, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He added with a sly smirk, “It’s my love language with you.”

“Love?” you repeated, voice laced with teasing incredulity, but the hesitation in your tone betrayed how the word caught you off guard.

“Shut up,” Viktor muttered, his hand gliding up your side as he kissed you, silencing your laughter before you could push further. “Attraction,” he murmured against your neck, his lips pressing a lingering kiss there. “Want,” he added, his teeth grazing your breast, earning a sharp gasp from your mouth. “Admiration,” he said, coming back up to meet your eyes and give you a slow, steady kiss. He took your fingers into his mouth and watched your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting.

His voice dipped lower, teasing, and dangerous. “Anyway, is that not what we have been doing?” His hands explored the meat of your ass with a firm grip, his touch both intoxicating and commanding as he pressed himself flush against your core. He shifted against you with a kind of intimacy that had your breath hitching.

“Have you not been loving me all this time?” His words, soft and taunting, carried a heat that matched the tension thrumming between you. His hand moved down between your thighs to scoop your wetness and lick it off his fingers, as he made sure you were watching. “Ah, it seems,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “you’ve been loving me back all along.”

You trembled under him, your breath catching as your hands gripped his shoulders. A quiet plea escaped your lips, barely audible but filled with vulnerability. “Don’t be mean, Viktor.”

For a moment, he stilled, his expression softening as he pulled back to look at you. His golden eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, held a flicker of something warmer, deeper. “Mean?” he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “No. Not with you.”

The teasing edge in his voice melted away as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, slow and deliberate, as though trying to convey what words couldn’t. He was so bad at talking if you thought he was being mean. His hands cradled your face, and his next words came as a low promise against your skin. “I could never be mean to you.”

You huffed softly, a half-laugh escaping you as memories of all the times he’d actually been mean flitted through your mind. “Liar,” you muttered against his lips, though there was no venom in your tone. Instead, you kissed him back longingly, your fingers threading into his hair as your thighs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer.

Viktor exhaled a shaky breath, his control fraying under your touch. “Perhaps,” he admitted with a faint, self-deprecating smile, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “But you give as good as you get, don’t you?” he said playfully, reaching over to pull a condom out of his bedside drawer and put it on swiftly. Then, he grabbed a spare pillow to prop his leg. His belly was tied into a knot, teetering on the edge between pain and pleasure, as he placed one hand between where your bodies were going to meet to align himself at the entrance.

He studied your face, as if to check if there was any resistance left. But you only looked at him with wide eyes, your hands fisting the bed sheet. He swept through his body in a final calculation of what could go wrong—he wasn’t drunk, that was a good start. His leg, eh, not perfect, but he should be able to pull this off. Did he want to love you or tease you? He had forgotten which one it was. A shuddery breath escaped him when your bodies finally connected—he entered you slowly, holding back to lay on top of you.

The first thrust was so deliberate, so slow, so overwhelming that you both moaned into each other's mouths. Your brows tied themselves together, your palms stiff in hesitation over his shoulders, as the feeling of relief surged through you. A relief of finally not being empty.

The only movement Viktor allowed himself was the roll of his hips as he sunk inside you, beat after beat. His arms caged you in, one of his hands gripping your shoulder, the other cradling the base of your skull, as he kept your faces close so he could study you, watch you. He stared at you obscenely, taking in your expressions, disbelief wrenching breath out of his lungs. You really wanted him. You were holding him in a vacuous trap, making it hard to pull out and push back in.

And this wasn’t new. People wanted him, he knew that. They wanted him for this—for a fun fuck—and when they continued to want him afterward, it felt like a fluke. So he shut it down. And it made him feel powerful. No, it made him feel weak. It made his weakness powerful. It gave him the power to disappear from it, from himself, to not be present.

The fact that he was present now, attentive, was rather new for him. Not entirely—he’d had a glimpse of what it could be that night when you were high together, but he hadn’t dared breach the boundary of clothing then. This, though, was entirely different. He watched you so carefully, studying every reaction to his touch. He pushed where you gasped and retreated where you winced. Your kisses were as hungry as his, and it made him feel so full. The fuck was more than fun. It made him feel powerful in a way that didn’t make him feel weak.

He tightened his grip, his forehead resting on yours as he buried himself deep inside, thrust after thrust. His mouth open against you, breathing in every gasp, every whimper you were willing to give him. His pace was even, unwavering, as he murmured against your lips, “You’ve been giving me so much grief.”

He locked eyes with you, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze as he added, “But it really feels like you’ve been loving me back. Haven’t you?” His voice was soft, as though waiting for you to answer not just with words, but with the quiet truth in your eyes.

You slid your fingers into his hair, pulling him in for another desperate kiss, and Viktor caught a faint, barely audible ‘yes,’ offered to drown deep in his throat, traveling straight to his heart, as if you were offering him a secret you hadn’t meant to give away. The sound stirred something deep within him, and as you arched against him, your breath catching, he deepened the kiss and quickened his pace. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, murmuring quiet praises, each word filled with reverence as you moved together toward completion.

He slid one hand to the nape of your neck, another snaked itself between your bodies, his fingers parting you as he whispered softly, “Oh, my girl.” Your eyes fluttered shut, arms wrapping around his shoulders and you muffled your own moan against his mouth, lips and noses brushing against each other. He rubbed lazy circles on your clit, a smile blooming on his face when he felt your back arching beneath him, hips pressing upward to meet his, your cunt clenching around his cock in a tight, needy hug.

He felt your thighs squeezing his hips, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper inside you, with you. You dug your nails into his shoulders, lips parted pressed against his, foreheads pressed together mingling droplets of sweat into one.

You felt a sudden urge to say, “Thank you,” distorted by a loud moan as you came on his cock, on his fingers, your body tensing up and bending to the sound of his name falling from her lips. It took a long time, and you thought it would never stop, your climax blinding, contorting your body around him with a force to bend and crush.

Viktor’s mind got invaded by a thought of how great it felt to make a girl such as yourself lose control over her own muscles. How it had made him grow taller and bigger, his heart swollen with your grace, his lips bruised from your teeth. Slowly, he worked you through each spasm, and when you were ready, he retreated his hand to wrap both arms around you and buried his face in your neck. His breathing jagged, teeth sinking into your shoulder to not say too much at the sudden tightness around his cock.

His rhythm began to stutter, movements growing urgent by the minute as he buried himself within you up to the hilt. His breath was uneven, his muscles flexing and twisting. He felt your core hugging his cock so tight, he couldn’t hold back his own panting, as if he were a teenager all over again. He moved his face to brush against yours, whispered your name again, voice trembling, and he came with one thick, everlasting pang, whimpering weakly into your mouth.

His body melted into yours with a long, contented sigh, his arms wrapped tightly around you, stomachs and chests pressed, rising and falling together. You stayed like that in silence for a few moments, not moving, just touching, just breathing, just being.

Finally, Viktor rolled you both to the side, his leg hooked over your hip, fingers threading through your hair, and gave you an almost solemn look.

“What is this face?” you asked softly, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb across his lip.

He sucked on it slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I never thought you would be so…” His voice trailed off for a moment, and just as you braced yourself for another joke, he finished, “wonderful.”

You managed only to whisper a quiet “Viktor—,” your grip tightening around him as the weight of this little praise crushed you. As his eyes crushed you, his warmth crushed you, as you crushed yourself with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

Viktor pulled back just a few inches, his gaze searching yours. “Are you going away for Christmas tomorrow?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative. Normal.

You nodded slowly, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you answered, “Yeah.”

“Will you stay?” Please, stay. Please don’t have me wake up alone tomorrow. A weakness crept back in.

You nodded against his neck. A quiet breath escaped Viktor’s lips as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, pulling you back against him. He sighed softly, the sound almost like a weight lifting. He didn’t speak for a few moments, just holding you as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice quieter now. “I have no idea how I’m going to explain my absence to Sue though.”

Viktor’s lips curled into a playful smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, his voice teasing. “I’ll just tell her you got really into the holiday spirit and had to spend the night with your favourite TA.”

You chuckled softly, the tension between you easing just a little. “I’m sure she’ll believe that,” you replied, though the words felt lighter now, softer.

Viktor’s expression shifted to one of mock seriousness as he pulled you a little closer. “But tomorrow, when the morning comes,” he said, his voice lowering slightly, “I’ll have to call it in. You caught me drunk, used me for your advantage,” he paused, his eyes glinting with mischief, “and I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

You let out a small laugh, your face flushing slightly at the absurdity of the situation. “Selling me out already, I see how this will go,” you said, teasing him back. “I’m sure you won’t mind telling them how you practically begged me to stay the night and cuddle you.”

Viktor smiled, but his eyes softened. “I won’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple again, holding you in the quiet aftermath. The moment felt almost unreal—so intimate, so fragile—and yet, there you were. He wouldn’t dare break it by asking for more. And even though Viktor’s chest was still swollen with fear, his mind drifted to sleep in your arms.

Your own mind, however, was restless. As the high of your connection faded, you woke up early, your thoughts gnawing at you. Viktor was fast asleep, his expression so peaceful that you couldn’t believe he had a bad bone in his body. Yet, you had been stabbed so many times. It wasn’t real, was it? It couldn’t be over, just like that. What if he was right, and you weren’t meant to share the awkwardness of the morning? What if he tried to shrug it off once he woke up? Would you survive if he did?

No. You wouldn’t.

Cursing yourself, you slid out of bed, put your clothes back on, and gave Viktor, who was sleeping soundly, one last glance that tore through your soul. And left.

***

The morning light crept through the gaps in the blinds, painting pale stripes across the sheets. Viktor stirred, his body heavy and warm, though there was an odd hollowness in the bed. He reached out instinctively, the fog of sleep not yet cleared, his fingers brushing against nothing but the cold fabric of the mattress. His eyes blinked open.

The room was silent.

He sat up slowly, scanning the space, the sense of emptiness clawing at him as the realisation began to take shape. You were gone.

The sheets beside him were rumpled, but the space was cold, long abandoned. For a moment, he stared at the spot you’d occupied, trying to convince himself you might still be here. Perhaps you were in the bathroom, or in his tiny kitchen searching for tea—but no sound of movement met his ears.

A chill crept through his chest, spreading outwards, a tight knot forming in his stomach. You left.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements clumsy, hurried, his leg straining without the brace. There had to be something—a note, a message, anything that might explain. The bedside table was empty. The dresser? Nothing. Viktor opened a drawer, then another, rifling through with increasing desperation, though he knew even as he searched how ridiculous it was. You wouldn’t leave a note in a drawer.

His gaze snapped to his phone. He lunged for it, unlocking the screen with trembling fingers. Nothing. No missed calls. No texts.

He stood there in the middle of the room, staring at the empty screen. His chest tightened, his breaths coming faster, each one shallower than the last. Of course.

What had he been thinking? That after all his fumbling, after all his glaring flaws, you would stay? That someone like you, bright and untamed, would want someone like him—a man who could barely navigate his own feelings without tripping over them?

Right. His fingers clenched around the phone, the pressure digging into his palm. How stupid. How painfully, pathetically stupid. How weak.

He sank back onto the bed, his head in his hands. The weight of the silence pressed down on him. Every echo in the room seemed to mock him. The bed felt too big now, the walls closing in too fast. His mind replayed your smile, your laugh, the warmth in your eyes last night, and it made his chest ache. How could you think you’d earned something like this?

And yet, beneath the sinking despair, anger simmered. At himself. At you. At the cruel absurdity of it all. You’d kissed him, held him, and for a brief moment, he’d thought you were standing on equal ground. But the truth was stark now, laid bare in her absence: you’d left. Or maybe that was an equal ground, after all. Now, you were truly even.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him from his spiralling thoughts. He didn’t answer immediately, hoping whoever it was would go away, but the knock came again, louder this time.

“Viktor?” Jayce’s familiar voice called from the other side. “You ready? We’ve got to leave in half an hour, mate.”

Viktor swallowed hard; his throat dry. His hands slowly dropped from his face as he stared at the door. Jayce’s voice was too cheerful, too ordinary, too far removed from the storm brewing inside him. He wanted to shout at him, to tell him to go away, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ll be ready,” he croaked after a pause, his voice hoarse and thin.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment, then the sound of Jayce’s footsteps retreating down the hall. Viktor exhaled shakily, his gaze drifting back to the rumpled sheets beside him. Forcing himself to move, he stood and began to gather his things. Each motion felt mechanical, hollow. The knot in his chest didn’t loosen, but he pushed it down, swallowing it whole. It was almost Christmas. He had to pretend. At least for a little while longer.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #the game of teaching body

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thewritetofreespeech · 5 months ago

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Night 82: Practice

words: 2193

rating: E

pairing: Gale x Tav

summary: Gale's first day at Blackstaff Academy was fast approaching, so he and Tav decide to practice with a little student/teacher role play

tags: heterosexual sex (m/f), roleplay, student/teacher roleplay, all members are of age, use of magic, fingering, cunnilingus, rough sex, bend-me-over-the-desk-daddy, Gale is a nervous nelly.

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

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His first day at Blackstaff Academy was fast approaching, and Gale didn’t think he had been this anxious since it was his last first day as a student.

Being offered a teaching position at his alma mater was a dream come true. To be so respected for his magical abilities to instruct others, and perhaps caution them through his follies, was something Gale didn’t realize he wanted so much until he got it. He wanted to make a good first impression. To that end, he was running himself in circles trying to get everything just right. Churning his stomachs into knots in the process.

“I really think it’s going to be fine Gale.” Tav told him, from her safe place on the couch amongst his chaos, trying to soothe him.

“But if I can’t find this damned book then my lesson won’t make any sense!” He insisted.

“Are you going to read the whole book to the class on the first day?”

“Well…no.”

“Are you going to assign them to read it on the first day?”

“Gods no. The text in this book are far too advanced for novice apprentices to even comprehend, much less replicate.”

“Then why do you need it?”

Gale stopped his rummaging. Realizing in his wife’s perfectly boiled down words that she was right. He sighed. “I just…I want to make a good impression on the students…”

“You’re Gale Dekarios,” Tav told him, as if he had forgotten, “formally Gale of Waterdeep, Mystra’s Chosen, and one of the saviors of Faerun. I think the impression has already been made.”

Gale chuckled once. Leave it to Tav to give him a boost of confidence, should his coffers ever run low. “Yes, well, now I want to add ‘teacher extraordinary’ to my apparently long resume.” He came over to sit next to Tav on her couch; in what little space was left to her. “I’ve just never taught anyone before. What if I’m not any good at it?”

“You taught me.” Tav reminded him. The two of them both mentally drifting back to that night in the woods where they shared a moment of magic, connecting with the Weave.

“That is different. A simple incantation done by practiced, beautiful hands.” He told her. “But teaching wizards who wish to master the Weave, to be the foundation on which they build their temple of study, it’s a lot of pressure. If I fail at a spell or incantation, I have nothing to show for it except a sore head and perhaps a few singed eyebrows, but if I fail them….”

“Why don’t we practice?” Tav suggested suddenly.

“Practice?” Gale repeated curiously. As if even that simple concept was lost to him (his students were truly doomed).

“Yeah! Practice! You go through your whole first day lesson and I shall play the part of your eager, attentive student.”

Gale laughed. He had to admit, an eager & attentive Tav was something that was conjuring images not fit for a classroom, but her concept was sound in theory. “Alright. Let’s give it a whirl. But if we’re going to do this,” Gale waved his hand and in a blink, they were no longer standing in their living room but a memory of his own former classroom, “let’s do it right.”

Tav beamed and looked around the illusionary room in awe. Gale wondering if it was the visions of room or the details of his illusion that had her undivided attention. He’d have to show her one day. Walk her around the school. Show her the gardens. Where he used to hide out from the headmaster when he was in trouble. His classroom both then and now. He couldn’t wait.

“First things first, my students will always have to show up to class in proper uniform attire.” He snapped his fingers and Tav flinched as her outfit changed from her common clothes into Blackstaff Academy robes. Making her giggle.

“Of course, Professor.” Gale felt his back go a little straighter when she said that.

He watched as she went over to one of the desks and sat in the front row. Bright eyes. Bright smile. Chin in her hands as the picture of enthusiasm, and the perfect distraction. “Alright, teach me Professor Dekarios.”

Oh…this may have been a bad idea….

For all his wayward thoughts, not fit for a member of the illustrious Blackstaff Academy, Gale felt he did very well for a practice run. Tav took her role very seriously. She paid attention. She asked questions. Hells she even took notes. If he didn’t think about the fact that she was his wife and they were actually standing in their living room for a moment, he would have truly believed that all of this was real.

“So, how did I do?”

“You did wonderfully. Your other students are going to love you.”

Gale smiled softly at Tav, now that they were standing together in classroom like any other post lecture chit-chat, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’ll always be my favorite student though.”

“Oh really?” That grin that Gale knew all too well coiled its way on to Tav’s lips. She took a step closer. Leaning her weight forward into his personal space while her hands just barely rested on his hips. “Do favorite students get preferential treatment?”

“They certainly do.” His own hands reach out for her. Closing the gap between them as he stared into her eyes. “If they’re good.”

“Oh, I’m a very good girl.” A whine bubbled up Gale’s throat, just about to come out before he swallowed it back down. “So, what do I get, Professor?”

Gale lunged forward with his lips to capture Tav’s in a kiss. Unable to hold back anymore. He was almost ashamed to admit how turned on he was. Using his new, illustrious, highly respected job as a form of role play but Gods was he hard.

He kissed her recklessly. Still with the presence of mind to keep his illusion intact as he turned them around, so Tav’s back was against the desk. “Sit.” Instantly, she did as she was told. Like the word was some manner of incantation lock like what he just covered in his lecture. “That’s my good girl.” Gale doesn’t miss Tav’s own whimper that doesn’t stay locked inside her throat. “You did so well in class today. Eager. Attentive.” There were those words again. Only this time he could put them into a different kind of practice. “I think eager young students should get rewards. Positive encouragement is the cornerstone of my teaching methods.” With the tip of his finger, Gale pressed against the spot where her collarbones met and slid down. His finger acting like a knife to his illusion as it ‘cut away’ her uniform. The long robes peeling back from her until they were no more than an open cloak around her naked body.

“Gale,” Tav hissed once her skin was exposed; likely from the cool rush of air on her skin, or the brush of magic tickling away as the illusion gave way to some reality. He gave her one stern, but playfully, look and she instantly corrected to, “oh..I mean…Professor.” His clever, clever girl.

He kissed her again. Holding the back of her head close to him. Tav then gasped loudly into his mouth. Her head tilting back. “What’s this you’ve brought me then, hm?” Gale asked as he continued to touch her. His whole hand cupping her while his fingers played with the wet slit they found there. “Certainly doesn’t feel like an apple for your teacher. But maybe it’s just as sweet.”

Falling to his knees between hers, Gale pushed her legs apart to devour her. Hungry for her to the point of drooling almost as much as her cunt. Her hands braced behind her on the desk as she tilted back. Her face towards the sky as she moaned for him. “Oh Gods Gale…! Mhmm….! Fuck right there!”

“Such language from my most gifted student.” Gale scolded as he pulled back.

Tav whined. Her body literally twitching with desire. “Gale…mmm..Professor…” He rewarded her by sliding his index & middle finger over her entrance, between her wet folds and her clit, for remembering their game. “Please don’t stop….”

“Ssh..ssh…ssh…” Gale hushed Tav gently, though his fingers never stopped what they were doing. He then slipped them in. Her opening eager to accept but clenching frantically for want of something more. “Shall we continue your oral exam, or do you want to move on to harder lessons.”

“Harder lessons Professor, please.” He doesn’t want to think of his wife as a slut, but the way she spread her legs with his fingers still inside her, leaning back on his desk, non-verbally begging Gale to fuck her, she looked downright filthy. “I’m ready for a more indepth education.”

Pulling his fingers free from her to use both hands on his belt to get it off faster, Gale pulled out his throbbing cock and thrust it inside her. He didn’t even bother with the rest of his clothes. Behaving as if they had no time for him to take them off. Like someone could walk in from another class at any moment, they were so lost in the illusion. Tav didn’t seem to mind as she moaned greedily against his ear. Her hands fisting in his shirt. “Fuck me hard, Professor. Teach me a lesson.” Gale growled and nipped at her ear. Tav squealed before descending into moans as he did what she asked.

The desk wasn’t as helpful as one would have thought. It lent to the aesthetic and overall fantasy of the moment but didn’t provide a lot of leverage in their current position. All a matter of perspective though, and what kind of teacher would Gale be if he wasn’t a problem solver?

He pulled his cock out, all shiny and wet, before he moved Tav from the desk and flipped her over. A much better position as her hands now braced her in the front and her ass stuck out towards him; illusionary robes long gone now as either Gale willed them to vanish or his spell was cracking on its own with his attention divided, he couldn’t quite tell. Taking only a moment to admire the new vision before him, like any good lover of art, Gale thrust back into Tav hard and continued their rough game.

The sounds she made were invigorating. Loud shouts. Breathy moans. Sharp cries of ecstasy.

“Mmm…Professor…” She was completely lost in the fantasy now. “You’re being so rough…”

“That’s what you asked for, isn’t it.” Tav groaned as his hand wrapped around his throat to tilt it up towards him. His chest against her back as he whispered in her ear. “For me to fuck you hard. Even before you asked with your words. Staring up at me with those big eyes from your desk. You asked for this.”

“Yes.” Her nails scratched against the wood and some muffled version of the word ‘more’ fell from her lips.

“Do you do that for all your professors? Look up at them with those big, beautiful eyes for attention? For praise?”

“N-No.”

“Why is that?”

“I only want you.”

It was Gale’s turn to groan, and he turned Tav’s head as far as it would go to pull her in for a big, sloppy kiss. During this, he felt Tav’s wall shutter around him. Her body quake as her hands fought to keep purchase on the desk. Destroying the imaginary papers scattered on top of them. He lasted a few more thrusts before he came too. His resolve snapping like an overstrung cord, along with his spell.

Without his illusions, their mount disappeared and they fell to the floor. Gale tried to brace them as much as he could to cushion the fall. Feeling the pain in his shoulder though, after he successfully ‘saved them’, he had to wonder why he didn’t conjure some real cushions. “Are you alright?”

“I’m better than alright.” Tav told him. She didn’t seem phased at all by their stumble. But then again stumbles, of any kinds, never seemed to keep her down. She pulled herself free from him but then turned around to face him. Head in her hand with her elbow on the floor. “So, Professor, how did I rate?”

“Oh, full marks all around.” He teased back. Pulling her in for a proper kiss now that they were facing each other. “But I always have time to offer extra credit, for my most industrious students.”

Tav giggled. The sound and that smile infectious. “Do you feel better about your first day now?”

“Well, I can’t do any of that with my students.” He quipped. “But the first part, yes. I think it really helped. I feel I really have a command of it now, although that might be the residual endorphins talking.” Tav snorted, but then curled up beside him.

They seemed content to lay there for a while on the floor. Enjoying the moment. “I still wish I could find that book though.”

“Gale!”

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alexa-yukiyu · 8 months ago

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I fully believe that the whitebeard pirates would be good but completely chaotic with an actual child like I know whitebeards whole thing is being a dad but I think you throw a four year old at them and they're like "oh God can it have beer yet?" And completely forget that tantrums exist and the first couple weeks are pure chaos

Correct me if im wrong but when aren’t the only kids who have been in the Moby Dick Hiyori and Momonosuke? And they had both parents to look after them so no one had to worry about taking any reponsability in that aspect and Whitebeard din’t have to step in as a dad in their case.

To me the best contenders to know whag the hell they are doing would be Marco and Oden, with Izou and Ace coming a close second

Oden, well he is a dad so that gives him an advantage on dealing with kids but regardless he is soemone who gives zero shits on what people think of him so he has no problem being the goofy dad 24/7. And despite his hotheaded personality and what I thought to be a careless lifestyle he is a man who will and has given everything to protect his family and retainers

Up next we have Marco, I don’t recall him having direct contact with any children on the series but he has shown to have a calm, mature demeanor, this paired up with his medical knowledge would aid him in things such as when does a child become ready for solid foods, when should they start walking etc. Not saying he would know everything as he is the Ship’s doctor and not a pediatrician but his love for his family would be enough encouragement to learn about children and their development. Plus this man can do no wrong sooo

Ace, now listen you may think, of course you’re going to say he’s up there he had Luffy and you would be absolutely right that is one of the reasons 😂. Listen in his youth he had a rough attitude and if even then he was able to fill that role he filled for luffy even years later is a testament to his qualifications. Second point is his personality, when he grew up he grew up to be a a goofball, at least I saw him that way, I feel like his personality would match up perfectly with a child. But a good match dosen’t feed the child so that’s why he won’t be up in first place. He would be great with the children but he would be as clueless as can be when it comes to needs of the kid, he would forget tk water and feed the child.

For Izou, I think he would be a good option because like Marco he seems tk have that Mature and responsible demeanor , so he would be a good option for a child coming aboard. He would also be great with the needs of the child, reminding himself to do all the tasks needed to be done if the child is wrong or remind the child themselves if they are old enough. But despite being a big brother, he is only a big brother by a year so I don’t think thats adding tk his resume in this case. The reason why he is not on top is because even though he would be great at keeping track of what teh child needs he doesn’t neccesarily have the knowledge, he can be told about what and when the kid needs something but he wouldn’t know that by himself, so give him the information and he is up there with Marco And Oden, which would probably be the ones who teach him in the first place

Thatch would be a good option too, he has a playful and caring personality for the child and he would be able to adapt his meals to better fit the kid, but same as Izou he would need to be given that information. And similar to Ace he would forget about some needs of the kid or be incredibly reckless, he would remember to feed and water the kid since he is a chef and it’s his job but other needs eh, keep an eye on him ir next thing you know you’ll have a toddler making your meals, handling knifes and other utensils.

I do want to mention Haruta, I think kids would love his outfit, he looks goofy so he could be a good entertainer for them. The rest of the commanders though… well they would be good bug brothers but maybe from a little far away, they are more rady to handle bigger kids and teens who can take a little bit more force. They could be caring but if someone like Kingdew or Fossa approach a kid I don’t know if a small child would be…how to say it…. I don’t think they would be ready for their personalities and facial expressions….

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soft-girl-musings · 1 year ago

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Comedy of Errors (MK Spring Bingo #3)

Steven Grant x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: theater kid slander (affectionate), amateur references to Shakespeare, steven and reader teach high school, no use of y/n

wc: 1,341

fic summary: The course of true love never did run smooth. And neither does the play you watch unfold.

A/N: as a recovering theater kid, this was a fun one. enjoy!

_____________________

It's poor etiquette to laugh. Right?

How you ended up sitting in a high school theater on a Sunday afternoon, you have no idea. Well, that's not true: you never can say no to your favorite students. When they begged you to come to their closing matinee, you had no choice but to cough up the ticket money (with no faculty discount, to add insult to inconvenience).

So here you are, seated in the darkened auditorium, watching what could only be described as chaos unfold on your school's professional-grade thrust stage.

In the lobby you'd heard whispers of how last night's cast party had gotten a bit too rowdy, rendering a few upperclassmen unable to attend their final performance. It didn’t matter what circle you ran in at their age: you’d learned years ago that a “mysterious illness” following any high school party probably isn’t the flu.

Thankfully there were enough students to fill in the missing principal roles, but with only the morning to prepare, it’s a wonder they've gotten through each scene. Draped in ill-fitting costumes with scripts in hand, the students have tried their best to piece together one last staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. All you know about this play is that it’s a comedy, but you don’t think you’re supposed to laugh at every blunder and mishap.

(It’s very hard not to.)

Across the house you see Mr. Grant, one of the younger teachers on campus, whose face mirrors how you feel. He’s probably trying for a look of statuesque stoicism, but all he's managed to pull off is mild bewilderment.

You haven’t spoken to your coworker much– mainly because there’s rarely a moment where he’s without another colleague talking his ear off or hanging on every word of his (admittedly delicious) accent. He’s a newer hire, having come from London to teach a few history courses but was moved to the literature department the moment your principal saw the top of his resume. The modern education system, ladies and gentlemen.

The man is dressed to impress: black turtleneck under a sharp tweed ensemble, his usually wild curls tamed a bit as they grace his forehead, he certainly looks the part of a private school instructor. But there’s no denying the entirely unserious look on his face: he is one blunder away from losing his cool.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until his bright brown eyes connect with yours. In an instant you understand why so many students doodle his name in the margins of their notebooks: his exasperated stare has you instantly weak.

–which is poor timing, given the scene unfolding onstage between you. An unrehearsed kiss goes wrong, and the two of you slap your hands over your mouths to subdue your laughter.

The rest of Act I goes the same way. You try to follow along, but every so often your eyes drift to Mr. Grant white-knuckling his way through the rough performance. When your eyes connect again (and again, and again) you both struggle to contain your laughter. Knowing that tears are likely stinging your colleague's eyes the same as yours makes you feel like less of an ass.

The curtain closes for intermission and you rest your head in your hands. How is this only half over?

“Bit of a rough watch, yeah?”

Your head snaps up– those brilliant brown eyes widen at your expression, now only one row of seats between the two of you.

“Mr. Grant–”

“Steven,” he says quickly, offering his hand. You take it and smile.

“Steven,” you begin again, giving your name in return. “I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t some of these kids–”

“–in my Shakespearean Studies course? Quite a few, really.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we’ve focused more on the historical tragedies. Don’t think a textbook can teach comedic timing.”

“Oh, I've laughed plenty.” You fidget with your program and look back to the stage. “At least they’re trying their best, I’m sure part of you is proud.”

Steven’s smile grows as he shakes his head. “I’ll be honest, it’s nice to know they’ve looked at the material for once.” He leans in. “Last week I asked them where the phrase ‘double, double, toil and trouble’ came from, and someone said Harry Potter.”

You laugh out loud for the first time all evening. It feels nice to not hide it. You miss how Steven takes in the sight of you, as well as his loss for words when you calm down.

“I have a confession to make,” you say hoarsely, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “I have no idea what’s supposed to be happening. I’m lost as hell.”

“Maybe I could–” he trips over his words and his feet as he clambers around the seats to sit next to you. “Maybe I could help you out. Bit of an expert, myself. What they pay me for, and all–”

“Sure,” you stop him with a smile. “I’d like that.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and settles in. Pulling out a pair of reading glasses, he opens his program.

“Right. So, A Midsummer Night’s Dream…”

The rest of your intermission is spent receiving a crash-course in William Shakespeare. You’re amazed at how he spouts the most minute details about recurring symbolism, character motivations, and even the historical context of the play up until the lights dim and the show resumes. You squeeze his forearm to silently suggest taking a break, and he chokes down whatever factoid was about to tumble out next.

Maybe it’s because the students have found their footing. Maybe your mini-lecture has filled in the gaps so you can better follow along. Or maybe it’s the sight of Mr. Grant– Steven– sitting beside you, rapt attention on the stage as his readers slide down his nose each time he laughs and leans in to explain the joke, drawing closer and wafting his subtle cologne your way between still-too-loud whispers. Whatever the reason, you’re enjoying the second half of this show much more than the first.

The play draws to a close with a happy ending. One of the fae characters comes downstage to address the audience as the rest of the cast departs.

“If we shadows have offended,

Think but this and all is mended:

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear…”

“Star pupil, that one,” Steven whispers once more. “Deserves every bit of the spotlight.”

You squeeze his arm again, this time not moving your hand or looking his way. You both take in the last words of the performance in dazed silence.

“...Give me your hands, if we be friends,

And Robin shall restore amends.”

With that, the fairy bows and the stage fades to black.

The audience erupts into applause as the cast returns onstage. You and Steven cheer and swap last-minute quips about the performance as the standing ovation thunders around you.

You exit the auditorium together and are immediately swarmed by a handful of students– some yours, some his– who eagerly await your feedback. You each congratulate the cast, getting them to sign your programs to commemorate the day.

Finally you’re able to break away and step into the brisk evening air.

“Well that was… something,” you laugh.

Steven grins as he fastens his coat. “‘Least they’ll be tuckered out in first period, yeah? Might get a bit of peace tomorrow morning.” He pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Sorry, don’t want you to leave that behind. Could be worth something someday.”

You take your folded program back from him. “Oh, I'm sure.”

With an awkward wave, Steven steps back. “Right. Well, see you around.”

“See you, Steven.”

You turn to head toward your car. As you walk, you unfold your program to see a new signature on the back page, followed by a phone number.

Let me know if you need any more Shakespeare translated. I’m fond of the love poems, myself ;)

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A/N: mk bingo has been a blast, i'm grateful for the chance to put these guys in Situations. that's one for each of em now. we'll see who gets attention next...

also, some inspiration was taken from this post (rip)

as always, ty for reading <3

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #mk spring bingo 2024 #moonknightevents #moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant/reader #steven grant x gn!reader #steven grant/gn!reader

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goblins-trashbin · 5 months ago

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BG3 tavs (+ durge)

A post introducing my bg3 characters so far! Some descriptions will be short, some (one lol) will be long. Spoilers ahead!!

Clover:

They’re my first tav! (They/them) A drow druid with a criminal background, Clover was out on a heist when they got taken away by the nautiloid. When they were little they dreamed of a life in the woods, living in nature with the animals they so loved. Unfortunately, coming from a highly conservative matriarchal drow family, their mother stopped supporting their dreams and education when they came out as non-binary, seeing as they were no longer destined to be the next matriarch head of the family. Their teens were spent stealing and squatting, trying to stay alive. Their only comfort were the animals that took them in from time to time.

Clover romanced Astarion. A mischievous duo, both villainised by the ones who made them, the partners in crime helped each other grow through their trauma and heal. After defeating the nether brain they live out their days looking for a way for Astarion to stay out in the sun. During day Clover has resumed the druid training they had to drop when little, thanks to Astarions wide social network.

Ceedaer:

A half-elf/half-human bard, Ceedaer (he/him) was performing in a tavern when he was kidnapped by the nautiloid. He doesn’t come from wealth, but his parents worked hard to support their son when he early in his life showed an interest and talent for music and poems. His parents died in a fire during one of his school recitals, when a candlestick fell and knocked over a glass of wine. The entire school burned down. Ceedaer made it out, but his parents fell to the burning rubble. Now he dedicates his entire life to his craft, his passion and the loss of his parents fuelling the magic his music produces.

Not knowing much about magic, Gale’s knowledge and charm drew Ceedaer in, and he soon fell for his passion, enthusiasm and ambition. Ceedaer couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone he loved so much again. He and Gale fought hard to find alternatives to Mystra’s “great” plan to blow Gale up, and luckily it all turned out well. After defeating the nether brain, not having to blow Gale up after all, Ceedaer and Gale moved together into Gale’s tower in waterdeep. Gale started teaching at the academy, spreading his infinite knowledge. Meanwhile, with the help of Gale and his new mother-in-law, Ceedaer started his own bard school, teaching music and magic, and the connection between the two.

Leandra:

The dark urge. After Orin’s betrayal, Leandra (she/her) found herself on the nautiloid with nothing but a throbbing headache and a non-stop stream of voices, commanding her to commit atrocities beyond comprehension. Not even her memories were intact, something that made her feel like somehow, she wasn’t supposed to even be alive. She walked around for days, with no goal other than to find out who she was. She wasn’t even bothered by the worm in her head, at first. Eventually, however, Leandra started feeling somewhat… at peace. Not with the worm, mind you, and especially not with the gruesome voices in her head, but with herself. Suddenly she was surrounded by people. Good people. Mostly good, anyway. It felt different, but welcome.

She worked up the courage to tell the group about her urges after an incident involving a particularly good soul. Astarion, ever attracted to murder and chaos, confronted Leandra, suspecting their newest guest hadn’t just abandoned camp like she claimed she had. She didn’t understand why, but Leandra broke down in tears. She told Astarion about everything. The amnesia, the voices, the urge. She expected Astarion to brush her worries aside, or even encourage them. To her surprise however, Astarion looked at Leandra with a deep understanding. It didn’t take long for her to tell all her new friends about the urges.

When the gang, after months of walking, fighting, and enjoying each other’s company, reached Baldur’s Gate, Leandra’s memories slowly started coming back. The town, the people, even one of the dead three’s diciples, Orin the Red, it all felt so familiar. It didn’t take long for Leandra to finally find out the truth: she was a bhaalspawn, made by bhaal himself. Made to be the ultimate murder weapon. Made from blood, to drown the world in blood. She, together with her new found family, sought to kill her blood-kin and end the cult of Bhaal, and her urgea once and for all. When all was said and done, Bhaal reclaimed Leandra’s blood, and she died. She didn’t stay dead for long though, as Withers saw her as an important part of taking down the Absolute. The resurrection didn’t come without a cost, however. Leandra had been brought back alive, but in doing so, she felt a part of herself die. True, it might’ve been a part of her she hated, but her urges were gone. She was no longer a bhaal-spawn. She was no longer the murder god’s daughter. She thought this would be a triumph for her, so she was quizzed as to why she felt empty. Like her very soul had disappeared. Perhaps it was because she never had a soul at all?

Obviously, having gotten the help from her friends, including her love Astarion, to take down Orin and the cult, she had to help Astarion break his own shackles as well. They both went into the nether brain fight free of their master’s influence. Their happiness was short-lived however. Astarion, after beeing freed from the tadpole, no longer had protection from the sun. Feeling the sun’s rays burn him slowly for the first time in almost a year, sent him into a panic. He ran as fast as he could to hide in the shadows. Leandra was just about to run after him when another companion caught her attention; Karlach’s engine was about to give in. She had promised to stay with her in her final moments, and she had no plans of ignoring any of her new family’s needs. In Karlach’s last moments, Leandra made the spontaneous decision to take Karlach back to Avernus. They were to fight, side by side, until they could find someone to fix her engine and let her roam free again. Unfortunately this meant having to leave Astarion behind, without even saying goodbye.

Six months after the battle, Karlach and Leandra were invited to a family reunion. There, Leandra saw Astarion for the first time in a long while. At first she was relieved; Astarion had lived and seemed happy! Eventually however, she realised that they could never return to being a couple. The pain of being abandoned by his love had forced Astarion into denial; he was happy to see Leandra again, but wouldn’t even talk about their relationship or how she had left. She understood, after all those walls were the only protection he had ever had before meeting her; she couldn’t expect them not to go up again after she so abruptly left.

Not only that, but Gale wasn’t at the party. He had left the gang, annoyed and determined to reclaim the crown of karsus. Tragically, that was the last thing he ever did. After catching up with his tressym, Tara, Leandra found Gale’s projection holding an envelope. It was a message, Gale’s last words. In the end, the reunion for Leandra was bittersweet. She had ensures Karlach’s safety, and she had been able to catch up with her found family, but in the process she lost two of the dearest people to her heart. At dusk the following day, Karlach and Leandra returned to Avernus, in search for some blueprints. She never saw neither Gale nor Astarion ever again.

Maple Whispers:

My newest tav! She’s (she/they) a wood elf monk who’s currently romancing Shadow Heart! Not much info on her atm, I’m still in Act 1 with her :>

#lgbtq+#digital drawing #ocs #baldurs gate 3 #dnd art #dnd character #gale dekarios #astarion #bg3 shart #bg3 tav #bg3 durge #bg3 short stories #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 oc

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kingedmundsroyalmurder · 1 year ago

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AU game: the grandmother dies when Jane is ten 👀

Five fun facts meme. Interpreted as 'five things that would happen' because I don't know how many of these are, uh, fun. Also it's more than five, because I have no self control.

Jane goes to the funeral, of course. She does not cry. She wears a new dress that Aunt Sylvia bought her, when it became clear that Mother would not be able to pull herself together enough to handle the logistics of preparing her daughter for the funeral. Everyone keeps assuring Jane that the grief she feels is normal, and that she will feel better if she can cry and let out her feelings. She is given a week off school to mourn. Aunt Sylvia offers to let her stay over with them for a few days.

Jane does not tell anyone that, although she does not know the word for what she is feeling, she's pretty sure that grief is not it. She feels very dreadful indeed, that she cannot grieve her own grandmother.

The house on Gay Street seems to have died with Grandmother. Aunt Gertrude fades ever more into the wallpaper. She continues the routine perfectly, almost aggressively. It is as though Grandmother will return at any moment and Aunt Gertrude will not be the one to be scolded by her mother for letting the house go. Mother fades into herself. She stops going out, stops putting on her pretty, expensive clothes, barely leaves her room. She alternates between wild grief and furious merriment, dotes on Jane and refuses to see her each in their turn. Robin is devastated that her mother is dead. Robin is overjoyed that her mother is dead. Robin is finally free. Robin is more trapped than she has ever been.

It's Mary and Frank who keep the house going. Frank runs errands and takes Jane to school and sees to it that she has new clothes when she starts to outgrow her current ones. Mary keeps them fed and stocked and makes sure Miss Robin eats something every day. She lets Jane help her in the kitchen as much as she likes, because the poor child should have something to cling to, with her world in upheaval.

Irene Fraser learns that Victoria Kennedy has died. She makes some rapid calculations and decides that her brother must never know. If he is ever to move on from his youthful mistakes, he must never get wind that there is anything out of the ordinary in Toronto.

But Andrew Stuart bows to no one, and that spring he gets it in his head that he must see his daughter again. Irene tries to talk him out of it, argues and manipulates and, when all else fails, pleads with Andrew to leave the past in the past and let things lie. Andrew will not be swayed. He writes to his wife and demands that she send him their only child.

Andrew's letter sends the house on Gay Street into renewed chaos. They had just started to claw their way out of the pit, to find a new balance and start living again. Aunt Gertrude continues to live by her schedule, keeping the house spotless and presiding over Jane's evening bible reading. But somehow, without Grandmother, she seems softer. Not more approachable, or kinder, or anything perceptible, but somehow Jane doesn't dread the evening bible session anymore. Mother, meanwhile, is slowly, timidly, starting to emerge from her overwhelming grief. She is fragile still, and rarely gets through the day without crying, but even that seems to soothe her. She doesn't go out, can't bear to face her pretty, glittering friends, not when her feelings are so big and so complicated and so overwhelming, but she resumes some of her correspondence. Jane is still dreadfully worried about her, and conspires with Mary to make all her favorite dishes. She asks Miss West if Jody couldn't come over in the afternoons, after the lunch rush, to sit with Mother and keep her company while Jane is at school, and Mother finds some life back teaching Jody to play the piano and taking her out for nicer clothes. Mary, who sees everything even if she doesn't let on, calls on Miss West and negotiates a fee for Jody's time, so that the poor girl won't find herself punished for wasting time.

When they receive Andrew's letter, they almost lose Robin again. Jane, who is by this point accustomed to thinking of herself as the secret head of the household, takes it upon herself to answer the letter. She shall not go to him, she writes. He has not wanted her until now, and she cannot leave Mother alone in her grief. Please do not write them again.

Andrew does not write to them again. Andrew goes to Toronto and knocks on the door.

It is very ugly, at first. Robin cries. Andrew demands to know why she didn't write to him to say her mother was dead. Robin, in a fit of bravery that could only be fueled by sheer emotional exhaustion, asks why he didn't write to her first, all those years ago, when she left.

The room goes silent. Andrew says he did write to her. Robin says she never got the letter. All three Stuarts, silently and with utter certainty, realize what must have happened to it.

In the end, Jane does go with Andrew to the Island. Andrew invites Robin along too, but she refuses. Better for father and daughter to spend time together without her, since she's had Jane to herself all these years. Privately, she knows that she couldn't bear to exchange so much as one word with Irene Fraser, not when she is so fragile and everything is so new. She and Jane write to each other regularly, and with no forbidden subjects. Jane discovers freedom, true freedom, on the Island, and Robin spends her time doting on Jody and, slowly, venturing out into the world. She wants to be brave for her daughter, wants to have things to write about that won't make Jane worry. To her own surprise, she realizes that, when she can set her own schedule, she does not mind going out. She missed the parties and the socializing, now that she can refuse an invitation when she wants to and choose for herself whether or not to spend an afternoon in. Robin and Andrew slowly get to know each other again, first through Jane's letters and, eventually, through their own correspondence. They continue writing after Jane comes back to Toronto for the fall.

That year, Andrew comes to Toronto for Christmas.

Next summer, Robin and Jody visit the Island for a few weeks.

Slowly, the family heals.

Send me an AU and I'll give you five an amount of things that would happen in it!

#audience participation #Batrachised #lantern hill book club

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giggly-squiggily · 2 years ago

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Play Dead! (Bungo Stray Dogs)

The way I legit forgot I wrote this akjerkjarjkaekjrkjaerkjaer

Hello everyone! I'm spoiling y'all this week- two fics in one day! :D And Lee!Dazai no less- who am I? (Forgetful. :D) Anywho- I wrote this with a friend awhile back and legit forgot about it cause life happened, but now it's been brought back to my attention and I realized I never did post it l;earkjeakjrkj I hope y'all like it! :D

CW: Mentions of Suicide

Cloud 9 (Taglist peeps)

@thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish

Summary: Dazai plays dead, much to Kunikida and Atsushi's frustration. After he unintentionally scares the hell out of Atsushi, Kunikida decides to teach the weretiger the best way to handle such a fussy man.

“DAZAI YOU MORON-” Atsushi sighed as he heard a loud thump, Dazai’s soft groans following shortly after. Since joining the agency, he’d grown used to the daily chaos his mentor seemed to get himself into. It wouldn’t be a normal day if Kunikida didn’t try to strangle or thump Dazai with his notebook.

“What did he do this time?” Atsushi asked as he watched the blonde poet return to his desk, brushing off invisible dust on his most current notebook.

“Take a wild guess.” Kunikida growled, sharp eyes turning to the weretiger. “He claimed he had a “new method of relaxation” I’d enjoy- then he tried to tickle me!” Kunikida growled, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know what goes on through that thick skull of his, but one day he’s gonna get himself killed! And not through whatever attempt of suicide he has planned.”

Atsushi hummed, nodding along softly. He was all too familiar with Dazai’s “relaxation techniques”. Then he blinked. “Wait- Mr. Kunikida. Are you ticklish?”

The glare the Doppo poet sent him cut deeply, chilling his veins and leaving him frozen in his seat. “I’d advise you to forget that idea, Weretiger. You won’t like what comes of it.”

“U-Understood!” Atsushi looked anywhere else- desperate to escape that harsh stare. His gaze fell to Dazai, still on the floor. Had he even moved? “Is Dazai okay?”

“In the head? Not at all.” Kunikida followed his stare, narrowing his eyes. “Ey, Dazai. Get up.”

Nothing. Not a twitch.

“Dazai, get up.” Kunikida called out again. Atsushi felt his stomach drop.

“How hard did you hit him?” He asked as he ran over to the prone detective.

“Barely! Not more than I usually do.” Kunikida was there faster, shaking Dazai’s body. Still no response.

“Is he breathing?” Atsushi asked, feeling himself start to panic.

Kunikida leaned closer, a hand coming up to feel a pulse along Dazai’s neck. One press-

“Ah! Ahehehehehe!” Dazai yelped with a giggle, shooting upward as he scrunched his shoulders. Kunikida and Atsushi breathe out a sigh of relief, the former’s expression growing into one of rage seconds later.

“Dazai! What the hell is wrong with you?” He snapped, livid once more.

“Oh, Kunikida! Good morning!” Dazai grinned over his shoulder at him, eyes dancing with mischief. “See, I had this thought not too long after you smacked me with your notebook. What if I passed out on my airway? I’d pass away through asphyxiation!” Then he made a face of dread. “And then I remembered how long and terrible of a death that would be- so I changed my mind.”

“That doesn’t explain why you laid here not breathing!” Atsushi cut in, glaring even more fiercely than Kunikida. Turns out some things were possible in the right circumstances.

“Oh that! Just an old trick I picked up at my old job.” Dazai spoke so casually, as if learning to lower your breathing to undetectable levels was a normal thing to have on your resume. His smile faded, some seeing the hurt on his young apprentice’s expression. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry, truly.”

“You-” Atsushi looked close to tears. He was about- what? Cry, scream, pull a Kuni and smack Dazai with a chair- when said Poet spoke up.

“Atsushi. Dazai’s a complete idiot. Seems his stupidity isn’t limited to me.” The blonde cracked his knuckles, something unreadable in his voice. “I believe it’s about time I teach you how to deal with such morons.”

“Mr. Kunikida?” The pale man blinked, unsure of what was about to happen. Dazai on the other hand and rather flush faced- seemed to know exactly where this was going.

“W-Wait! Kuni, I’m sorry!” Dazai yelped, squirming beneath the other in an attempt to escape. “D-Don’t! Not in front of Atsushi!”

“Not in front of…?” Should he be here for this?

“Why not? You made him cry, you jerk. I think he should see you in such a state.” Kunikida reminded, getting comfortable on Dazai’s back, effectively pinning him down. “Don’t act like you don’t want this- you could easily get away from me if you try.” He leaned down some, making his voice low and dangerous. “Let’s be honest with one another- you want me to tickle you, don’t you?”

Dazai choked on a squeak, flushing even more. Any resistance he showed suddenly seemed to melt away as he averted his eyes, focusing on invisible dust within the carpet. If Atsushi were to lay his head on the ground ear down, he was sure he’d hear Dazai’s heartbeat pounding against it. “M-Maybe…?”

“Thought so.” Was Kunikida’s only response. Seconds later his fingers were drilling into Dazai’s ribs, gently pressing into the spaces between each bone. The brunette barely had any time to react, arching up with a cackle.

“Ah! Ahehahhahahhahaha! Kuhuhuhuhunikiihihihihda! Whahahahhaiit!” He squawked, squirming to and from as loud, handsome laughter pushed out his lips. “Pleheahhahahahse I’m sohohohohohohorry!”

“Are you? I’m not convinced.” The poet responded, dropping his hands lower towards his waist, worming his fingers between his belly and the floor. This made the suicidal detective flop like a fish, nearly smashing his nose into the floor with how fast he dropped down. “You really made us worry, you idiot. Like we’d accept those petty apologies!”

“Ahehahhahahahhaa! Pffft gehahahhahahaha! Aahahhaatsuuhuuhshi, hahahhahahalp!” Dazai wheezed, one arm trying in vain to grab Kunikida’s hands while the other reached out helplessly towards the weretiger. “Sahhahahhahahhve mehehhehehhehe!”

“No, help me Weretiger. Get his legs!” Kunikida offered instead- though it came out more a command really.

Atsushi shook himself free from his stunned silence, weighing his options. He highly doubted he’d win a fight with Kunikida, tickles or not. And Dazai was his mentor.

Still, Dazai did scare them pretty bad just now…

“Okay. I’ll help.” Decision made, Atsushi shuffled over.

“Nohohoho, wahhahait AtsuhuhuhuuhshIHIIHIHIHIHIHI!” Dazai all but shrieked when his thighs were grabbed, Atsushi’s fluffy claws coming out to gently drag up the offending limb. Meanwhile, Kunikida brought a hand back up to Dazai’s neck, worming beneath his ears and the back of his neck with fresh vigor. “GUUHUHUUHUHUHUYS PLEHHAHAHHAHAHAHSE STAHHAHAHAHAP!”

“Are you really sorry?” Atsushi asked, giving his thigh a squeeze- earning a squeal.

“YEHAHHAHAHAHHS!”

“Truly? Genuinely?” Kunikida asked, going for the spot on Dazai’s lower back that made his laugh silent. The other could only whimper out a yes as he nodded profusely. “Well, alright.” Together, he and Atsushi pulled their hands away, leaving the brunette to gasp for air. “What do you think, Atsushi? Is he forgiven?”

“Yeah…Yeah I think so.” He smiled, giggling softly as Dazai gave a weak thumbs up. “Now he knows not to do that.”

At least…for the rest of the day.

They’ll cross that bridge when they get there. At least Atsushi knew what to do when it came up.

Thanks for reading!

#bsd #tickle #tickle fic #fluff #dazai osamu #kunikida doppo #atsushi nakajima #dazai's being stupid again #we love him though :3 #tw: suicide mention

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sarcastic-nebula · 6 months ago

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*sigh* my gravity falls headcanons

sadly, I'm on gravity falls bullshit. I'm entranced. in an era, if you will. it may last for a few more months. I just rewatched the series. begrudgingly, here are some head canons:

-the kids return to gravity falls every summer, where Dipper is able to do mini apprenticeships with Ford. since Ford has one hell of a background, he's able to give Dipper more than enough skills to look good on college resumes plus a good reference/letter of rec

-Ford's research is only partially funded by the NSF, and gets less and less funding from them every year. he's not quite sure where the rest of the money comes from but he's learned to ignore it so he can focus on other things

-during the summers, stan and ford return to gravity falls. stan and Soos share ownership of the Mystery Shack attraction and take turns being Mr. Mystery so each of them can get breaks

-the Mystery Shack attraction helps fund part of Stan and Ford's current research, especially travel and food. Stan and Soos signed a bunch of paperwork and stuff so that way Stan can still make money and afford to live

-before Ford disappeared for thirty years, he was a well known and successful researcher in his extremely niche field. in other words, the few people who knew he existed and read his papers were pretty big fans. probably in a subgroup of theoretical quantum physics, particle physics, or cosmology

-some of Ford's PhDs are from when he was not in this dimension, so sadly they may not be entirely valid here :(

-I could see Mabel going to college for film. she takes an interpretive dance class and it becomes a regular hobby

-I could also see Wendy being an art or government major

-robby could never be an art major (see his explosion muffin graffiti all over gravity falls)

-stan never forgave Ford for making him teach himself engineering in order to bring Ford back through the portal

-there is an equal and opposite bill somewhere in the universe. she's a she, and bill tricked her into falling into a deep sleep. she is also capable of defeating him. she is order while bill is chaos, with the same power as bill. I'll let y'all know if I develop more of this h/c, bc rn I'm not sure if she has infinite sides (sphere?) or three, or what she would look like.

that's all for now

#gravity falls #stan and ford #dipper and mabel #wendy corduroy #soos ramirez #bill cipher

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padfootagain · 2 years ago

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Something Good (IV)

Chapter 4 : Ex

Here I come with a new chapter for this series! This is just cute, no warnings to be applied.

I hope you like this chapter!

***********

Warnings : none, just fluff

Sum up : Coming out of a divorce and trying to get used to being a single mom, while teaching your classes at University, you thought your life could not get more complicated than it already iss. But when you are asked to take care of the theatre club with the colleague that you really can't get along with, you realize that everything can still get ten times more complicated in your life. And when you start actually liking Professor Barnes, the troubles only grow exponentially...

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2850

"He's so annoying!"

You planted your fork angrily into the innocent piece of potato in your plate, making your friend laugh.

"Oh, come on. He's not that bad," Jasmine argued, drinking some water.

"Sorry, forgot you fancied him."

She almost choked on her drink.

"I DO N…!"

She looked around, realizing that your colleagues were now staring at your side of the table.

It was lunchtime, or rather… it had been lunchtime about an hour before. You and your friend had been too busy to get a proper break, and were hurrying to finish eating to get back to work. The advantage of being late was that the lunch room was almost entirely empty, filled with researchers and PhD students from other departments you barely knew. You could thus talk all you wished about your new nemesis.

Because if at first you had tried to allow him the benefit of the doubt, you had given up after that last meeting.

Insufferable. Ben was truly insufferable.

"I do not fancy him," your colleague repeated, with the same outraged and angered look, only in a whisper this time.

"Really? I thought you did… What was the description you gave me when I arrived here last year… oh yeah. 'Gorgeous', 'charismatic'..."

She threw a piece of bread at your face, making you both laugh and effectively shushing you.

"I'm serious, Y/N," Jasmine resumed the conversation after taking a bite of her salad. "He's very sweet."

"For now, he has hidden that part of his personality with great talent."

"He just… he's shy. And I think something happened that made him fear change."

"What happened?"

Jasmine looked around for eavesdroppers, making you chuckled at her dramatic gesture. As if she was about to reveal a secret worthy of the MI6…

"No one knows. Some people say that Miles knows what it is, but he’s never told anyone. And you know how much Miles loves both hearing and talking about gossip. So, it must be something… strange."

"Strange? What now? Do you really picture that guy as a psychopathic murderer?" you joked, unable to refrain your laughter.

You were interrupted by a tired 'hello!' spoken behind you. Paul had just walked in, aiming for the coffee machine, unsurprisingly. You both waved at him before resuming your conversation. You were sitting at a table not too far from the sink and the old table on which rested an exhausted microwave, an electric kettle that only worked if you kept your finger pressed on the 'start' button, and the coffee machine. You thus had to speak a little louder to be heard as your colleague was preparing his hot beverage, the coffee machine making a rumbling noise that could be heard from across the corridor.

"Of course, nothing like that," Jasmine replied, rolling her eyes. "He's very sweet. I meant that something must have happened to him that kind of… closed him up. You know?"

"Closed him up? You mean… that shoved a stick up his arse…"

"Y/N! Don't be mean!"

It was your time to roll your eyes.

"Right… so what should I do about Ben then?"

"You should be more patient with him. Try to calm that tornado of yours."

"I'm a tornado now?"

"You do have a tendency to create chaos everywhere you go."

You reflected for a moment on this thought, and had to admit it wasn't entirely false. But then, your life had turned you into this ball of energy that could never calm down. With your demanding job, your daughter to take care of, single-parenting, your asshole of an ex-husband… if you slowed down, even for a moment, you were afraid you would crumble.

But then again, if your colleague was the kind to need time to accept change… maybe you could try to slow down, at least concerning the theatre club. Give him one more chance…

Ben was pacing. His office was small, and yet he took advantage of every square inch in an attempt to get rid of some of his frustration.

A stick up his arse?!

Really?!

“Not sure I was right to tell you about that…” Paul mumbled, watching his friend moving through the room.

“Oh, no! You were perfectly right to tell me! Because now, this is war.”

“Come on, Ben…”

“No! I really tried to be understanding. I am well aware that I am not perfect, and I could make things easier, and I tried. I really did try. But clearly, she has no intention to make an effort. Can you believe that? A stick up my arse… I’m going to show her. I’m going to show her if I can’t be cool and relaxed as well.”

Hands planted on his hips, he stared at the campus laid beyond his window. Students were here for the beginning of their classes. A new school year had begun, with its back and forth, its teenagers lost in corridors and a stressed level abnormally high for the teachers who needed to get used to teaching again.

A stick up his arse!

He needed to make you pay for this. But how? How could he show you that he was absolutely not the old, grumpy teacher you seemed to think he was?

Suddenly, a smile grew on his features, both bright and a little… dangerous.

“I know what I’m going to do!”

He turned to Paul in a twirl.

“I am going to find the perfect musical, one that all the students will want to perform. Then my play will be chosen and she will have to work on something I have decided for the whole year.”

“Alright… and what play is going to bring you your sweet but outrageously undeserved vengeance?”

“Oh yes, it’s going to be sweet, alright…”

“That was not the information you were meant to retain from my statement.”

“I need to find a play. I need to find a musical that’s cool… What kind of musicals are cool?”

Paul remained silent for a moment, arms crossed, thinking hard.

“Hamilton!”

Ben nodded with a bright smile.

“Excellent choice! I love that one too, it would be brilliant!”

“You’re welcome. I am unbelievably smart indeed, thank you, I am well aware of that.”

“Thank you, Paul,” Ben bowed down dramatically, making both of them laugh.

Paul had to leave for a class shortly after. Ben prepared himself a warm cup of tea before sitting down behind his desk, ready to go back to work. He still had to go through the lesson he was giving the next day to some of the first-year students, and then go through several articles, fill up a form to get access to some rare documents of the local archives, and he also had to check for a trip to London to the British Library to work on original manuscripts in the coming months…

He heaved a sigh: so many things to do. He picked up a blank sheet of paper and wrote down his to-do list, pushing up his glasses as they began slipping down his nose. He stared at the list for a moment, checking if he had forgotten anything else…

Oh, but he needed to find another musical! He remembered then that you had agreed on three plays to propose for a vote to your students. One you could choose individually, and one you would settle on together. He needed to come up with one more option…

He thought about it for a few minutes, but his brain was already set on this lesson he had to prepare, and he gave up quickly. He couldn’t focus on this now. Besides, he reckoned that his impressive collection of films at home would help him find inspiration. For now, he merely added another line at the bottom of his to-do list, set the paper next to his computer screen, and went back to work.

Ex-husband. Ex. That was still a term you had to wrap your mind around.

Ex.

It was a strange feeling, really. Saying goodbye to the person you believed would spend the rest of his life with you. And all of a sudden, by the gain of this little particle before his designation, all your plans for the next 60 years had to be re-written.

Ex. That's what these two little letters meant. A whole life planned out and vanishing.

It was outstanding, really, what two tiny letters could carry within their shapes. It wasn't just a new way to define a person, that was only what a dictionary would have offered as a definition. But you knew better, you taught English Literature after all. You tried to teach that to your students. Words mean more than what the dictionary reveals.

Inside these two letters were the months spent fighting with him. The weeks you didn't sleep. The rage within your ribcage. The loss. The grief. The doubts. The loneliness of coming home to an empty house when you had believed you would never have to do that again. Thinking of ways to tell your daughter until you got headaches. The lawyers. A pen. Signing your name, the same signature as the one you had used when you got married, this time to break a vow instead of building one. It was staring at your wedding ring for weeks without being able to take it off; and then finally slipping it off your finger while crying and hiding it away in a drawer. It was removing his pictures in your house. It was finding a new place because your home felt too empty without him. It was staring at his name for hours on your phone screen in the dark of your bedroom without dialling the number. It was waking up alone. It was sharing custody of your daughter. It was grief. And then… then it was fear. Fear that maybe there was something wrong with you, and that it was the reason why it didn't work out in the first place.

That was where you were at after a year of separation. It was tough, you weren't going to deny it. It was hell, even. But you still got out of bed every morning, so you reckoned you weren't doing so bad.

The flat felt empty and too silent without your daughter around. It was the weekend, and she was with your husband.

No, ex-husband. Ex.

The infamous two little letters.

You were alone in your apartment, just scrolling on your phone at random while something was on TV, but you didn't even know what it was. A movie of some kind. Despite the noise coming from the screen, there were no giggles from your daughter, you couldn't hear her play or draw, rummaging through all her little pencils. Instead, you were stuck with the TV screen. It felt lonely.

That was the hardest part: you were lonely.

You hadn't felt that way since you started dating your ex. Even when the two of you were apart because of a business trip, the only knowledge that he was missing you filled the hole in your chest. But there was nothing now to ease the feeling.

Sometimes, like today, you even missed him. Even wished the two of you were fighting, at least then you wouldn't be on your own. It was stupid and you knew it, but what else could you do against a pain like that?

Your friends encouraged you to go out more, now that you were single again, and some of your evenings were free when your daughter was with her father. But it wasn't the point, and your friends didn't get it. Even when you were with them, you were lonely. It wasn't about seeing friends, it was about being alone. You weren't sure how to explain it, weren’t sure how to find the right words. Ironic for someone who spent her life studying the words of others…

You stood up in a jolt and moved to your bedroom to open a drawer. The strength of your movement disrupted some of your clothes, although your drawer was more of a messy agglomeration of fabric than anything else. Folding took too long, after all. You rummaged through the socks, t-shirts and jeans until you found that little velvet box you had been looking for. Two rings inside, for when Steve proposed and when he married you. You were crying before you could even notice.

You almost wished it wasn't over. Almost. You had to leave him though.

But you were alone now, and what if you couldn't love anyone else?

Or worse, what if no one else could love you?

No, you couldn’t let yourself think this way. You were not perfect by any means, but your husband was also to blame for the end of your marriage. Actually, it was mostly his fault. You had made a bargain, and he didn’t respect his part of the agreement.

You threw the box back into your drawer, burying it deep under your clothes, and stormed out of the room.

You needed something to do. And this bloody TV was completely uninteresting.

What to do? What to do…? Watch a movie! That would take your mind off of your self-pity. Alright, a movie… what movie…

You scanned the shelf upon which you kept your DVDs. You could have checked Netflix, but didn’t feel like it. You wanted a safe option, something you were certain to enjoy. So your own DVDs it was…

Your finger ran across the boxes until you found the perfect one. A movie that would make you cry but in the best way.

You got yourself some popcorn before settling with a warm blanket on your sofa, as the first notes of Moulin Rouge! played.

Ewan McGregor’s sweet voice… it was just what you needed.

Ben had spent a lovely day. A nice run early in this Sunday morning while the sun was still shy and delicate. He had spent quite a while on the phone with his parents, and then with his brother. Then he had met up with a couple of friends for a late lunch, and after a walk across the city he had ended his day by a couple of hours reading. Dinner while listening to the news on the radio, and finally, he was about to settle for a nice movie night. Just what he needed to be full of energy to start a brand-new week the next day.

He had poured himself a glass of red wine and was about to settle in front of some Netflix show he had been binge-watching that week, when he suddenly caught a glimpse of a small piece of paper set on his coffee table.

He heaved a sigh as he picked it up, already knowing what it said, but reading the last line anyway.

On the to-do list, all the tasks had been crossed out, except for one. The last line.

Find another musical - theatre club

He bit his lip, hesitated, but decided he had to complete this one last task. He would keep on thinking about it while watching his show if he didn’t, and he couldn’t have that. It would ruin his evening.

So, instead of settling under a warm blanket, he turned on his heels and walked to the bookshelves on which he kept his DVD collection. A collection he had curated for years. He was almost as proud of it as he was of his book collection. And that was saying a lot…

He narrowed his eyes a little, having left his glasses on his coffee table, and scanned the titles of the movies in search for inspiration. He did have a respectable choice of musicals, as he enjoyed the genre very much. The perfect mix of storytelling and music… how could he not like that?

He scanned the titles, letting his finger run across the boxes to guide his eyes.

Hair? No. Awesome music, but he didn’t feel like doing something so political.

Les Mis? No, too long, and too depressing.

The Sound of Music was your choice already.

My fair lady? Too much of a classic, and he needed something cooler to contradict your impression of him.

West Side Story? You had used your veto for this one.

His finger stopped on the next one. He took a sip of alcohol, staring at the title for a moment, before picking it up from the shelf.

He turned off Netflix to watch his DVD instead.

Settling on his couch as the first notes echoed through his apartment, Ben smiled, knowing that he had made the right choice.

The world of prostitution and parties in the Paris of the end of the 19th century, with a passionate and yet tragic love story, and a set of amazing songs… you would see if he had a ‘stick up his arse…’.

Yes, Moulin Rouge! was the perfect choice.

Ha… and Ewan McGregor’s sweet voice! Yes, as Ben took another sip of his red wine, he reckoned that this was a perfect evening indeed.

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