#I wrote a fic and want to write this right now

[lostfracturess]

REMEMBER ME IN SUMMER — SATORU GOJO

pairing — one night stand!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — six months ago, you left satoru gojo's apartment before sunrise, thinking you'd never see him again. now, trapped in a beach house for a weekend with mutual friends, you're forced to face the man who doesn't seem to remember that night—or does he? between shared walls, heated touches, and games of pretend, you're starting to think maybe one night wasn't enough after all. but in a house full of friends, some things are better left in the past… right?

word count — 9.5 k

genre/tags — beach house AU, summer romance, one night stand to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, tension, awkward reunions, friends gathering, miscommunication, beach vibes, satoru is a little menace in this one

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, all characters aged up (mid 20s), language

author's note — hi everyone ! this fic came out of nowhere, and i literally wrote it in three days, but i really love the idea and the summer vibes in this one, even tho i wrote it while it was literally snowing outside, but somewhere on earth it's summer rn, so why not post it lol. hope you enjoy this mess of a summer romance story as much as i enjoyed writing it ! <3 (credit/art)

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The last person you expected to see in Okinawa was Satoru Gojo.

Yet there he was, lounging on the deck of the beach house like he belonged there, white hair catching the sunlight as he laughed at something someone had said. Your heart tumbled over itself as memories of that night six months ago flooded back unbidden.

"You okay?" Maki nudged you with her elbow. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

More like the ghost of past bad decisions. "I'm fine," you managed, gripping your weekend bag tighter. "Wasn't expecting so many people."

The beach house was supposed to be a simple weekend getaway with close friends. But somewhere between planning and execution, it had turned into a "friends of friends" situation to fill the eight-bedroom house Okkotsu's family had offered.

"Yeah, Yuta's cousin's boyfriend invited some people to fill the space," Maki explained, completely unaware of your internal crisis. "That's Satoru over there, by the way. He's actually pretty fun once you get past the whole—" She gestured vaguely at all of him.

You wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. Because you were already very familiar with how "fun" Satoru Gojo could be.

Six months ago, you'd met him at a bar in Tokyo. He'd been charming and gorgeous, all easy smiles and playful banter. One drink had turned into several, flirting had turned into kissing, and kissing had turned into...

Well.

You'd slipped out of his apartment before dawn, leaving nothing but a lipstick stain on his collar and a dip in his pillow. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. You weren't looking for anything serious, and someone like him definitely wasn't the settling down type.

Now, watching him chat lively with your friends like the universe's cruelest joke, you wondered if you should have at least left your number.

"Girl," Maki waved her hand in front of your face. "You sure you're okay?"

Before you could answer, Satoru looked up. His eyes met yours across the deck, and for a moment, your heart stopped. 

But there was no recognition in those sea blue eyes. No hint that he remembered the way you'd gasped his name in the dark, the way his hands had traced every inch of your skin, the way he'd whispered "stay" against your shoulder just before you'd fallen asleep.

He just smiled politely, the same smile he’s probably giving everyone else too, and went back to his conversation.

Right. Of course he didn't remember. You were probably just one in a long line of one-night stands for someone like him. The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it did.

"Come on," Maki said, tugging you towards the house. "Let's get settled in before the others arrive.”

Up close, the beach house was even more impressive. A sprawling three-story mansion of white stone and floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the afternoon light like rippling water, a wraparound veranda with a cozy sitting area led to a private path down to the beach, lined with swaying palms and colourful flowers.

Inside, the house opened into a huge room with soaring ceilings and an open floor plan that made the space feel endless. Ocean views followed you everywhere through the massive windows, and the whole place smelled of salt and lemon.

"The bedrooms are upstairs," Maki said as she led you up a floating staircase. "Most of them are on the second floor, but there are two master bedrooms on the third."

The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. Not only did you have to spend the weekend pretending you didn’t know how Satoru's brows draw together when he'd cum, but your room ended up right next to his—the two largest bedrooms on the top floor, sharing a wall and a connecting balcony. Of course.

Your room was bigger than your entire apartment in Tokyo, with a king-size bed draped in soft white linens. One wall was entirely glass, offering an unobstructed view of the ocean, while the other walls were decorated with pictures and minimalist art.

"My god, the view’s amazing!" Maki gushed and threw open the balcony doors. The sound of waves immediately filled the room, along with fresh, salty ocean air. "You can see the whole beach from here." 

But you were too busy staring at the wall next to you, where a door that must lead to Satoru's room was hidden behind a cupboard. You could hear muffled movement from his room, the sound of his laugh drifting through the wall that suddenly felt far too thin and your mind helpfully supplied memories of other sounds he could make, and you wondered if it was too late to fake some sudden illness and go home.

"Yeah," you said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "Amazing."

Maki flopped down beside you, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. "I know I've been here like five times already with Yuta, but it never gets old." She rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on her hands. "Usually it's just us and his family, maybe a few cousins. This is the first time we're doing a friend group thing."

You tried to focus on her words instead of the sound of suitcases being wheeled into the room next door. "How long have you and Yuta been coming here?"

"Since we started dating three years ago. His family does this whole summer tradition thing." She smiled. "First time I came, I was so nervous I barely left the room. Now it feels like a second home." She sat up, crossing her legs. “And since his parents said we could use it this weekend, we thought why not invite friends.”

Through the wall, you could hear male voices chatting and laughing, followed by the sound of a door sliding open. Probably the balcony doors. Your shared balcony. Where he could walk past your windows at any time.

“You’re okay with this, right? Yuta’s friends are actually really fun once you get to know them. Especially Satoru, even tho he can be a pain in the ass.” Your stupid heart tumbled over itself once more at his name. "And single, if you're interested. I could—"

"No!" The word came out louder than intended, and you heard the conversation next door pause briefly. Lowering your voice, you added, "I mean, no thanks. Not really looking for anything right now."

Maki gave you a strange look. "You sure you're okay? You've been weird since we got here."

"Just tired from the drive," you lied and stood up. "Maybe I'll take a quick shower before everyone else arrives."

"Okay..." She didn't sound convinced but got up anyway. "I should go find Yuta anyway, make sure he's not letting Satoru destroy any of Yuta's mum's favourite vases."

You waited until she left before falling with your face first onto the bed with a groan. Perfect. Not only did you have to spend the weekend next door to your one night stand who might or might not remember you, but now your best friend was trying to set you up with him.

Through the wall, you heard Satoru laugh at something, the sound familiar enough to make your chest ache. 

It was going to be a very long weekend.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 

You'd barely finished unpacking when Yuji burst into your room without knocking. "Hey! We're setting up a net for beach volleyball. You in?"

"Ah, I don't really—"

"Everyone's playing!" He was already on his way back to the door. "Even Megumi, and you know how he is about fun."

Before you could form a proper excuse, Maki appeared behind him. "Come on, it'll be fun, the sun is out and it’s better than hiding up here all afternoon."

And that's how you found yourself trudging down to the beach, trying to convince yourself this was fine. Totally fine. Just a fun game of volleyball with friends. Nothing to worry about.

But then the boys started stripping off their shirts. It was like watching some ridiculous scene out of Top Gun as they all shed their shirt in the afternoon heat. But it was Satoru who made your brain go silent completely. 

He pulled his shirt off, and suddenly you were having vivid flashbacks to exactly how that toned chest felt under your hands. The sun caught his hair like a halo, and when he stretched his arms over his head, the muscles in his back shifted in ways that should not make your knees so weak, but here you were, rooted to the spot, your pulse racing as if it had a mind of its own.

"You're staring," Maki whispered next to you.

"I'm not," you said, even though you definitely were. How could you not? It was like someone had taken every beach volleyball scene from every summer movie ever and combined them into one ridiculous moment.

Teams were forming, and with an uneven number, you volunteered to sit this round out. Not that you were particularly eager to participate in the first place. You were perfectly happy watching from the safety of your beach towel, where the risk of accidentally brushing against Satoru's unnecessarily perfect body was thankfully minimized.

The game started, and it quickly became clear that everyone was taking it way too seriously, as Satoru and Yuji seemed to be in some sort of competition to see who could spike the ball more impressively. 

"Show off," you muttered to yourself as Satoru delivered a rather dramatic jump serve, the ball landing dangerously close to your foot. But he must have heard you, because he caught your eye with a wink that made your stomach flutter. "Like what you see?"

"I've seen better," you said before you could stop yourself.

His eyebrows shot up and a slow smile spread across his face. "Have you now?"

Oh god. Were you flirting? This was definitely flirting. You needed to stop staring at the way sweat was making his skin glisten and focus on... literally anything else.

"Pay attention!" Nobara yelled, and Satoru barely managed to dodge the ball she'd spiked directly at his head.

The game continued, growing more competitive with each round. You had to admit, it was entertaining watching your friends become more and more dramatic with each point. One of Yuta’s cousins and Yuji had some sort of rivalry going on, while Maki and Nobara were trash-talking each other.

But it was Satoru who kept drawing your attention. The way he moved was almost unfair and you found yourself following the drops of sweat as they made their way down his neck, remembering how that skin had tasted under your tongue.

"Incoming!"

You looked up just in time to see the volleyball heading straight for your face. Before you could react, Satoru dove in front of you and caught the ball just inches from your nose. The movement sent him sprawling across your legs, his face entirely too close to yours.

You blinked at him for a few moments, then whispered, "Thank you.” But the words came out too soft, almost like they had that night in Tokyo when he'd helped you into a taxi and then convinced you not to take it and instead come home with him.

Time seemed to slow, the crashing waves and voices of the others fading into white noise as Satoru's eyes met yours. For a moment, something flickered in those blue depths—a flash of recognition, perhaps even remembrance. 

His breath caught, barely noticeable, and his hand on your leg tightened ever so slightly. You watched his eyes, saw the exact moment his gaze dropped to your lips, and suddenly you were back in that Tokyo bar, both of you caught in that same magnetic pull.

"You're welcome," he said, his voice so low that only you could hear it. There was something in his tone, a hint of question, like he was trying to place a hazy dream. His thumb brushed against your skin, possibly by accident, possibly not, sending shivers up your spine.

The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, thick with shared memories—memories you weren't even sure he had. Then someone yelled "Dinner!" from the direction of the house, and the spell broke.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

The sun was setting by the time everyone had showered and gathered around the huge dining table on the deck. Fairy lights twinkled overhead and the sound of the waves could be heard in the background as the chaos of fifteen people trying to organize a meal unfolded.

You'd taken extra care getting ready, telling yourself it was just because of the salt and sand, not because of the way Satoru had looked at you on the beach. You'd chosen a light summer dress that happened to be the exact shade of blue as his eyes—pure coincidence, of course—and had let your hair dry naturally in the sea breeze.

Yuta ended up ordering way too much from the local seafood restaurant, you concluded as you surveyed the spread of food on the table. 

You ended up squeezed between Maki and Megumi, which should have been a relief. Instead, you found yourself very aware of Satoru sitting directly across from you, his hair still slightly damp from his shower, wearing a loose white linen shirt that he should really button up and stop teasing the entire table with glimpses of his toned chest.

"Pass the crab?" he asked, and when you handed him the plate, your fingers brushed. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you could have sworn you saw his breath catch. But then he was turning to laugh at something Yuji said, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.

"—and then he just fell face first right into the sand!" Yuji was saying, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks. "You should have seen it!"

"We were all there, literally two hours ago," Megumi deadpanned.

"The game was rigged anyway," Nobara said, reaching for another plate of grilled shrimp. "You can't put Mr. Perfect over here on a team and expect it to be fair." She jerked her thumb in Satoru's direction.

"What can you do?" Satoru said, his eyebrows knitted together, but a grin played on his lips. "I just happen to be naturally gifted." And then his eyes caught yours once more across the table. 

Heat crept up the back of your neck as you remembered how he'd felt when he'd sprawled across your legs, his skin sun warm and slightly sandy. How his touch had lingered just a fraction too long to be casual. 

Something had changed in his expression, so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. But you'd spent hours that night memorizing his faces. His smirk when he had you right on the edge, his soft smile when you were trembling beneath him, the way his eyes darkened just before he—

Maki snorted. "Yeah, sure." And you looked over at her, breaking the eye contact before you could do something stupid like climb across the table and find out if he tasted as good as you remembered.

When the dinner was over, Nobara suggested to play drinking games, truth or dare to be specific, to which "What are we, fifteen?" Megumi commented but Maki already chimed in with "Never ever I ever" and so it was decided.

Your stomach dropped. The last thing you needed was a drinking game where people confessed their secrets. Especially with the way Satoru kept looking at you, like he was one memory away from connecting dots you really didn't want connected.

"I think I'll pass," you said, pushing your plate away. "The sun really did take it out of me."

You gathered your plates and the sound of the others setting up their drinking game followed you into the kitchen—Yuji's voice carrying over everyone else's as he argued about rules, Nobara shouting something about "no questions about exes," and Megumi's long drawn out sighs.

A salty ocean breeze swept into the kitchen through the open wall of windows overlooking the water as you rinsed your plate. "You know," a voice came from behind you, making you jump, "I was starting to think you hate me."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Satoru—would recognize that voice anywhere, had spent months trying to forget how it sounded when it was rough after he’d cum. But you turned anyway, finding him leaning against the doorframe and the kitchen suddenly felt so much smaller. 

"What?" The word came out embarrassingly breathless.

"Let me rephrase, for someone who doesn't hate me, you're doing an impressive job of avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you.” You turned back to the sink. "I'm doing dishes."

"Sure. The dishes." His voice got closer, and you could feel the heat of him just behind you. "Though I have to wonder why someone would work so hard to avoid someone they've never met before."

Your hands stilled under the running water. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've barely looked at me all day." He was close enough now that you could smell his perfume that had lingered on your clothes for days after that night. "Want to tell me what I did to deserve the cold shoulder? Because usually, I at least remember if I've pissed someone off."

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it, but at the same time the irony of his words made you want to laugh. "You haven't done anything," you said, which was technically true. He hadn't done anything wrong. Except maybe be too good in bed and then forget about it entirely.

"No?" His voice dropped lower, and you could feel his breath on your neck. "Then why—" He cut himself off. "Wait. Have we met before?"

You spun around, hands dripping water onto the floor. The motion brought you chest to chest with him, trapped between his body and the counter. "No," you said, too quickly, way too quickly. "Definitely not."

"You sure about that? Because you seem familiar—"

"Must just have one of those faces."

He moved closer still, one hand braced on the counter beside your hip, effectively caging you in. "Is that so? Because I’m sure I’d remember a pretty one like yours." You felt your breath catch in your throat, every nerve in your body screaming. He was going to kiss you, wasn't he? You should probably do something. Like move. Or breathe.

But then he simply stepped back, his smile widening. "Sorry. Must have mistaken you for someone else,” he said and the loss of his warmth felt like whiplash, leaving you cold despite the summer heat that still lingered in the air. You watched him retreat towards the door, casual as anything, like he hadn't just turned your world sideways.

Through the open door, laughter spilled in from the deck, breaking the spell that had held you captive. Satoru paused in the doorway for a moment, silhouetted against the warm light from outside, before disappearing back into the noise of your friends.

You stayed at the sink, trying to convince yourself that the heat in your cheeks was just from the summer air and ignoring the way your heart refused to settle in your chest. What had just happened? You had no idea. But one thing was painfully certain.

This weekend was going to be a long one.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

Next morning, you decided to get up early and have your coffee on the beach before anyone else was awake. Sleep had been hard to come by anyway, with too many thoughts of certain one night stands keeping your mind racing. 

Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky in orange and gold watercolours and the ocean stretched out before you, quiet and calm, each small wave catching the early light like diamonds.

You'd wrapped yourself in an oversized cardigan against the morning chill, bare feet buried in sand that was still cool from the night before. And of course, because the universe hated you, that's when Satoru appeared.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, settling into the sand beside you without invitation.

You clutched your coffee mug tighter. "Something like that."

"Yeah, me neither." He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and you definitely didn't notice how his shorts rode up slightly, definitely weren't thinking about how those thighs had felt under your hands. "Keep having these weird dreams."

"Oh?"

"Mmm." As he turned to look at you, the rising sun painted his profile gold, catching his eyelashes. There was something different about him in this light — softer somehow, more like the man who'd asked you to stay than the one who'd cornered you in the kitchen last night. "About a girl in a black dress. Red lipstick. The most amazing laugh I've ever heard."

Your heart stopped.

"Funny thing is," he continued casually, "I can never quite see her face in the dreams. But I remember how she tasted. How she felt pinned beneath me. How she clenching around my fingers. How she said my name when she—"

"Stop," you whispered.

"Why?" His voice was softer now. "Because you don't want to talk about that night? Or because you thought I wouldn't remember?"

You stared at the ocean, unable to meet his gaze. "You didn't seem to yesterday."

"Don’t be stupid. I recognized you the moment you walked into the beach house."

Your coffee nearly slipped from your hands. "What?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't remember the girl who stole my favourite shirt on her way out the door?"

Heat flooded your cheeks, you totally forgotten about the shirt. "Then yesterday, in the kitchen—"

"I wanted to see how long you'd keep pretending." He smiled, the bastard had the audacity to smile at you when he revealed that he was playing you the whole time. "You're cute when you're nervous, you know that?”

"You're mocking me."

"Mocking you?" His eyebrows rose. Then he leaned closer to you, but you still refused to look at him. "I spent six months trying to find the girl with the kind of laugh that makes you feel drunk just hearing it, who left before I could ask for her number—" 

"It was just one night," you interrupted.

"Was it? Because I distinctly remember asking you to stay."

"I couldn't."

"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?"

You finally met his gaze fully, and immediately wished you hadn't. Because he was looking at you the same way he had that night. He was enjoying this, wasn't he? Playing with you, teasing you, making you feel like a flustered schoolgirl. 

"Does it matter?" you asked.

"You're really a bit slow, aren't you?"

You wanted to protest, to tell him exactly what you thought of his arrogant everything, but then Maki's voice carried across the beach, "Breakfast! Come and get it before Yuji eats everything!"

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

The breakfast table was just as chaotic as the dinner the night before. Fifteen people crammed around the table had that effect, especially with Yuji already piling his plate high with pancakes while Nobara complained about him taking too many. 

You'd barely settled into an empty chair when Satoru slid into the seat next to you, as if he hadn't just admitted that he'd been playing jokes on you the whole day before. 

"Can you pass me the syrup?" he asked innocently, but there was nothing innocent about the way his thigh pressed against yours under the table. 

You handed him the bottle without looking at him, trying to focus on pouring your coffee without spilling it everywhere. Which was made all the more difficult when his hand found your knee under the table.

"So what's everyone's plans for today?" Maki asked, passing around a plate of fresh fruit.

You tried to concentrate on the conversation, you really did. But Satoru's hand was inching higher up your thigh, and your brain was shorted out. You kicked him under the table, aiming for his shin.

He didn't even flinch, just smiled wider and continued whatever conversation he was having with Megumi about later activities, all while his fingers danced along the hem of your shorts. You felt a sudden surge of heat, definitely not from the summer sun.

"You okay?" Nobara asked suddenly. "You look a bit flushed."

"Fine!" Your voice came out higher than intended as Satoru's fingers skimmed just slightly under the edge of your shorts. "Just... hot."

"It is pretty warm this morning," Satoru agreed, his tone perfectly pleasant even as his thumb pressed into that sensitive spot on your inner thigh that he somehow remembered. The bastard. You kicked him again, harder this time.

"Did someone just kick the table?" Maki looked around suspiciously.

"Must have been the wind," you said stupidly.

You grabbed his wrist under the table, intending to push his hand away, but he just interlaced his fingers with yours and kept them there on your thigh. It was like he was asserting dominance, staking his claim, and you were suddenly trapped.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay?" Yuji asked through a mouthful of pancakes. "You're acting weird."

"Totally fine," you managed. "Just didn't sleep well."

"Hmm, me neither," Satoru chimed in, his voice all false innocence. "Must be all these weird dreams I keep having." You dug your nails into his hand in warning, but he just squeezed your hand in response, his grip tightening.

"Dreams?" Nobara asked.

"Oh, you know," Satoru began thoughtfully, "the kind that keep you up all night, thinking about... things that got away."

You were going to murder him. Slowly. Possibly with the butter knife you were currently gripping way too tight.

"That's... weirdly poetic for you," Maki said, raising an eyebrow.

"You wouldn't want to know,” he replied, and you felt his fingers inch just slightly higher once more, making you jump and bang your knee on the table.

"Jesus, what is wrong with you two this morning?" Nobara asked, looking between you and Satoru.

Under the table, you finally managed to grab his hand in yours and hold it still. But that backfired when he started playing with your fingers instead, his thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that made you gasp. You definitely wanted to kill him. Right after you figured out how to breathe normally again.

"So, beach day? I wanna go snorkelling," Yuji said, thankfully drawing attention away from whatever was going on under the table, and everyone agreed. JJust then, Satoru freed his hand from yours and placed it back on your knee before trailing it up your thigh. 

Okay, nope this had to end now.

"I need more coffee," you announced abruptly, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the deck.

"I'll help," Satoru offered, already rising.

"No!" The word came out too sharp, making everyone look at you strangely. "I mean, I'm good. Thanks."

You practically fled into the kitchen, your skin still tingling where he'd touched you. Through the window, you could see him chatting with the others, looking completely unaffected while you were here trying to remember how to make your heart beat normally.

When is this weekend going to end?

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

"You sure you're okay?" Maki asked, swimming up beside you. "You've been weird all morning. Is the sun too much?"

"I'm fine," you said for what felt like the hundredth time today. "I’m not used to be around so many people."

The water was crystal clear, stretching out in various shades of blue that seemed to go on forever. Everyone had eagerly jumped into snorkeling, with Yuji and Nobara already in a heated competition about who could spot the most fish.

You adjusted your mask for the tenth time, trying to focus on anything except how good Satoru looked in just swim shorts. He was a few meters away, the sunlight catching the droplets of water that clung to his ridiculously toned shoulders.

My God. You needed distance. You needed space to breathe, to think, to do anything other than stare at him.

"If you say so." Maki didn't look convinced. "But tell me if something’s bothering you, okay?"

If only she knew. "Sure."

"Guys, come look at this!" Yuji called from where he was floating near some corals. "Rainbow fish!" 

Everyone swam over to where he was pointing, and you had to admit, the sight was beautiful. Countless colourful fish swam through the coral, creating a vibrant palette under the water.

You followed the fish as a sudden pressure against your calf made you flinch. Satoru. He had brushed against your leg. It could have been an accident, a mere consequence of the crowded water, but somehow, it felt like anything but. You knew better. Nothing about Satoru was ever accidental.

You drifted slightly away from the group, desperately needing to put some distance between yourself and Satoru. The vibrant corals blurred into streaks of colour as you swam further from the group, the shouts of Yuji and Nobara fading.

The water a bit away from them was deeper, a darker shade of blue. As you peered down, you noticed the sandy ground was dotted with small stones, and a different kind of life seemed to thrive here. Sea anemones swayed gently in the current, and schools of silver fish, smaller than the ones near the reef, darted in and out of the anemones.

You floated on your back for a moment, gazing up at the sky, a vast expanse of pale blue flecked with fluffy white clouds as the sun warmed your face. It was so peaceful, and you were happy for the small pause amidst the chaos of the house.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

You startled at Satoru's voice right behind you, nearly inhaling water through your snorkel. He'd somehow managed to swim up without you noticing, and now he was close enough that his arm brushed yours in the water.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, pulling your snorkel out.

"I know a better spot.” He nodded towards a more secluded area around the curve of the beach. "If you're interested."

You glanced back at the others, but they were all absorbed in whatever Yuji had found. "I don't think—"

"Come on," he said, already swimming away. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not even a little bit." But found yourself following him anyway.

He led you around a small outcropping of rocks, the current tugging gently at your fins, to a quieter part of the reef. His hand on your arm gently guided you through the water. The water here was somehow even clearer, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a breathtaking underwater scenery with colourful coral formations that created a labyrinth of archways and caverns with small fish swimming in between.

"How did you—"

"I came here earlier this morning," he said, treading water close to you. "While you were pretending to ignore me after breakfast."

"I wasn't—" You cut yourself off as he dove under the surface, the sunlight playing across his back as he swam deeper.

You followed him down, your breath taken away by the sight. This part of the reef was like something out of a documentary. Swarms of tropical fish swirled around you in ribbons of colour, and the coral itself seemed to shine in the filtered sunlight.

When you surfaced, Satoru was watching you with an annoyingly knowing smile. "Worth following me?"

"It's alright," you said, trying to sound unimpressed even though you were anything but.

He laughed. "You're still trying to play hard to get?"

"I'm not playing anything."

"No?" He swam closer, close enough that you could see droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. "Then why did you follow me here?"

"To see the fish.”

"The fish." His voice was amused. "Sure. That's why you've been watching me all morning?"

"I have not—"

"You know," he cut you off, moving even closer, his body brushing against yours in the water. "You're pretty when you get all flustered. Just like that night in Tokyo. Same flush you had when I made you cum three times.”

Ha? Had he been keeping count or what? You frantically tried to replay that night in your head — there was the first time against his apartment door, then on the kitchen counter, and... oh god, he was right. The bastard had been counting. The smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

You splashed water at him. "We are not talking about Tokyo."

He wiped water from his face, grinning. "No? Should we talk about this morning instead? About how you nearly jumped out of your skin when I touched your—"

You dunked him mid-sentence.

He came up spluttering, pushing wet hair from his eyes. "Okay, I probably deserved that."

"You definitely deserved that."

But he laughed, and despite yourself, you found yourself laughing too. There was something infectious about him, something that made it hard to keep your walls up, dissolving your defenses with unnerving ease, like mist beneath the morning sun.

"We should head back," you said finally. "Before they come looking for us."

"Probably," he agreed, but made no move to leave. Instead, he floated closer, until his chest pressed against yours. "Or we could stay here a bit longer. I could remind you of all the other ways I can make you wet."

Heat flooded your body. "Satoru..."

"Yes?" His hands found your waist under the water, pulling you flush against him. One thigh slipped between yours, and you had to bite back a gasp at the friction. "You know, I still remember exactly how you sound when you're trying not to moan my name."

"We can't." But your body betrayed you, arching into his touch as his fingers skimmed along your ribs, dangerously close to your breast.

"Can't?" His lips ghosted over your lips, his thumb tracing circles on your hip under the water in a way that made you think of how those fingers had felt inside you. "Or are you afraid you won't be able to keep quiet this time?"

Before you could answer, Nobara's voice carried across the water. "Where did you guys go?"

You pushed away from him quickly, already swimming back towards the group. "Coming!"

"This isn't over," he called after you, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"It never started!" you shot back, but you were smiling too.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

Satoru spent the rest of the afternoon driving you absolutely insane.

After snorkeling, he'd positioned his beach towel suspiciously close to yours, spending an unnecessary amount of time applying sunscreen to his chest and arms. His movements were deliberately slow, borderline pornographic, fingers sliding over muscle in a way that had you remembering exactly how those muscles had felt flexing under your tongue. 

You knew without a doubt he was putting on a show for you—every movement a reminder of how those arms had looked braced above you as he'd fucked you against his apartment door, how they'd felt pinning your wrists to his sheets.

During lunch, he'd somehow ended up next to you again, his bare thigh pressed hot against yours under the table like this morning had taught him nothing. Except this time, his hand didn't just rest on your knee. It spent the entire meal tracing patterns up your thigh, fingertips dancing dangerous close to where you'd been aching for him.

Your breath caught every time his hand "accidentally" slipped under the hem of your shorts, remembering how those fingers had curled inside you, how they'd made you beg.

The afternoon beach volleyball rematch was even worse. He kept finding excuses to touch you—steadying you with a hand on your waist when you stumbled in the sand (the same way he'd gripped your hips while taking you from behind), reaching around you to grab the ball (his breath hot on your neck like when he'd whispered how good you felt around him), his chest pressing against your back, closer than needed (making you remember how it felt to be pressed between him and that apartment door).

But dinner? Dinner was pure torture.

He'd shown up freshly showered, hair still damp and tousled in that way that made your fingers itch to grab it (like you had when he was between your thighs), wearing a dark blue linen shirt that he hadn't bothered to button properly once more and spent the entire meal finding new ways to make you squirm.

He'd catch your eye across the table and slowly lick sauce off his thumb, making you remember exactly how that tongue had felt when he'd spread you open. When passing dishes, his fingers would brush against yours unnecessarily long, making you shiver. At one point, he'd stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal his lower abs that had you gripping your fork so hard your knuckles turned white.

He knew exactly what he was doing, too—you could tell by the smug look on his face throughout the whole dinner. 

Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice anything amiss. They were all too busy with their own conversations, completely oblivious to the way he was systematically dismantling your sanity with nothing more than glances and touches.

Every time you thought you'd gotten yourself under control, he'd do something else — run his fingers through his hair the same way he had when you'd been on your knees in front of him, or bite his lip in a way that had you crossing your legs under the table. By dessert, you were a mess of sexual frustration and murderous impulses. 

He was enjoying this, the bastard. Testing your control, seeing how far he could push before you broke. And the most infuriating part? 

It was working. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

After dinner, everyone wandered into the living room in various states of food induced laziness. You'd barely managed to claim a corner of the big couch when Nobara disappeared into the kitchen, returning with an armful of wine bottles and a certain look in her eye that spelled trouble.

"No one move," she announced, setting the bottles on the coffee table. "I have an idea."

"Your ideas usually end with someone crying," Megumi commented from his spot on the floor.

"Or arrested," Maki added helpfully.

"Or both," you muttered, trying to ignore how Satoru had somehow appeared in the armchair closest to your corner of the couch. He'd rolled up his sleeves during dinner, forearms on full display, and you were having a hard time not staring at his fingers. Fingers that you knew from experience felt so good in your mouth to keep you from—

"Never have I ever!" Nobara's voice cut through your dangerous train of thought. A collective groan rose from the group.

"Not again," Megumi said, already trying to get up.

"Sit your ass down," Nobara commanded, pushing him back down. "We're bonding."

"We bonded plenty last night," you Yuta tried, but Nobara was having none of it and before you knew it, everyone agreed.

"Okay, I'll start easy," Yuji said, clearly excited despite his earlier protests. "Never have I ever cheated on a test."

Several people drank, including Satoru—and you, okay let’s be real. 

The questions started innocent enough. Never have I ever broken a bone. Never have I ever been arrested. Never have I ever dyed my hair. But as the wine flowed, the questions got progressively more suggestive.

"Never have I ever kissed someone of the same gender," Maki said, and half the circle drank. "Never have I ever faked it," was Nobara's contribution, and several people groaned but drank.

You were starting to feel a bit hazy, the wine making everything feel warm and soft around the edges. Which was dangerous, because Satoru kept looking at you like he was remembering exactly how you'd sounded that night when you definitely hadn't been faking anything.

"Never have I ever," one of Yuta’s cousins announced then, "had sex with someone in this room." For a moment, no one moved. Then Yuta and Maki drank, of course. And then Satoru raised his own glass slowly and took a long sip.

"Who?" Nobara shrieked, looking around the circle. "Satoru just drank, so someone else here has to—" Her gaze swept over everyone suspiciously.

"Someone's lying," Maki sang, already tipsy enough to find this hilarious. "Come on, fess up!"

You kept your face carefully neutral, even as you felt Satoru's eyes burning into you. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not this time.

"Maybe it was before any of us knew each other," Yuji suggested, but Nobara shook her head.

"No way. Look at his face!" She pointed accusingly at Satoru. "He's got that look. You know, that 'I know something you don't know' look."

Satoru just smiled lazily from his armchair, swirling the wine in his glass. "Maybe I just like keeping you all guessing."

"You're a dumbass," Nobara said, but the group's attention was already shifting as Yuji launched into the next question, something about falling asleep at work.

You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, but made the mistake of glancing at Satoru and he gave you a look that sent a shiver of heat through you over his wine glass. 

God, you were going to murder him. Slowly. Painfully. Preferably with the very wine glass he was currently smirking into. 

Who did he think he was, just casually drinking like that, nearly exposing everything? He could have at least warned you, given you some sign he was about to blow up your secret. But no, he'd just taken that deliberate sip, probably getting hard on watching you squirm as you tried to keep your poker face. 

That sick bastard.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

Sleep was impossible. You'd been tossing and turning for hours, replaying the day's events in your mind—from that moment in the ocean to his deliberate almost-reveal during the game. The walls of this fancy beach house seemed paper thin at night, every small sound amplified in the darkness.

That's how you heard his door open around 2 AM, followed by quiet footsteps heading downstairs.

You waited a few minutes, telling yourself you were just thirsty, that going downstairs for water had nothing to do with knowing he was maybe down there. The wooden steps creaked softly under your bare feet as you made your way down.

Silvery moonlight streamed through the massive windows, creating silver patterns on the marble countertops of the kitchen. Satoru stood at the island, drinking water from a glass, looking unfairly handsome in just sleep shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt.

"Couldn't sleep?" he whispered when he spotted you.

"What's your game, Satoru?" You kept your voice equally low, padding closer. "That thing earlier? During never have I ever?"

"Game? I'm not the one who was afraid of drinking".

"Because unlike you, I don't feel the need to announce our business to everyone."

He set his glass down, turning to face you fully. "Our business? So you admit there's something to announce?"

"That's not—" You caught yourself before your voice could rise. "What are you trying to achieve here? With all the—" you gestured vaguely, "touching and teasing and almost exposing everything?"

He stepped closer, and suddenly the kitchen felt way too small, even though it was like three times the size of your Tokyo apartment. "Maybe I just want everyone to know that night wasn't as casual for me as you seem to think it was."

You felt the weight of his words settle in the quiet kitchen, heavy with meaning you weren't prepared to unpack while moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look softer, almost vulnerable.

"What are you talking about? It was only one night."

"Was it?" He moved closer, until you had to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. "Because I remember asking you to stay. I remember waking up to an empty bed and spent the next six months thinking about why you left."

"I... you were just saying that in the moment. People say lots of things in the moment."

"Do they?" His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Is that why you ran? Because you thought I didn't mean it?"

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore how your skin prickled where he'd touched you. "Satoru..."

"You know what I think?" His voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper in the quiet kitchen. "I think you're scared. Not of me, but of the fact that you wanted to stay too."

"That's not—" But the words died in your throat as his thumb traced your jawline.

"Then why are you down here?" He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. "If it was just one night, just something casual, why did you follow me down here in the middle of the night?"

The counter pressed against your back—when had you started backing up?—and Satoru's arms came to rest on either side of you, caging you in. Position achingly familiar, reminding you of how this all started six months ago.

"I was thirsty," you said. You did not even believe yourself as you said it.

His laugh was barely a breath against your skin. "Liar."

And then his mouth was on yours, and god, you'd forgotten how good he was at this. His lips were soft but demanding, one hand sliding into your hair while the other gripped your hip, forcing you close against him. You gasped into the kiss, and he took the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue against yours in a way that made you forget your own name.

It was different from that first night—less urgent, but somehow more intense. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he was laying claim to every moment you'd denied him these past six months. His teeth caught your lower lip, and you had to bite back a whimper, too aware of the sleeping house above.

"Still want to pretend this is nothing?" he whispered against your mouth, and you could feel his smile when your only response was to pull him back down for another kiss.

His hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you onto the counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him closer as his mouth moved to your neck, kissing your throat just the way you like it, just the way he somehow remembered.

"Someone could come down," you breathed, even as your fingers tangled in his hair.

"Then I guess you'll have to be quiet." His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver. "Think you can manage that? Because I distinctly remember you being quite vocal last time."

You tightened your grip on his hair in return, but that just made him groan softly against your throat. "You're stupid."

"Mm, that's not what you said in Tokyo." His hands slid higher under your shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. "In fact, I remember you saying some very different things—"

You cut him off with another kiss, partly to shut him up and partly because you needed his mouth on yours like you needed air. His fingers teased along your ribs, your back, your thighs, touching you everywhere except where you desperately wanted him to.

But then his fingers found the edge of your underwear, and you had to bite his shoulder to keep from moaning as he slid his fingers inside you, making you cum all over his fingers in seconds—just like that night in Tokyo.

You were done, dizzy, breathless, clinging to him as he stripped your shorts and underwear down your legs. He pushed one leg up your chest as he lowered you back down onto the marble kitchen counter, your other leg still wrapped around his waist. His forehead pressed against yours as he thrust inside, hard, slow, perfect angle—just like that night in Tokyo.

He tossed you around, manhandled you, fucked you against the fridge, threw you onto the couch and fucked you there too. He whispered your name, his voice husky against your ear, every letter a caress, even as he picked up pace, even as his hand closed around your throat, even as you bit into the pillow below to muffle your screams as he made you cum again. Multiple times. In various positions. Using his own cum as a lube for the next round—just like that night in Tokyo.

Afterwards you laid outside on the veranda in a big chair you both shared, gazing up at the stars scattered across the deep velvet sky, countless and impossibly bright. A second later his lips found yours and another second later you were on top of him, underwear pushed to the side and your head thrown back as he watched you chase your release on his dick—just like that night in Tokyo.

And his hand found yours, intertwining your fingers as he ate you out on the stairs just before you wanted to go back to bed, but he wouldn't let you, making you cum again before he carried you off to the laundry room to fuck you one last time for sure good mesure—just like that night in Tokyo.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

Morning came way too early, sunlight streaming through windows you'd forgotten to close. Every muscle in your body ached in the most pleasant way, reminding you of exactly how many surfaces you and Satoru had christened last night. 

Yeah. You were definitely going to be feeling this for days. You winced slightly as you sat up — apparently kitchen counters weren't the most ergonomic choice for certain activities, or the stairs, or the laundry room, or... Okay, we get it.

When you finally made it downstairs, moving perhaps a bit more strangely than usual, Satoru was already at the breakfast table. Because of course he was, looking absolutely perfect and fullyfull rested in a fresh shirt, casually sipping his coffee like he hadn't spent half the night making you bite down on your fist to keep quiet.

"Well, someone looks rough," Nobara commented as you lowered yourself carefully into a chair. "Too much wine last night?"

You caught Satoru hiding a smirk behind his coffee cup. The bastard didn't even have the decency to look tired.

"Something like that," you muttered, reaching for the coffee pot and trying not to wince at the stretch. Your thighs burned in protest of the movement, and you could swear you saw Satoru's smile widening at your slight grimace.

"Must have been some wine," Nobara said, eyeing you suspiciously. "I don't remember you drinking that much during the game."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Yuji asked, looking concerned. "You're walking kind of funny."

"I'm fine, really," you managed. "Too much wine, that’s all."

Maki, who sat next to you, leaned in closer. "Your 'too much wine' is showing," she whispered, pointing to your collarbone. Your hand flew to your neck, suddenly remembering all the attention Satoru had paid to that area—especially that moment on the stairs when you'd begged him to finish what he'd started before anyone heard them, while he sucked a very dark bruise right above your collarbone.

You quickly buttoned up your cotton shirt higher, but from Nobara's growing grin, it was too late. But thankfully, no one commented on it.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

The rest of Sunday passed in a lazy haze, with everyone moving a bit slower thanks to varying degrees of wine headaches. Most of the day was spent sprawled out on beach chairs, hiding behind sunglasses and drinking coconut water that Yuta swore would help with hangovers (but, in fact, did not).

You dozed on and off under an umbrella, trying not to think about how your body still ached in several places from the night before, and enjoyed your last day in Okinawa before you'd return to work on Monday.

When evening rolled around and it was time to pack up, the house became a chaos of suitcases and forgotten phone chargers once more. You were struggling with your bag next to your car, trying to figure out the best angle to lift it into the trunk without stressing your still sore muscles, when Satoru suddenly appeared and took it from your hands without a word.

"I can manage," you protested, but he was already lifting it into your trunk with an effortless ease that really shouldn't be as attractive as it was.

"I'm sure you can," he said, closing your trunk with a soft thud. "But maybe I just want an excuse to do this." 

Before you could ask what 'this' was, he pressed a small folded piece of paper into your palm. You opened it to find a phone number written in his surprisingly neat handwriting.

"Since you didn't stay for it last time," he said softly.

"What makes you think I'll use it?"

"Because this time, you want to stay just as much as I want you to." He leaned closer, his voice dropping so only you could hear. "Besides, I believe we still have a few surfaces in my apartment left to explore."

You shoved his shoulder. "Stop." 

He caught your hand before you could push him again. "Use it. Please?" His voice held a note of softness, an unexpected tenderness that made your heart ache with a strange longing. You nodded, tucking the paper safely into your back pocket.

"Still not announcing anything to everyone tho," you warned as Maki called out that they were ready to leave.

"Yet," he said with an eye roll. Then, before you could react, he pulled you in for one last kiss. It was slower, deeper this time, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, as if he was afraid he might forget the feel of your lips.

"Someone could see us," you whispered against his lips, even as your fingers curled into his shirt.

"I don't care," he murmured, one hand sliding down to your waist to draw you closer. "Let them see." He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less intense. "Besides, they'll find out soon enough when I take you to this little ramen place in Shibuya I've been wanting to show you."

You pulled back slightly. "Oh? Someone's confident about getting a second date."

"Third, technically," he said. "If we're counting Tokyo. And that thing against the washing machine last night."

"Those don't count.”

"Then I guess I'll have to make the next one special. Maybe dinner first. Then I can show you my apartment. Properly this time, not just the entrance hall and kitchen counter."

"Is that your way of asking me out?"

"That's my way of saying I'm not letting you disappear for six months again." He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Use my number this time, yeah?"

"Satoru!" Yuji's voice carried across the driveway. "Stop making out and help me with these bags!"

Satoru laughed against your lips, stealing one more kiss before reluctantly pulling away. "Think about it. The ramen place. My apartment. All the surfaces we haven't used yet."

"Go help Yuji," you said, pushing him away even as you smiled. "Before he comes over here."

"Call me," he said, walking backwards with that stupidly handsome smile. "Or I'll just have to show up at your office. Make a big scene. Maybe bring flowers. Really embarrass you in front of all your coworkers."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me!" He finally turned then to help with the bags, leaving you to shake your head, your lips still tingling from his kisses.

The drive home felt different somehow. Every now and then, your hand would drift to your pocket, fingers brushing over the folded paper with his number, making sure it was still there as the familiar roads back to Tokyo stretched ahead.

The beach house grew smaller in your rearview mirror until it disappeared completely, taking with it the memories of lazy afternoons under the summer sun and heated nights. But other things lingered—the ghost of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hands, the way he'd looked at you like you were something worth waiting for.

Maybe you'd call him tomorrow. Or maybe you'd wait a day or two, just to prove you could. But knowing you, you'd likely message him the moment you set foot in your apartment.

A smile tugged at your lips as you pulled onto the highway, the setting sun painting the sky in strokes of rose and  lavender. Whatever happened next, one thing was for sure — this weekend had changed everything.

And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing.

masterlist + support my writing

author's note — and that's a wrap on our beach house summer story ! thank you so much for reading :)) & thank you again to @/nanamis-baker for beta reading !!

for anyone wondering, yes, she kept the shirt. and yes, he definitely noticed when she wore it to their first proper date to that ramen spot in shibuya.

if you enjoyed this fic, please feel free to leave a comment or reblog. it means so much !! until next time. stay thirsty hydrated, my friends <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here.

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna @cocomanga

@nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @sugurbo @chiyokoemilia @janbannan

@bloopsstuff @snowsilver2000 @ihearttoru @momoewn @yokosandesu

@90s-belladonna @fairygardenprincesss

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[midnite-c6]

Omg so I just LOVED the fics that you wrote about thanos and namgyu soo I wanted to ask can you like write more fics about them in like threesome degrading tf out of us so much that we cannot even think of anything or maybe like a second part for timid!reader THAT ONE WAS AMAZING!!!! keep up w your work btw its really good 😭🙏🏻

help thank you😭😭 honestly i love writing abt them i jus.. meow...

thanos & nam-gyu imagine pt. 4!! 🤤

warnings: 18+ DARK content, drugging, dubcon (read at ur own riskk!!)

they both believe you can't fight for yourself since you're so quiet, so they do their best to keep you safe!! they're so kind despite their nature!! you think to urself..., and despite the way they used your body after the six legged race, you still stick with them since they helped you in mingle too!! honestly, thanos and nam-gyu would've thought you'd be getting away from them after that incident, so by you staying, they've confirmed they've got you right in their trap!!

thanos looks up from his food, his eyes lighting up when he sees you "señorita?" he tilts his head, "i don't have any other group to eat with.." you say, looking down at your feet, "nooo! i know what it is!" he nudges nam-gyu's shoulder, "you're here for more aren't you?" he says with that smirk again, dramatically gasping. "what..no.." you weren't like that, you swear! nam-gyu laughed "shit, she's just using our bodies, man!" you quickly shake your head "no!" nam-gyu tilts his head "when did you learn to say no?" thanos stands up, getting closer to you, "listen here, beautiful, we'll do whatever you want, sure.. you're the one in-charge." he smiled 'innocently', leaning in to whisper in your ear "c'mere after lights out, kay?"

nsfw below.. (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)/

"you really are a fucking whore." thanos quietly whispers into your ear as he slams in and out of you, your back pressed against his chest, your moans being muffled by his hand, it was a good thing thanos' bed was closer to the ground and that the players above him were already dead, but you know the other players could still hear the faint squeaking of his mattress. "of course you'd listen like a slut, coming here, infact, you were excited for this. hmm?" why DID you go there anyway? ..maybe it did feel good? but poor you! his thrusts weren't giving you any mercy at all.

"i bet.. you don't have any shame at all. you're quietness is just an act.." nam-gyu whispered aswell, with his body infront of you, his hands exploring every inch of your skin, painfully pinching your nipples and biting your neck as you rub your hand in and out of his cock. "you're practically begging for it." "n-n.." you couldn't speak back because of that purple-haired addict's hand!

"wait.. fuuuck, you're sucking me in like crazy, you're gonna cut my dick off, god." thanos whined, putting in two fingers inside your mouth, the taste of his fingers all over your tongue.

"y'knoww.. so fucking funny how she's volunteered to be our personal ..stress toy." nam-gyu's hand find it's way to thanos' necklace filled with ecstacy, he grabs a pill, his attention back on you "we truly thank you for that.. are you proud of your services, freak?" he says mockingly just to spite you, his other hand grabs thanos' hand muffling your mouth. "let go, dude." "she's gonna scream," "nah, nah, she won't. she doesn't wanna die does she?" you whined, shaking your head. "good, slut." nam-gyu smiled, taking the pill he had in his hand and putting it in his mouth. thanos' takes off his hand, his middle and ring finger covered in your saliva as he now places it on your clit, rubbing sloppily. and before you could make any noise, nam-gyu slams his mouth against yours, making you swallow the pill of ecstacy. his tongue tasting your mouth, swallowing each moan escaping your lips. nam-gyu pulls away from your mouth, forcing it to open just to spit inside.

with all the pleasure they were giving despite the mean words, you camee:( your legs were shaking like crazy! "hey! no fair, bitch! i didn't get to cum yet." thanos was frustrated, yet you whimpered in response, you didn't mean to cum!!. "but.. just means we'll be here for muuuuch longer, baby. ya' can't complain, you know you're a whore who can't live without us." thanos didn't lie, your cunt was throbbing and overstimulated by both of their cocks in and out of you. he also didn't lie about how you wouldn't be alive without them, it's true, they saved you anyway, guess you gotta thank them for keeping you safe. ♡

this is pretty long, im srry guyss!! only putting in what my mind is thinking of atm AHHAAH 3somes are so hard to write 😭😭😿🙏🏻

[malleusmaleficent]

i do theatre shit and it's to perpetuate an extremely niche genre of music because it needs more young people, or else it'll die out

but anyways, regarding writing for attention like. it's definitely a thing yk, like i explicitly started writing witch hammer (and my fic before that) thinking like: "this is a truly wretched combination of things, and it creates a combination so niche that i am pretty much the only person that would want to read it, and that's okay"

like that was exactly what happened when i wrote life's tangled skein, which got nearly zero interaction. but witch hammer turned out wildly differently, witch hammer caught on super hard (by my own standards anyways).

and like, let me tell you, writing these two things has felt VERY differently. like the way in which i engaged with both stories is different, life's tangled skein i had a very clear mission and i was trying to capture a particular feeling, for me specifically. like i wanted to see if i could write something to make myself feel a certain way. and i did, i think. nobody read it, but i succeeded and i was never once troubled by audience reception and i was never checking for new comments or new likes or whatever. i was never thinking how a plot point might affect people.

however, witch hammer is a very different story. i am telling you right now if i wrote the story i had set out to write, there'd be fujos howling at the moon or some shit they would be so upset LMAO and like. i don't really want to write what i had initially set out to write anymore, im just not in the headspace for that. i have enjoyed keeping it light, i like writing cute shit too much.

but also, i'd be lying if "but what will me readers think" weren't a consideration as well. like i don't really participate in fandom culture, so i wasn't really aware entirely, but some people take this shit DEATHLY seriously. and while i think that is extremely silly, right, if someone that takes it deathly seriously got invested in something i've wrote, i don't want to actively make their day worse yk.

and i am checking for new comments every day, and i am watching the like counter go up.

and i'll be honest, it does feel a bit less "pure" to me, whatever that means. i haven't unpacked what that means exactly, but that is how i feel. i want to know people like my writing, and i want people other than me to vindicate me spending so much time and effort on this very niche project of mine.

now part of this is timing, i started writing witch hammer just a few days before i got laid off from my full time job, so that put me in a weird headspace. the tremendous wave of positive feedback i got after the fact was very helpful and i'd fully admit i latched on to it for a few weeks as i tried to clear my head.

but i'm good now, and buddy i am still watching for new comments lol.

i dunno, it's a complicated thing.

i do write for attention, actually, because that's a normal reason to create art

[russo-woso]

i was thinking maybe a fic or blurb of y/n and foxy where reader is a singer and wrote a song about emily (song being pov by ariana grande) and before she releases it she brings emily to the studio to get her opinion, purely because it’s about her and their love.. emily loves the song and just like a cute fluffy fic where they’re both just completely in love with eachother

It’s about me? || Emily Fox x reader

Masterlist

Summary You bring Emily to the studio to get her reaction about a song you’ve written about her

A/N this anon sent a follow up request asking for the song to be The alchemy not pov :)

“Baby, why are here? You’ve finished your album now.” Emily asked, the two of you in the car heading for the studio.

Emily was right, you had completely finished your upcoming album, but there was a specific reason why you were bringing her today.

There was one song that you desperately wanted to see her reaction on - The alchemy.

It was one of those songs where you had randomly come up with a beat, and the lyrics came naturally to you.

The song was based on someone, it was based on Emily.

You had been seeing Emily for seven months and to say you couldn’t be more in love was an understatement.

You had a reputation of writing break up songs, having gone through a few rough relationships in your time so you always assumed writing a love song would be hard, but it was the complete opposite.

Your mind was solely focused on Emily in the moments you were writing it and within twenty minutes, you had a fully complete song with a beat and lyrics.

That’s when your producer knew you were fully and madly in love with Emily.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” You responded to Emily, sending her a playful smile as she groaned.

“I wanna know now.”

“Baby, it’s a surprise. I’m not telling you. We’ll be there in five minutes anyway.”

—

“There’s one more song.” You announced to Emily as she grinned.

You got up and inside the booth, getting the microphone ready.

“I’m gonna sing it live for you.”

“Is this my surprise?”

“Maybe.” You said, sending her a wink as your producer pressed the play button for the background music.

You sang the song perfectly, watching Emily’s face carefully as the realisation that it was about her set in.

“What did you think about that one?”

“Baby…” Emily began, your body filling with dread.

Maybe it was too soon to make a song about her.

Did she not like it?

“I don’t have to put it in the album if you don’t—”

“—No, baby, no. I loved it. I love you. It was perfect.” Emily reassured you, pressing soft kisses to your lips. “You’re perfect.”

“So are you, Em. I mean a girl has to be perfect for me to write a song about her.” You joked, wrapping your arm around her waist.

“I’m that special, huh?”

“So so special.”

[kisakunt]

THE RICH MAN’S GUIDE TO CORRUPTION

GIVE IT UP FOR LOVE

warnings… i mean some absolute swine talk, gojo and geto are evil men, you’re a sweet and pure virgin. swearing, mentions of fucking, really just vile pig shit.

synopsis… suguru and satoru have a lovely chat over a warm summers breeze. oh! and sweet, un-expecting, vulnerable you is the topic of discussion.

a word from the creator… idk if i mentioned this but this fic is based loosely off the movie cruel intentions! banger film, check it out. i wrote a lot of this chapter awhile ago so if the writing style switches up next chapter don’t sue me. i’m excited!!!! here’s to the next eleven chapters of hell

series masterlist

Gojo hates the heat. He thinks he's tolerated it before on his father’s yacht or when he did an unnecessary shirtless carwash for extra money he didn't need; but right now with the breeze through the window— that Suguru demanded be open— overbearing the air conditioner, he's absolutely positive that summer is the worst.

“Start of the year’s comin’, yknow.” He typically broke the silence— as if he could ever shut up to begin with— and he was almost always met with a:

“No shit.” strident response. Those seemed to be Suguru’s speciality, and provoking them seemed to be Satoru’s.

It’s too hot. His white hair presses into the drywall, feeling much cooler than the air outside. “I’m not stupid, Suguru. Neither are you, you know what I mean.” It’s an overdramatic sigh— a call for attention— as he turns his head over to look at him.

“They’re gonna ask us about it soon.” And, in some way Suguru can’t really comprehend, Gojo sounds excited.

His manner isn’t necessarily wrong, not so much as it is unexpected. The ‘new year, new fuck’ competition of Azabu was practically famous among the young men certain to attend— the sons of the sons who started it, and all their nephews or cousins or any synonym for a pig of a relative that they could come up with. And, luckily enough, they had the privilege to be top candidates.

The competition was started by the current dean’s uncle, a horny fuck-all type who would take any and all excuse to boost his ego while tearing down a girls— or maybe he really did just want a good lay. But, it grew and grew and grew, and now it was almost ritualistic, a second identity of worthiness in the form of fucking a virgin before anyone else did.

Sure, they were nothing but thrilled for it as high school reached an end, or even the first or second year of university. But now it just seemed dull.

But, traditions are custom, and customs are a necessity. It’s almost become lore throughout their little clique of affluence; whispered stories from childhood turned into real competition after a long wait, especially from a group of people who so rarely have to wait for anything. It’s inspiring, they think, means to associate themselves with a lower class; normalize themselves just a little more.

Alumni share stories at functions, putting the frat in fraternizing, nonchalance on the tips of their tongues. Sometimes the tone almost feels dark, and Suguru thinks if he were a better person he’d feel some type of sympathy for the girls. Any fragment of empathy he had wiped away when he won for the first time, though, wide smirk as his year mates glared at him; memories of the tight, albeit idiotic, girl engrained behind the lids of his eyes.

Even so, it gets old quick. And it’s not like they don’t fuck dumb, stupid, silly girls with nothing to say for the rest of the year anyway. So, he can’t quite figure out what Gojo is all too excited about.

“Well try to make sure your dick doesn’t get hard from the thought, you fucking freak.” There’s a giggle from the other man, a scoff too, and he pushes his hand out at him.

This is crucial. This is who they are together. A pair— whether it’s a pair of awful men or not.

There’s also a sense of trepidation that comes with it, of course. It’s exclusive, more so than they already are, and if you do one thing wrong- speak a little too loud, come off too brash, give a lackluster lie after actually getting caught— you’re out. And whose pride would want that?

“It’s stupid we always gotta wait for them to sit us down, it’s not like we don’t know what’s coming up.” He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Plus, what a fucking weird thing to say to your kid.”

“I mean the whole thing’s odd if you think about it.” Gojo shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets, forearms bare against the linen of his trousers.

He’s right, of course. Even if neither of them feel guilt for their actions, they can’t ignore the sinking feeling in their stomach when their own fathers sit them down and incite such a twisted view on them.

Be that as it may, it’s not too bad when that’s all they know, and it’s not like either of them are going to complain at a quick orgasm, a nice pair of tits, and that goddamn feeling of triumph.

“Do you think they’ll cry again?” Satoru mocks, brimming with glee as he leans in the direction of his friend. “It’s always funny, dontcha think?”

“As if you’d know,” There’s a smirk despite the aggression in his tone. “Dunno why it matters so much to you, you already got bitches babbling about you all the time.”

Gojo sighs, expression bored and childish and fucking greedy. “Yeah, I know but…” His voice peters out, lost in the room. Elation bubbles back into his features, warming his cheeks and animating his eyes as he looks at Suguru.

“Yknow, I heard the dean has a daughter starting, actually. Real sweet gal, even wrote a whole fucking magazine article about the importance of ‘saving your innocence’” his voice wobbles, eyes rolling as he sneers. “for someone you really love.”

“Sounds like she’s ugly.”

“Thought so, too, but..” He trails off, hand fishing in his back pocket for his phone, pupils dilating at the light on his screen. It doesn’t take him long to find the photo; clearly he’s been sitting on his discovery for awhile, anticipating when he could tell him. “Look.”

Suguru doesn’t like to be wrong, much less will he ever admit it. “Holy shit.” You aren’t necessarily the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, probably not even the prettiest he’s seen in the last month, but you were definitely something.

Maybe it was the curve of your jaw or the tint in your lips, but the photo set something off in him. On the surface he thinks it’s the just barely explicit face you’re making in your mirror, phone in hand as you look into your lens, but really, honestly, if he’s searching deep down— it’s the fact he knows you’re the one girl who wouldn’t just throw herself on him if he so kindly asked.

“Sugu, are you ever bored of this? It feels too easy, right?” Suddenly Gojo’s previous excitement feels misplaced, voice itching for more. “Hardest part about it is finding out who’s actually a virgin or not, and that’s pretty simple with how awkward they get.”

“What are you saying?” Maybe he already knows, maybe he’s hoping for the obvious, but he asks like he doesn’t care. The former moves fast, hand steady on the desk as he leans far too close for comfort. In any other situation, he’d probably be met with a harsh jab to the face, but this feels different— secret.

“Let’s do something, on our own, just you and me.” He almost seems too impatient, pressure digging into the ground from the toes of his shoes and gaze begging. It was the kind of thing that made you want to agree, if nothing else to just feel a fraction of the way he seemed to be. Before Suguru could even consider the idea, test the waters and make Gojo beg a little bit, said boy opened his mouth again.

“I mean, unless you’re not up for it. You don’t really seem like the type to make a girl give it up for love.” He snickers, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as he feigns swooning.

“Geto, I— I love you.” His voice is high, wheezy in his imitation and a little rude. “I think.. I think I’m ready- I want it to be you.” He cuts himself off with his own laugh, hand circling over his mouth to try to stifle himself. “Could you imagine?”

“The fuck does that mean?!”

“Cmon, Suguru, you’re not really the endearing type.” He’s edging him now, tone manipulative and pressing and snarky and Suguru knows— of course he knows, but it can’t help but irk him.

“What are you thinking?” And now Gojo’s beaming again, feet guiding him back across the room to his bag, books stacked neatly inside, lying even against each other. He pulls out a magazine and tosses it to him haphazardly before he reaches back for a notebook and a pen.

“Page 36, read it.” The article is cheesy. It’s too long and feels like something right off a self care Facebook page. Suguru is sure he physically recoiled a couple times reading it; especially when you wrote ‘Virginity is a miracle— the ability to show someone how much you love them in such an intimate way should be saved for someone special.’.

It’s shocking that you’re the daughter of the man who oversees their little sex game.

Suguru thinks you’re vile— embarrassing and pathetic and a huge fucking waste of what seems like a really good pair of blowjob eyes. It makes his skin crawl and he verbally scoffs when he reads your finishing sentence about cherishing your virtues, so focused on the arrogance in your punctuation that he doesn’t even hear Gojo’s laugh.

“Pretentious as shit, right?” He snorts, eyes flickered as he recites the passage in his head. “It’s gonna feel so good to fuck the words right out of her mouth.” Suguru didn’t know what he expected from his friend, but it wasn’t that. It’s clear through, through and through, that he’s dedicated to the idea.

“I mean sure, I guess you’ll have your turn. Maybe she’ll fuck just about anyone after I win.”

“Wait, so you’re in?”

“Whatever.”

“Fuck yeah!” He’s joyful, fist pumping into his chest in a quick celebration before he’s holding up his notebook, standing directly across the floor from the desk.

The wood is dark, deep and marbled, glazed over the top and lined with little symbols of power in the form of trophies. It’s clearly something too nice to serve as a welcome mat, but nonetheless Suguru rests his heels on the surface, ankles crossed over each other as he leans back in his chair. His eyes point to the ceiling to look at anything other than the annoyance in front of him.

“Well clearly we need to set up some rules.” He sneers in his seat when he remembers not looking at him won’t make him shut up.

“Okay well we have the obvious: whoever fucks first wins. And I mean fucks, none of that sloppy anal shit. Doesn’t count.” It’s almost funny, but neither of them acknowledge it. If they do, that’ll come hand in hand with the fact they’re acting just like their fathers.

“She has to be sober.” He didn’t really expect himself to say that, but he did expect Satoru to whine.

Gojo lets it sit in the air for a second before he nods curtly and jots something done.

“Would it be too cocky to say she has to cum?” The journal’s away from his face now and someone could, and probably would, argue that the walls are lucky to see the boyish grin he’s got. His smirk pulls up at the corners of his lips, but Suguru just finds it vexing. Gojo is far too full of himself, he thinks, and he hates to admit there’s good reason.

Nonetheless, he has to give him a little shit. “Do they normally not with you?”

“Hey! That’s not what I meant, asshole.” There’s something sweet to Satoru, under all the sickening that is his personality. It makes people understand just why girls fall for him, and definitely helps him keep a good image to the public.

And there’s something smart to him that makes you feel like he could really pull whatever he wanted off. It makes the idea of competing with just him much more appealing.

“Are we gonna have like a— fuck I don’t know— like a time limit?”

“Fuck is this? A video game?”

“I mean no, but competition wise if it takes us like half a year isn’t that kind of stupid? Because who’s to say she won’t ‘really love you’ by then, and then you’re not making her go against anything, yknow?” And there's also something meticulous about him that makes him aggravating as all hell.

“Fine. A month.”

“Just a month?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Plus, anything longer than that and we’d just be a couple of fucking losers chasing after a bitch.” Suguru knows Gojo is giving him a look without even seeing it, the slightly judgmental and almost kind one he does. “What? You’re the one who said it to begin with.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. A month.” It’s silent for a second, comfortable with all their years of each other, before he clears his throat.

“That it then?” Maybe they’re the same kind of evil. Maybe they deserve each other.

“One more, actually.” There’s that feeling from him again, the tone that makes Suguru want to agree aimlessly for no fucking reason other than the possible rush. And before he can fester; before his skin can start to crawl and his hands can get clammy just from that sheer desire in his voice, Gojo grins.

“You need proof. And I don’t mean her saying it, because you can bribe anyone into saying anything. Gotta show it, photo or video or something, balls deep or whatever the fuck.” That almost makes Suguru laugh.

“I don’t think she’s gonna go for that one, no matter how good the dick is.”

“She doesn’t have to know.” Now he’s really thrilled. He doesn’t know what it is, but that lights something in him, stirs in his stomach and causes a little quiver in his brow.

“Fuck yeah, man,” he’s really laughing now, pointing at the journal harshly. “write that shit down.”

There’s something unspoken over them now, a deeper bond than they thought they could have. Neither of them would ever admit it, but it feels like they’re those two high schoolers again, counting down til they can become something fucking great. This is the feeling they’re supposed to get from their fathers’ stupid fucking contest. This is actual competition, a chance to actually win.

A new air falls on them, mixed back in with that warm, rich breeze.

“Okay, that settles that then.” Gojo offers, fingers tapping the binding of his book. “She has to be attending the start of the year banquet so that’ll be an excuse to meet her. Everything from then on is up to us.” Suguru always dreaded that shitty event, but now he finds himself doing mental math to count how far away it is.

Even if the whole thing is trivial, and even if you seem like the most uptight thing ever, Suguru is a man of pride. And prideful he’ll be.

“We still gotta do the ‘new year’ thing, you know. They’ll burst a fucking artery if we say we’re not interested.” His voice is gravelly and calm and so not anything he’s feeling, but he thinks Gojo buys it when he chuckles.

“Can you be excommunicated from being a womanizer? Because I think we would be.” They’re almost joking like everything is normal. It’s different, so much different, but they’re acting the same.

“I’m gonna go grab some water and maybe call one of your maids to make lunch, you want anything?” Suguru shakes his head, shifting in his seat as he tries his hardest not to look at the journal Satoru set on the side table.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be back.”

“Whatever,” He waits after Gojo walks out. Waits a good forty five seconds before he stands up, and he crosses the room in about three.

He glances over at the thrown aside notebook, eyes quick as he scans it. The handwriting is adjacent to messy, scattered and the page is littered with semi vulgar doodles and side bars. It’s coherent, though, and even though they both know Gojo had no intention of giving it to him, it’s got his signature at the bottom.

1. Full fucking!! Penis in vagina

2. No signs of being inebriated. Absolutely stone cold sober

3. If it takes longer than a month after everyone is introduced we’re both “a couple of fucking losers” (< Sugu’s words)

4. Orgasms are important ! Or at least near orgasms (she is a virgin)

5. Photo / video proof. If you can’t get it, you aren’t in it (haha! get it?)

He snickers at four, the uneasy tone in the second sentence almost self deprecating. Despite that, he can’t help but feel a smidge of respect that he ended up adding it to begin with.

He grabs the pen from the table, pressing into the paper too hard as he leaves his chicken scratch of a John Hancock. Okay, maybe this will be fun.

taglist… @moonlight-pearls @sharkerino @echerie

[averyfuckingtiredyounglady]

Shattered

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

synopsis: You hadn’t meant to become his crutch. He hadn’t meant to become yours. But somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and the late-night hookups turned into something more. Something that neither of you could admit out loud.

genre: smut, angst, psychological horror, [hidden bonus]

word count: 7.5k

warnings: twist? main plot element is a surprise, mature themes, detailed sex scenes, ambiguous ending, y/n is down bad

a/n: aaayyee. the long awaited spooktober fic in january no less! this was a huge challenge for me, i wanted to take this in a direction that is completely unnatural for me, that plus the concept is what made this take so long to finish. this was really hard to write. that being said this is fucking weird. this is not going to be a lot of people's cup of tea i don't think. i personally havent seen any fics like this (and i read a lot) which is why i wrote it. I would hope someone could write something like this even better than i could maybe lol. But yeah please enjoy

_

“What?”

When you looked up at him half of his face was hidden in darkness, one half illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window and the other shaded. You could still make out the expression on his face, the frown of his brows, the glossiness of his eyes, his gaze set firmly on you.

“Are you really okay with how things are right now?

“What do you mean?” You set your phone down, matching his posture. You looked at Hyunjin, cocking your head to the side inquisitively.

He exhaled, letting out a strained sigh as he leaned down resting his head against his clasped hands before he spoke again.

“I don’t think this is going to work anymore. This isn’t good for me. I can’t pretend like I just want to come here to fuck and hang out and go home.. like.. like I don’t care about you. Like we don’t care about eachother… more than this.”

He lets his words fall from his mouth hurriedly, quick enough that he doesnt stop himself.

You don’t know what really brought this on. Why does he want to talk about this right now? What did you say? Was it something you did?

You’ve been aware that Hyunjin had feelings for you, though he tried not to show it, it was obvious. You just wouldn’t acknowledge it. Why should you? What good would that really do?

You sit across from Hyunjin, and you can all but see it, his heart, pulsing, rhythmically in his hand, gushing blood all over your living room floor.

You take a deep breath, feeling the light sting in your lungs before you exhale. You avoid his eyes, staring somewhere at his chest, eyes unfocused.

“You don’t really have a choice.” You let out. Your words hanging in the air like damp clothes on a line. Hyunjin sniffed at this, eyes searching around the room, the way he mustve been searching inside himself for the correct words to say to you.

You unfold your legs, leaning over to reach out a comforting hand to him, setting it on his thigh reassuringly, as this was all you could do.

“I don’t like it all that much either. I don’t. But, what am I to do? This is what works for us right now.” You squeeze his leg tighter, as you squeeze your next sentence out of your chest. “I can’t go through that again. Not right now. You understand?”

It’s not like you had to explain what you meant. How you felt. As he knew well, from firsthand experience what heartbreak could do to a person. What it did to him, but it didnt stop how his chest throbbed now as you rejected him. It didnt stop the way his body tensed up, staving the urge to reach out and hold you, as youd expressed discomfort in that.

So, he didn’t... hold you... he didnt do anything. Instead, Hyunjin collected his things and left your apartment, his mind clouded by thoughts of you that would stay with him that night.

You sat for a moment, clammed up on the floor, heart pricked with sharp shards of emotion that stirred a physical ache in your chest. The feeling was heavy, almost suffocating. It was a kind of pain that wasn’t just emotional—it felt tangible, a pressure that seemed to press in from all sides, making it hard to breathe.

For a few moments, you stayed there, paralyzed by the weight of it all. Slowly, silently, you lifted yourself from the floor, steadying yourself against the edge of the coffee table. Each movement was careful, as if any sudden shift might destroy the delicate balance you were holding together.

As you turned toward your bedroom, you bumped into the table, your water glass tumbling over before you could react, shattering as it hit the floor.

Freezing for a moment, you stared at the fractured pieces scattered across the floor. Your reflection appeared in the jagged shards—split into fragmented pieces, your face warped and out of place.

“Shit,” you muttered, crouching down to pick up the broken pieces. The sharp edges of the glass caught the light as you gingerly gathered them in your hands. You couldn't shake the odd feeling that the image, fractured and distorted, mirrored something deeper inside you.

You woke up with an unfamiliar heat under your skin. When your eyes focused, you stared up at the ceiling, an orange glow spread across the tiles, sunlight creeping through a nearby window. “This isnt my bedroom…Its hot in here. I’m so thirsty.” You lay there breathing as each new thought vying for your attention made its way to the front of the queue. You sat up slowly in bed, limbs feeling oddly heavy. You feel the absence of any blankets. “This is not my bed either” “i know i was in my own bed last night” you recognize this is hyunjins place though you hadnt been many times.

And you remember the conversation you two had. The way he left, the way youd hurt him again.

“Where is Hyunjin?”

Then, you catch sight of the mirror.

You feel a scream crawling up your throat

Hyunjin opens his eyes to pitch darkness. The air feels thick, too close around him, and when he sits up, the sudden lightness of his limbs makes his head spin. Where the fuck is the lights? He staggers out of bed, getting caught in piles of blankets.

It takes a moment for the full impact to hit him. He stares down at the body he’s in—your body—and his breath catches in his throat. His hands—no, your hands—move instinctively to his chest, and the soft weight of your body feels completely alien. His skin tingles with discomfort, every movement too light, too foreign.

He nearly falls rushing to the bathroom, heart rattling his chest as his eyes meet yours in the mirror, but it’s not you, it’s him. He feels a pull from the floor trying to yank him down, like he’s about to pass out.

This can’t be happening.

He presses his hands to his face, trying to ground himself, but the sensation of your soft skin under his palms only makes everything worse. It’s like being trapped in a body that doesn’t belong to him—a body he knows too well but never thought he’d experience this way.

His phone—no, your phone—buzzes on the counter, pulling him out of his spiral. He grabs it, fumbling with the unfamiliar interface until he sees the notification.

It’s a message from you.

You arrive at your apartment before you’re ready to face him—or rather, face yourself. The walk over had been surreal, every step heavier than usual, every movement feeling slightly off. The world itself seemed wrong, like everything was tilted just a little to the side. People had looked at you—at Hyunjin’s body—without noticing anything unusual, but inside, you were unraveling.

Now, standing in front of your apartment door, your heart pounds in your chest. The weight of it feels strange, like even your heartbeat is foreign. You hesitate before knocking, staring down at your—his—hands, trying to remind yourself that none of this is real. It can’t be.

Finally, the door swings open, and you’re face to face with yourself.

For a second, neither of you says anything. It’s like looking in a mirror, but worse—because it’s not a reflection. It’s him. Hyunjin, standing in your skin, his expression tense and uncomfortable, like he’s just as disoriented by seeing you as you are by seeing him.

“This is insane,” he mutters, stepping aside to let you in. Hearing your own voice come from his mouth makes you flinch, your stomach twisting painfully.

“You think?” you reply, your voice—his voice—sounding too sharp, too loud in the small space.

You walk into         the apartment, your movements awkward and stiff, trying to figure out how to exist in a body that isn’t yours. Everything feels wrong, from the way the muscles in your legs tighten when you walk to the way your hands rest at your sides. You’ve been in this body for less than a day, and you already feel like you’re trapped in someone else’s life.

Hyunjin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his—your—chest, watching you carefully. He shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable, as if he’s unsure what to do with his hands or how to hold his face.. There’s a moment of shared awkwardness, a realization that neither of you knows how to handle this.

You give a slight nod in his direction, a small grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you take in the sight of your now-clothed body. “You dressed me?” you ask, amusement lacing your voice.

Hyunjin glances down at the baggy shirt draped over your figure—his shirt. “I mean… was I not supposed to?” he mumbles, crossing his arms again. “It only felt right…”

Looking down at yourself—his body—you swallow, the weight of it all settling heavily over you. “It feels… heavy,” you admit, your voice quieter now, thoughtful. “Like I’m too big for this space.”

Hyunjin nods, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that looks strange on you, “I know. It’s weird. Everything feels too... light.” He grimaces. “Like I’m fragile.”

“How do you deal with this?” Hyunjin suddenly asked, his voice quiet but pointed.

You blinked, frowning slightly. “Deal with what?”

“This,” Hyunjin said, gesturing vaguely to his—your—body. “The way everything feels so... tight. Like there’s always this knot in my chest. It’s exhausting.”

You stared at him for a moment, your heart sinking at his words. Of course, you knew that feeling—knew it all too well. That constant weight on your chest, the ever-present tension that never seemed to go away. You’d been living with it for so long that it had become a part of you, something you barely even noticed anymore.

But hearing Hyunjin describe it, feeling it through your body, made it hit differently. He could feel what you’d been feeling all this time, and the realization left you reeling.

“It’s always been like that,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I just... got used to it.”

Hyunjin turned his head to look at you, his eyes—your eyes—softening in a way you hadn’t expected. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, and you found yourself swallowing hard, trying to push down the rising wave of emotions. He was right, of course. You shouldn’t have had to carry that weight alone, but you had. For so long. And you didn’t know how to let it go.

“I don’t know any other way,” you confessed, your voice thick with emotion. Your eyes stay fixed to the floor, the tiles blurring as tears flood into your vision. You don’t let them fall. You tighten your fists as to not let them spill out.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched out,

“I get it,” he said quietly. “I’ve been carrying my own shit too. And I didn’t realize just how much it was weighing me down until now.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw it—the exhaustion in your own face, the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of everything you’d been carrying. It was strange, seeing yourself from the outside like this, but it also made you realize just how much Hyunjin had been holding back too.

“This sucks,” you said softly. “But It’s no way we could have avoided this… considering how fucked up we were.” You wiped your eyes, a hint of smile appearing. “God. I fucking hate crying.”

Hyunjin nodded, “Yeah. And im an ugly crier so...” He allowed himself to let out a small chuckle.

There was a long pause, the kind that usually felt uncomfortable but now felt… necessary. Like you were both finally starting to understand each other, finally starting to see what you’d been avoiding for so long.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin said suddenly, his voice quiet but sincere. “For… everything. For not being honest with you. For not seeing you, really seeing you, before all of this.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat at his words. You hadn’t expected an apology but hearing it now—hearing it from your own voice, no less—made your chest tighten with emotion.

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered. “For pushing you away. For pretending this was just… casual. When it wasn’t.”

Hyunjin’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was no need for words. The understanding that passed between you was enough. You were both broken in your own ways, both carrying the weight of past relationships and unspoken emotions, but now—finally—you were starting to share that weight with each other.

And it felt like a small, tentative step toward healing.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. The sense of unreality lingered in the air as you sat across from each other, still coming to terms with the strange new reality of being in each other’s bodies.

Hyunjin—your body sprawled on the couch—stared up at the ceiling, idly tapping his fingers against his leg. It was a movement so familiar, yet now it felt unsettling.

You sat on the edge of the armchair, elbows resting on your knees as you tried to process everything. There had to be a way to switch back, but as the realization that you might be stuck like this, at least for a little while longer, sank in, your skin crawled.

The rest of the day was spent in a strange, quiet rhythm. You’d both come to terms with the fact that you were stuck in each other’s bodies for the time being, and though it was still unsettling, the initial panic had subsided. Now, there was an unspoken agreement to figure things out together, to navigate this bizarre situation one step at a time.

There were awkward moments, of course. Simple tasks like eating breakfast or getting dressed were strange, and you both kept stumbling over the unfamiliar movements of each other’s bodies. But there were also moments of quiet understanding, where you could feel the growing connection between you.

At one point, you caught Hyunjin staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his—your—hand resting against the sink as he studied his face. He didn’t say anything when you passed by—the quiet contemplation, the way his fingers traced the curve of his cheek—made you feel like he was seeing something in you he hadn’t before.

He was learning you, just as you were learning him.

And though the situation was still bizarre, there was a strange comfort in that. A sense of closeness you hadn’t expected, but now that it was there, you couldn’t imagine going back.

Your eyes flick to Hyunjin laying on the couch. The arm of the sofa cradling his head and his -your- hair purposefully laid over it. You’ve seen your body a thousand times before, but never like this. Never from the outside, with someone else inhabiting it. It feels... strange. And unsettling. And a little too intimate.

Hyunjin shifts, watching you from the corner of his eye. his gaze trailing over you—your hands, your face. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you now, something you can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how you do this,” he says softly, almost to himself. “How you live in this body.”

“I could say the same about yours,” you reply, your voice low, your throat tight and you can feel the weight of Hyunjin’s body pressing down on you, heavy and unfamiliar.

You move to sit next to him, taking a small space on the edge of the couch. Hyunjin’s eyes meet yours again. There’s a sense of unfamiliarity and heightened awareness that thickens the air, and you know you both can feel it. It urges you closer to him—closer to yourself.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach out, your hand—Hyunjin’s hand—brushing lightly against his—your—knee. It’s a simple touch, barely anything, but the feeling of it—of his skin under your hand—makes you want to touch him more.

The moment stretches, heavy with anticipation, and neither of you moves. You can feel your pulse in your throat, in your chest, everywhere, and suddenly, the distance between you feels too far...

Your eyes trace the lines of your body, the way Hyunjin is sitting in it—his posture so different from yours, his movements more restrained, almost hesitant. It feels strange to see yourself like this, to see him in you. And even stranger to feel the pull in your chest that comes with that realization.

Hyunjin’s eyes flick up to yours, and something shifts in the room. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but you feel it—like a current passing between you. The air feels charged now, thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

“I can’t get used to this,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. He’s still looking at you—at his own face—like he’s trying to make sense of it, like maybe the answers are buried somewhere in your skin.

You swallow hard, your pulse thudding in your ears. “I don’t think we’re supposed to,” you reply, your voice low, rough around the edges. “But here we are.”

Hyunjin lets out a slow breath, his gaze dropping to where your fingers had brushed against his skin. There’s a tension in the way he moves, a kind of restraint, like he’s holding something back. And for a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to stop holding back. To stop pretending this isn’t happening, that there isn’t something pulling you together, drawing you closer.

The couch feels too small now, too confined. Your body—his body—feels too big for the space, and your skin feels too tight. Every breath feels like it’s pressing up against something just out of reach. You shift, turning slightly toward him, your knee brushing his—your—leg in the process.

Hyunjin doesn’t pull away this time. He just looks at you, his eyes—your eyes—searching yours. And in that moment, you realize that you’re both feeling it—that strange pull, that raw, unspoken need for connection, for understanding.

You’ve always been good at pushing things down, at keeping your emotions locked up tight, but right now, with Hyunjin sitting there in your body, the lines are blurring. It’s like you can feel the weight of his confusion, his frustration, and maybe something more.

“I wonder if...” Hyunjin starts, but his voice trails off. He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t have to. You know exactly what he’s thinking because you’re thinking it too.

Before you can second-guess yourself, before you can let the confusion or fear settle in, you lean in. Your hand moves almost on instinct, reaching for him—reaching for yourself, really—and it’s not gentle, but it’s not forceful either. Just a touch. Just enough to bridge the gap that’s been widening between you.

Your fingers trace the line of your jaw—his jaw, now—and you feel the smoothness of the skin beneath your fingertips. It’s surreal, touching yourself like this, feeling the angles and shapes you’ve only ever seen in the mirror. But it’s more than that. It’s the way Hyunjin looks at you while you do it. He looks out of it, like he has a million thoughts running through his head and he’s chasing after each one.

The tension that’s been simmering between you both finally boils over.

Hyunjin’s hand comes up, wrapping around your wrist—not to pull you away, but to hold you there and he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. They’re smooth and pillowy soft, your lips. As you kiss him back, eyes instinctively closing, you take in the smell of him, of his hair, and his skin. The smell of yourself.

You slip your tongue into his mouth, and you can feel his grip tighten on your wrist, his body tensing as he kisses back and a small sound escapes him, muffled by the kiss.

It feels different. But it’s something you can’t quite name, something that feels both terrifying and exhilarating. The way your lips move against each other, the way Hyunjin’s body presses against yours—it’s all so familiar and yet completely foreign.

You’re kissing yourself, and yet it’s him. It’s Hyunjin.

And it’s you.

 Your hands begin to roam, exploring the contours of his body with a kind of urgency that surprises you. Hyunjin responds in kind, his fingers sliding down your spine, his breath hot against your skin.

Hyunjin's hands grip the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as though you could somehow fuse together, body and mind. His lips, moving against yours with a desperation you’ve never felt before, sending a faint tingling throughout your body.

It’s overwhelming—feeling your own body from the outside, feeling how soft your skin is, how responsive it is to every touch. And the strength of your body—Hyunjin’s body—surprises you. It’s like you’re discovering him all over again, but from the inside out.

You pull back for just a second, breathless, your forehead resting against his. Your breath mingles with his, both of you breathing hard, and when you look into his eyes—your eyes—the confusion is still there, but it’s mingled with something else now. Something you’re both too afraid to say out loud.

“Are we really doing this?” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice low, uncertain.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you kiss him again—harder this time, with all the urgency of the moment flooding into it. There’s no stopping now.

 Without speaking, you both start peeling off clothes, the movements frantic, unsteady, like you can’t get out of your clothes fast enough. It’s surreal, watching your own body undress in front of you, seeing it from a perspective you never thought you’d have.

When Hyunjin’s body—your body—is finally bare in front of you, you openly stare at him for a beat too long and he tries to cover up with his hands. His shyness, though completely absurd, is still endearing. You’ve seen yourself naked countless times, but this is different. This is him in a different form. In a way, it doesn’t even seem like you anymore.

You close the distance between you, the feeling of his body on yours sinks into your skin, and spreads through every one of your nerves- Warm. Hyunjin lets out a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way his hands grip your arms, holding on like he’s afraid to let go.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes dark with desire, but theres a softness there too, a tenderness that makes your chest tighten.

“I’m okay with it,” you whisper, your voice shaky but certain. “I want this. I want you.”

Your hand drifts down, tracing the outline of your cock through your pants, the weight of it in your palm heavy and warm. The feeling sends a rush of heat through you—different from anything you’ve felt before. Hyunjin’s breath hitches, and you can see the flush in his cheeks, the way his body tenses under your touch.

“I wonder how it feels…” you whisper, your voice thick with desire, “to be inside myself.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with something—curiosity, maybe, or something darker. “I want to know, too.”

Before you can overthink it, you’re pulling him down, your lips sliding against his in a messy kiss —your body responding to the familiar and unfamiliar all at once. 

You could feel your own skin from the outside now, the sensation of it under your fingers unfamiliar but fascinating. The texture was soft, smoother than you’d ever noticed before, and for the first time, you realized how delicate you actually felt in Hyunjin’s hands. as he moved closer you could smell your own scent wafting from your skin—it was all-consuming. The scent of your own body, the taste of your lips when you kissed, the softness of your skin—it was intoxicating.

“I don’t even know what to do,” Hyunjin admitted quietly, his voice—your voice—tinged with uncertainty. “I mean, this is your body. I don’t want to…”

“You’re me right now,” you interrupted, your heart racing. “And I’m you. So… I think we just… feel.”

Your hand glides down his chest, tracing the curve of your own body and feeling how it responds to the touch. Hyunjin shudders as your hand brushes against the swell of his—your—breasts. The roughness of your hands against the softness there makes you pause, swallowing hard before continuing.

The sensation is strange—your breasts, which have always been a natural part of you, now feel unfamiliar, foreign, and yet deeply intimate. Your fingers trail over your skin with a mix of awe and confusion, exploring every curve with a renewed sense of wonder.

“I never knew… I never figured that—”

“You felt so good?” Hyunjin finishes for you, his voice soft but tinged with amazement. His hands mirror yours as he caresses himself—your body—with reverence, his touch tender as if learning you anew. “Yeah. It amazes me too.”

Hyunjin’s hand moves lower, tentative but curious, your eyes follow them. His fingers trace the soft skin of his thighs -a delicate dance between curiosity and intimacy. They slide between his legs, and you notice him take a deep breath.

 “I’m wet.”

The words tumble out of him before he can stop them, —a fact spoken aloud to make it feel real.

it’s not that he didn’t expect this. Of course he did. It’s natural, inevitable. But knowing something in theory and feeling it are two entirely different things. And now, with the heat pooling between his thighs, the slickness against his skin, he’s finally experiencing it—fully, tangibly.

As Hyunjin’s fingers linger between his legs, you can’t help but feel a magnetic pull, an urge to close the distance. The sight of him—of you—so vulnerable, so immersed, stirs something deep within you. Your hand moves almost instinctively, reaching out, your curiosity stronger than any doubt.

Your fingertips brush lightly against his wrist, as if asking rather than taking. He glances at you, his breath hitching, and for a moment the two of you are caught in a quiet understanding. His hand doesn’t pull away.

Encouraged, your fingers settle just above his, not guiding, not interfering, but simply being there. Sharing the space, the sensation, the moment. His breath comes slower now, his movements steady, and you feel the warmth radiating from his skin through yours.

And then you feel it.

The slow, building pressure in your body. It starts as a tightness in your lower abdomen, an unfamiliar sensation that makes your breath hitch. You can feel your own skin heating up, the muscles in your groin tightening as something else builds inside of you.

The feeling of an erection.

The sensation of your own arousal was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. The feeling of your cock hardening, the way your balls tightened with anticipation—it was both exhilarating and overwhelming. You had no control over the way your body responded, but at the same time, it felt natural, like something primal was taking over.

Hyunjin’s hands roamed over your body—his body—You could feel every muscle, every shift of skin under his touch, and it only made you crave more. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you melt under his fingers, because he knew you. He knew your body in a way no one else could, because for the first time, he had felt what you felt.

You bit your lip as you slid your hand under the waistband, freeing his erection. The feeling of Hyunjin’s dick in your hand—your own now—was almost too much to process. It was hot, heavy, the skin smooth and velvety beneath your palm, and the sensation of it pulsing in your grip

“It’s so… hard,” you whispered, your hand moving slowly, stroking along the length of his cock. You’d never felt anything like it before, the sheer rawness of it, the pressure of arousal building in your gut in a way that was completely unfamiliar.

“This feels…” Hyunjin’s voice—your voice—breaks the silence, as his hands move over your chest, tracing the lines of muscle there. “So different. So intense.”

You smirk, leaning down to press your lips against his neck, feeling the way his pulse races beneath your touch. “You have no idea.”

You decide to take the lead, guiding him to his back as you press kisses along his chest,

Your hands slide lower, grazing the inside of his thighs, and the sensation sends a rush of heat straight through you. more desperate, more eager to explore every inch of him. You pause, glancing up at him and see him staring at you, eyes lidded, but hesitant to close.

You can see the tension in Hyunjin’s face, the way he’s trying to process everything, but he’s too far gone now, too caught up in the overwhelming sensations. His hands grip your shoulders, pulling you closer and when you settle between his legs, you hesitate for a moment feeling your dick twitch at the slightest contact.

You reach for Hyunjin’s hands again, holding them tightly as your eyes meet his. His eyes are tracking your every move, and his eyebrows have worn a crease between them since you started. “Are you scared?” you whisper, voice soft yet steady.

Hyunjin lets out a quiet breath, his cheeks flushed as he glances away, gently pulling his hands from yours to hide his face. "You're even treating me like... like a girl," he says, his voice trailing off, almost embarrassed.

A small smile pulls at your lips. “In a way, aren’t we both… sort of like virgins right now?” You give him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Neither of us really knows what this feels like.”

He finally looks back at you, his gaze settling between your bodies for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I know you won’t hurt me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I never hurt you.”

The weight of his words presses into your chest, and though you know he believes them, you’re aware that it’s not entirely true. Pain and pleasure had often existed in the same space between you, something he’s about to experience, perhaps for the first time.

You guide his hands back to your body, encouraging him to explore each sensation, to feel every part of himself as if it’s brand new. He lets out a shaky breath, his touch growing more confident and as your eyes meet, he reaches down grab your cock, languidly stroking it, jerking you off with a touch that is familiar yet entirely new.

You buck your hips into him, seeing the way he twists his hands around the shaft. It feels so fucking good already. The sight of it—your cock, hard and throbbing—makes you dizzy.  The need is overwhelming, and you don’t have time for hesitation.

Sliding your hands slowly up his thighs, you press his legs apart, the vulnerability and trust in his gaze fuel your every move.  You lean in, pressing gentle kisses down his neck, your lips barely brushing his skin, lingering, allowing him to adjust to each sensation. Your fingers trail along the delicate skin inside his thighs, inching closer before you reach his core. As your fingers press and rub circles over his clit, his hand falters, grip tightening around you as he gasps at the sensation. You feel him tremble beneath your touch, his arousal evident as your fingers slide lower, gathering wetness, slick and warm, and spreading it over him.

The look in Hyunjin’s eyes, in your eyes, is not like looking at your reflection. It’s like looking at a stranger. The disconnect catches you off guard but you know it’s him, and all you want is to make him feel good. Give him everything you know he needs right now.

You don’t mean to be rough, but there’s no gentleness in your movements either. Hyunjin’s body feels invincible, and the weight of it presses into Hyunjin’s—your—softer frame. You grip his wrists, holding him down as you straddle him, and you can’t help but notice how small his body feels under yours.

“You’re so fucking soft,” you mutter, almost to yourself, your hands running over his thighs, squeezing them as you press his legs apart, giving yourself the space to move. You’ve never felt your own skin from the outside, never appreciated just how warm and slick you get when aroused.

Hyunjin shifts beneath you, “I don’t know if I—” he starts, but you cut him off by positioning yourself between his legs, your cock heavy in your hand. You look down at your own body spread open and waiting. Your hands tremble slightly as you grip your cock, guiding it to his entrance.

But then Hyunjin’s hand pushes gently against your chest. “Wait.”

You pause, the sudden halt almost painful with how wound up you feel. “What?”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking down between your bodies. “You’re… not used to being a guy. Shouldn’t we—”

You know what he’s about to say, and before he can finish, you cut him off, the words coming out blunter than you intend. “I’m not using one.”

Hyunjin blinks up at you, your own face looking surprised and maybe a little alarmed. “Hell no. I don’t want any chance of you getting me—” he stumbles over the words, his voice rising in disbelief, “I mean, you—pregnant.”

The absurdity of the situation hangs in the air between you for a split second, but neither of you laughs. The tension between you is too high, the heat too intense, and you can tell he’s serious.

You click your tongue, the weight of the moment settling between you, then reach over to grab a condom from the side table. As you roll it on, there’s a brief pause, both of you staring at each other in this strange, disorienting exchange—like you’re both trying to process the line you’re about to cross, or maybe the ones you’ve already crossed.

This is something entirely new.

As you push inside, both of you cry out. Hyunjin tenses completely — the feeling of your cock stretching and filling him—is overwhelming. The tightness, the heat, the way your body clenches around you as you sink deeper inside. More than that, he’s wet, incredibly wet,. You begin to think that whatever the situation your body will always welcome his.

Hyunjin lets out a breathless moan, his hands gripping the back of the couch as his hips arch toward you, urging you to move. “Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice trembling as you begin to thrust into him, slow and steady.

You groan as you bottom out, the slickness of your folds making every movement feel smoother, more intense. The sensation of your cock sliding in and out of him—out of yourself—is unlike anything you could have imagined. The friction, the heat, the way his body—your body—responds to your every thrust. This is what keeps him coming back,

“Hyunjin,” you groan, your hands gripping his hips as you build a steady pace, feeling the pleasure build inside you. “It’s so tight.”

Hyunjin doesn’t give much of a response, though he is anything but quiet, clutching onto you for dear life. “Hyunjin?” You still for a moment, “are you okay?”

“Yes. Just don’t stop”

Hyunjin’s mind is reeling, but his body is burning with need, and he wants nothing more than to lose himself in the moment --- to shut his brain off completely. As you press him further into the couch, folding his legs up, he squeezes his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around you and hugging your body closer. He tries to picture you—the way you usually look, the way you touch him gently, the way you fit against him. That would make this easier, he thinks, if he can just pretend it’s you, like normal, things will feel familiar again.

. Every movement, every brush of your cock against his walls sends waves of pleasure crashing through both of you, the unfamiliar sensations heightening everything.

 In your possession, his dick feels like a loaded weapon—dangerous, powerful, and utterly out of his contol.  The weight of your body—his body—pinning him down, and every time he tries to picture your usual self above him, all he can feel is the undeniable presence of a man.

You push deeper, and Hyunjin can’t stop the sharp gasp that escapes his lips. The stretch is intense, it even hurts a little, but his body responds anyway, betraying him, heat pooling low in his stomach as you hit a spot that makes his legs weak.

“Fuck, I—” His words break off as you thrust harder, your grip tightening on his hips. He can’t finish the thought, can’t admit to himself what is really going through his mind.

He hates how good it feels. He hates that he can’t stop his body from reacting, cant stop the moans spilling from his lips, can’t stop the way his hips move to meet yours with every thrust.

“I can’t—” he tries again, his breath catching as your hips snap against his. He bites his lip, trying to suppress the noises escaping him, trying to hold on to some shred of control. But its slipping away, fast.

“You can’t what?” you mutter, your voice rough, “What’s wrong?”

He wants to hate it. Wants to stop. But he can’t.

You can tell Hyunjin is on the brink of losing it, the way his body—your body—trembled beneath you, his hands gripping the couch as he tried to hold on to something familiar. But there wasn’t anything familiar about this for him. He was in your body now, and you had all the power.

“I don’t…” Hyunjin swallowed hard, trying to get the words out, but they stuck in his throat. His voice sounded strained, like he was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. “I can’t… it doesn’t feel like me.”

You paused, your hips stilling for a moment as you looked down at him—at yourself. He could see the confusion on your face, but there was something darker there too, something satisfied in the way your lips curled into a small, almost amused smirk.

“It’s not,” you say, your voice quiet, yet clear, “Not right now.”

You push your hands behind his back, slowly bringing him into your arms and pressing his body against yours. Hyunjin realizes then that he is being carried. You pad toward your bedroom in short awkward steps, “Hold on. I got you.” And he does,

 “Why are you carrying me?”

“Because I can.” You stand him up on the floor and turn him around to face the mirror, “Here. Look.”

In the reflection, you can see yourselves, your body, his, and the rest of your bedroom.

.                       You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear. “See? It’s us,”. You murmur, your hands sliding down to grip his hips, pulling him closer.

It takes Hyunjin a moment to understand what you mean. It’s us. Looking in the mirror like this, it almost feels normal. Like you both are in the right body. You bend him over the bed, allowing him to still see the scene in the mirror. “And this is better than the sofa.”

The expression you’re wearing on his face makes him a little uneasy. So, he puts all his focus onto yours, the real you. Before he realizes it, you’re pulling him back on your dick again. He jolts at the sudden movement, his body curling up off the bed. Have you always been this…rough? Does it just feel different now? Why does he like it so much?

He lets out a choked sound, pressing his face into the sheets. This new angle lets you move deeeep inside, you can feel your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You’re throbbing inside of him, and you know he can feel it.

You hold him by the throat pulling him up to face the mirror, so he can see how good he looks when he’s fucking you, and how good he looks being fucked.

“You like that?” you groan as you rut into him faster, feeling his body clench tight around you. All he can do is nod. “I knew you would.”

 Nobody likes the sound of their own voice, but you don’t want to shut up right now. Letting the sound of Hyunjins voice ring through your head. Every word and every moan that comes to you escaping passed your lips. Why not go all out?

You take each of his wrists, pulling them behind his back, lifting him up off the bed, giving him a full view of your body in the mirror, but he can barely keep his head up, hair falling in front of his face, and when you start to stuff your cock inside him again, your tits bounce up and down with your thrusts. You watch as Hyunjin’s dick disappears inside your pussy, again and again. The sight brings you close to cumming, but you control yourself.

You take in a sharp breath, slowing your pace, allowing yourself to feel the slow drag of your cock against the walls of your cunt, watching Hyunjin through lidded eyes, his reactions make you want to give him more, impossibly more. Dying to see how good you can make him feel.

You put a leg up on the bed, pulling his ass back against your dick. Your hands slide up his back, grabbing him by the neck, and the other hand grabbing a handful of hair. You’re thinking maybe he’ll like that as much as you do and how loud he’s getting confirms it for you.

You push your cock in completely, feeling his pussy clench around you, needing friction, but you still inside him, “You take dick pretty well.” You say before you pull out leaving in just the tip, just before you slam back in suddenly. You continue fucking him in long, deep strokes, your personal favorite.

“Tha-ts no-ot fu- uhah ahhh..” Hyunjin tries to speak through your hard thrusts but fails.

“I’m not being funny,” you grin, taking his jaw and turning it towards you, taking his lips for filthy kiss, sliding your tongue into his open mouth, swirling them around each other. It’s not long before you’re trying to kiss but only panting into each other’s mouths closer and closer to cumming.

You wrap your arms around him in a tight hug, caging his smaller frame inside your arms. Fucking him harder, not any faster, just harder and deeper. Fucking him until you feel him stiffen up below you, feeling his hands clutching at your arms trying to ground himself. You keep driving your cock into him until it sounds like he’s crying.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t sto-,” Hyunjin let out a choked sound, his head falling back as he came, his body convulsing beneath you as the orgasm tore through him. He wasn’t in control anymore—hadn’t been for a while. His body had already given in, and now his mind was catching up.

You could feel it too—the pressure building fast as you thrust deeper, pushing him through his orgasm. You tighten your hold around him, following close behind, the release hitting you hard as you cum inside him, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

For a moment, the world stops, it takes you both a while to come down, your bodies collapsing together in a tangled mess. The air feels thick, heavy with everything that has just happened, and when you finally pull out, the silence between you is deafening.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He lays there, staring up at the ceiling, his chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You can see the conflict in his eyes—the way he is struggling to process it all. He wants to feel that this is just another hookup with you, but it isn’t. Not this time.

El FIN

second author's note: 🎵 i am yooouuu. I see me in youuu 🎶 i included like page break lines to show time skip but they didnt work when i pasted it in womp womp. look guys a bitch did her best. i tried to give yall the cute little pictures all the other hoes on here do. and i told yall it was weird. theres a lot of issues but writing this turned my brain into sloppy joe mix but if you made it to the end i appreciate youuuu soooo muuuchh. omg i feel like i fucked this up so bad anyway mwah mwah. Now go fuck yourself! Wink wink

[eris-norwega]

i’m going insane. this hyperfixation has entered its final stage, and that’s when i want to write my own fanfics.

i want to take requests for alastor x reader fanfics. i promise the absolute least i can give y’all is good grammar and spelling. but i’ve been told i’m a good writer too.

be aware i’m not totally sure how tumblr works from the publishing side of it, but i’ll figure it out. asks should be open (if they’re not PLEASE tell me lmao), or you can ask in the comments.

i’m up for writing just about anything. i’ll lyk if i’m uncomfortable with something.

but if you have a favorite author that’s backed up on requests right now and you want yours done sooner, you can send me your ideas too and i’ll put my own spin on it. i love hearing what this fandom has to offer and how authors interpret things differently.

please. i’m so bored.

edit: lmk how you want the story to end (like either happy or angst or angst to happy or whatever). i’ve taken a request before where i wrote a fic that ended in reader’s death and idt that was what the requester wanted😭 i will accidentally make y’all’s requests unnecessarily sad if it’s not specified

[amethystarachnid]

A PLACE TO STAY - part II

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, some angst, more fluff at the end

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.6k

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ Summary: one Olivia is officially your daughter it's time to show her what having a family means

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abandonment and abandonment issues, reader discovers she's pregnant

ᯓ★ I'm so sorry I know you asked just fluff but I swear the fic wrote itself, and I will sure as hell write a second part where Steve and Y/n adopt Olivia because I'm crying.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The days since you and Steve had decided to adopt Olivia have been filled with a blend of excitement, nerves, and a deep sense of certainty. It feels like the right thing to do. Every time you picture Olivia’s face—her bright smile, the way she clings to you for comfort, the way her tiny hands grasp your fingers with unspoken trust—your heart swells with love. The idea of offering her a stable, loving home is overwhelming, but you both know it’s what she deserves.

Today, after all the conversations and emotions that have led up to this moment, you and Steve are about to head back to the orphanage. It feels different this time. You’re not just there to spend time with Olivia. This visit is about making things official, about taking the first steps toward a new future—for all of you.

The crisp air of Brooklyn greets you as you and Steve step out of your apartment, bundled up against the cold but still feeling the warmth of each other’s presence. Every step toward the orphanage feels like it matters. Today, you’re not just visiting a child. You’re talking to the headmistress about adopting Olivia.

When you arrive at the orphanage, the familiar sight of the building brings both comfort and nerves. It’s strange to think that not too long ago, this place was just where you met Olivia for the first time. Now, it’s a place where your future with her is about to take root.

The moment you step through the doors, the warmth of the building surrounds you. Children’s laughter and chatter echo in the hallway, but your attention is on the headmistress’s office. You know that Olivia is probably somewhere in the building, playing or perhaps getting ready for her afternoon snack, but today isn’t just about her. It’s about speaking to the headmistress and moving forward with the plans to make Olivia officially part of your family.

You exchange a glance with Steve as you approach the office. His face is soft, yet resolute, the same warmth you’ve come to know in his every expression.

“She’s going to be so happy,” Steve says softly, his voice filled with the same tenderness that’s always there when he talks about Olivia.

“I hope so,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I know we’ve talked about it, but… asking her feels like a big moment.”

“I think she already knows, Y/n,” Steve responds, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “She already looks at us like we’re family.”

With that, the two of you push open the office door and enter, greeted by the headmistress, who stands up as soon as she sees you. Her kind face radiates warmth, her smile deep and genuine. She’s always been welcoming, and today, that feeling is even more palpable as she takes in your presence.

“Y/n, Steve,” she says, her voice full of kindness, “it’s so good to see you both. I’m glad you could make it today.”

“Thank you for meeting with us,” you say, your voice quiet but filled with gratitude. “We wanted to talk about something important regarding Olivia.”

The headmistress nods knowingly, a slight glint of understanding in her eyes. “I can only imagine what this is about,” she says gently, sitting back down at her desk. “You’ve both been wonderful with her. It’s clear she’s formed a strong bond with you.”

You glance at Steve, and he squeezes your hand as if to reassure you that this moment, this conversation, is one you’ve both been ready for.

“We’ve been thinking a lot about Olivia’s future,” Steve begins. “And we want to make sure that if we’re moving forward with adoption, we’re doing it with her best interests in mind.”

The headmistress nods, her gaze soft but wise. “Of course. We always want what’s best for the children here. Olivia is a wonderful little girl, and I’ve seen her grow so much since you two started visiting her. You’ve brought a light into her life that wasn’t there before. She deserves all the love she’s getting.”

You smile, a mixture of relief and emotion filling your chest at her words. “We want to give her that love permanently,” you say, voice steady but your heart beating faster as you realize the magnitude of what you’re saying. “We want to ask her if she wants us to be her parents.”

The headmistress looks at both of you, a warmth in her gaze that only deepens. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Olivia has always been a shy, cautious little girl, but over the past few weeks, I’ve seen how much she’s come out of her shell around both of you. She’s more confident, more trusting. She’ll understand the question more than you might think.”

Steve nods, though there’s a trace of doubt in his eyes. “We just… want to make sure she’s really ready for this. Before we go through any legal processes, we want to be sure that it’s something she wants, too.”

“You’re being very thoughtful,” the headmistress says. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. But it’s important that she feels like she’s part of the decision. The transition won’t be easy, but I can see how much she’s come to rely on you both. She looks up to you so much.”

There’s a slight pause, and then the headmistress leans back in her chair, her eyes twinkling with understanding. “I can’t think of a better family for her, if I’m being honest. And I know she’ll be happy with you. But asking her is the right way to go.”

The words feel like a confirmation, as if this is the final piece falling into place. It gives you the confidence you need to move forward.

You take a deep breath, and then glance at Steve, who nods again. You both stand together, ready to ask Olivia the question that will change all of your lives.

“We’re going to ask her now,” you say, your voice steady. “Thank you for your support.”

The headmistress smiles warmly. “Take your time. I’m sure it’ll go wonderfully.”

You and Steve exit the office, your hearts racing in unison as you head toward the room where the children are gathered. As you approach, you spot Olivia near the corner, sitting with a few other kids and playing with a set of building blocks. Her little hands are busy, but the moment she sees you, her face lights up.

“Y/n! Steve!” she calls, pushing herself up from the floor and rushing over to you both. The others around her giggle, some calling her name playfully, but it’s clear Olivia only has eyes for you.

You kneel down as she reaches you, and she practically throws herself into your arms. The weight of her small body in your arms feels natural now, like she belongs there.

“Hi, sweetie,” you greet her, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “How’s your day been?”

“Good!” Olivia exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I make tower!” She holds up a small block, showing off the tiny structure she’s built. “Look!”

“That’s amazing,” Steve says with a smile, bending down to admire the little creation. He’s always so gentle with her, always so patient. You can see the love he has for her written clearly on his face.

But today is different. Today, you’re here to ask her something that will change everything.

“Olivia,” you say softly, your voice filled with warmth and care, “we need to talk to you about something important.”

She tilts her head, her brow furrowing slightly as she looks between you and Steve, her small hands still clutching the block in front of her.

“Do you remember when we talked about going home with us? About being a family?” you ask gently, making sure she’s following along.

Olivia’s eyes widen, and she nods enthusiastically. “Home!” she exclaims, her small hands clasping together. “Go home with you!”

You smile at her eagerness, your heart swelling. “We’ve been thinking a lot about that,” you continue, “and we wanted to ask you something. We want to know if you’d like us to be your mommy and daddy. If you want us to be your family. Forever.”

Her eyes search yours, blinking a few times as she processes the words. It’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder if she truly understands the weight of the question. But then, after a beat of silence, she lets out a little gasp.

“Yes!” she says, a huge grin spreading across her face. “Yes, yes, yes!”

You can hardly believe it. The joy in her voice is undeniable, and her little arms reach up toward you as if to prove it. You pull her into your arms, laughing with tears in your eyes.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks gently, his voice thick with emotion. “You really want us to be your parents?”

Olivia nods so enthusiastically it almost makes her dizzy. “Yes!” she says again, her tiny voice filled with joy. “Mommy, Daddy. Yes!”

You and Steve exchange a look of pure joy and disbelief. It’s as though everything has fallen into place—this little girl, who had been so cautious at first, now completely trusts you both to be her parents.

“Then it’s settled,” you say, your voice breaking slightly with emotion. “We’re going to be a family.”

Steve smiles, his eyes glistening with tears of his own as he hugs Olivia tightly, pulling you into the embrace. The three of you hold each other, the weight of what you’ve just agreed on sinking in. This is the beginning of something beautiful.

And in that moment, you know that Olivia has found her home. And you’ve found the family you were always meant to have.

The days after Olivia’s joyous acceptance of the adoption felt surreal. Everything was changing, but it was a change that you had longed for. It was a change that filled you with a sense of purpose and a warmth that made every moment feel even more meaningful than the last.

As you and Steve sat down to discuss the legal steps of adoption, you knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy or quick process. The legalities of adopting a child, especially from a system as large and complicated as the one Olivia had come from, would take time. A lot of time. It would require patience, paperwork, and plenty of legal representation. And while you were confident that everything would work out in the end, there was one thing that remained a little daunting: the financial side of it all.

But neither you nor Steve gave much thought to the cost. You both knew that money would come and go, but this—Olivia—was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This was your future. The legalities, the bureaucracy, the long wait—none of that mattered when you had the love and commitment that you and Steve shared.

“We’re going to do this,” Steve said one evening as you sat at the kitchen table, papers strewn across it. “No matter how long it takes. No matter how much it costs. Olivia deserves this.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. The stack of forms was daunting, but it didn’t faze you. “We’re ready,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll get through it together.”

It wasn’t easy, and it certainly wasn’t fast. There were meetings with lawyers, phone calls with social workers, and stacks of paperwork that seemed to multiply by the day. It was overwhelming at times, but every step felt like it was bringing you closer to Olivia. Every time you signed a form or spoke with someone about the process, you felt more certain that this was the right thing to do.

In the midst of the whirlwind of legal meetings and paperwork, there was something else that kept you both busy—transforming your apartment to prepare for Olivia’s arrival. You’d always loved your space, but now that the thought of being a family was a reality, it felt more important than ever to make sure everything was perfect for her. Your apartment in Brooklyn had been cozy and inviting, but there was one room that remained a little underused—the spare room. It had always been a place for storage or an extra guest room, but now, it was about to become something far more important.

This room would be Olivia’s.

“Alright,” Steve said one Saturday morning as you stood in the doorway of the spare room, surveying the space. “We need to make it perfect for her. What do you think?”

You looked around at the room, which was still filled with old furniture and boxes that hadn’t been unpacked from when you first moved in. It felt like it had so much potential—like it was waiting to be something special. And now, with Olivia’s future in mind, it felt like the perfect canvas.

“I think it needs to be… pink,” you said, your voice full of certainty. “It’s her favorite color.”

Steve’s lips curled into a smile as he looked at you. “Pink, huh? I’m not sure I’m ready for a pink overload, but if it’s what she wants…”

“It’s not just what she wants,” you replied, your tone soft and affectionate. “It’s what she deserves. She deserves a room that’s all hers, a place that feels like home. A place where she can feel safe, loved, and special.”

Steve’s smile softened, and he nodded. “Alright. Pink it is. But we’ll need some other colors to balance it out. Maybe some white and cream? Light wood accents?”

You nodded, already mentally planning the color scheme. “Yes, exactly. Light and airy, but still warm and cozy. We can put a little white dresser with pink accents, and maybe a cream-colored rug. And for the walls—maybe a soft pastel pink with some fun, subtle wallpaper that has little hearts or stars?”

“That sounds perfect,” Steve agreed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I love the idea of making it feel like her own little world.”

You both spent the next few weeks going to stores, picking out paint samples, furniture, and little decorations. It was one of the most enjoyable experiences you’d had together. Every decision felt meaningful—the color of the walls, the design of the bedspread, the little stuffed animals that would sit on the shelves. Each little detail seemed to add up to something bigger than you could have ever imagined. This was no longer just a room. It was Olivia’s room, and you were making it a place where she would feel nothing but love.

One Saturday, you and Steve got to work. You started by painting the walls a soft, pastel pink, the color already feeling like it belonged. You laughed as Steve struggled to find the right angle to reach the top of the walls, his tall frame a bit too much for the small space. You stood on a ladder, rolling paint on the lower parts of the wall, exchanging playful comments as you both worked together to create a room that would feel like home for Olivia.

“You know,” Steve said between strokes of the roller, “I didn’t think I’d ever get this excited about painting a room. But this… this feels different. This feels important.”

You smiled, looking over at him. “It is different. This is her space, Steve. She’s going to have a place to call her own, a place where she’s safe and loved. And that’s everything.”

As the paint dried, you and Steve began to assemble the furniture—an adorable white bedframe with a matching dresser, soft pastel-colored bedding with little floral patterns. You hung up shelves, arranging stuffed animals and toys that you’d bought for Olivia over the past few weeks. There was a small rocking chair near the window, perfect for reading bedtime stories, and a pink area rug in the middle of the room that felt so soft underfoot.

Steve was putting together the final pieces when you stood in the doorway, admiring the room. It felt perfect—so inviting and full of love, a space where Olivia would flourish.

“We’ve really done it,” you said softly, your voice filled with awe.

Steve walked over to you, his hand resting gently on your back. He gazed at the room with you, his eyes soft. “She’s going to love it.”

“She already does,” you replied, your heart swelling. “We’re giving her everything she needs. She’s going to have a real home.”

Later that evening, after Olivia had returned from the orphanage, the two of you brought her to the room, her little hands grasping yours as you led her inside. Her eyes widened in shock and wonder as she stepped into the transformed space.

“Wow,” she whispered, taking in the pink walls, the soft bedding, the shelves filled with toys. She ran her hands over the bedspread, a smile spreading across her face. “Mine?”

“It’s all yours,” you said gently, kneeling down to her level. “This is your room, Olivia. You can play here, sleep here, and just be yourself.”

Her face lit up with joy, her small hands reaching out to touch everything in the room. “Pink! I love pink!” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement.

Steve crouched down beside her, smiling warmly. “I’m glad you love it, sweetheart. We made it just for you.”

Olivia beamed at both of you, her little arms reaching up to wrap around your neck as she hugged you tightly. “I love it. Thank you, Mommy. Thank you, Daddy.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, and your heart swelled with an emotion you couldn’t describe. This was real. This was happening. You were building a life with Olivia—a family. And every moment, every decision, every laugh, every hug made it feel like the most beautiful thing in the world.

As Olivia giggled and bounced on her new bed, you and Steve exchanged a look. There was so much left to do—so much more to give her—but in that moment, you knew that this was the beginning of everything. This room, this life, this love. It was all for her.

And together, you and Steve were ready to give her the family she had always deserved.

The months since Olivia had become an official part of your life had been a whirlwind. What started as visits to the orphanage, cautious steps toward adoption, and days of transforming a room into a bright, pink sanctuary for her, had led to this moment. The paperwork was finally done, the court hearings had been completed, and after months of waiting and hoping, Olivia was now your daughter—legally, forever.

The day you got the final confirmation that the adoption had been approved was a blur of emotions. You and Steve sat together in your apartment, holding each other as you stared at the email, the news still sinking in. A few months ago, you couldn’t have imagined that this day would come so soon. The future that had once seemed uncertain now felt like a reality—a family forged in love, patience, and care.

“Olivia is our daughter,” Steve whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held the phone up to show you the confirmation. “She’s ours.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed his hand. “She’s really ours, Steve. After everything, it’s real.”

Now, it was time to bring her home—truly home. No more visits. No more goodbyes. Olivia, the little girl who had captured your heart with her smile and cautious trust, was about to become a permanent part of your family.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon when you and Steve drove to the orphanage to pick up Olivia. The sun was shining, the city bustling around you, but none of that mattered. Your heart was focused on the little girl waiting for you. Olivia had already been told by the headmistress that today was the day, and when you walked into the orphanage to find her, she was already bouncing with excitement.

Her eyes lit up when she saw you both standing in the doorway. She didn’t hesitate for a moment, her little legs propelling her forward as she ran into your arms.

“Mommy! Daddy!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around you both in a tight embrace. The feeling of her small body pressing against you was something you never got used to—it was the feeling of home, the feeling of being exactly where you were meant to be.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said, hugging her close, feeling the joy bubble up inside you. “Are you ready to come home with us?”

Olivia nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling. “Home! Forever?”

You looked over at Steve, your heart full. “Yes, sweetheart. Forever.”

As you made your way out of the orphanage and into the car, the world outside felt different. There was a sense of finality, but also excitement. You could almost feel the air shift, as if everything had aligned just right for the three of you. This was the moment you had been waiting for—the day when Olivia would finally get to experience what it was like to have a real home, a safe space with two parents who loved her beyond measure.

The ride to your apartment felt like it took forever. Olivia chattered excitedly in the backseat, her tiny voice full of enthusiasm as she looked out the window at the passing scenery. “Is it big? My room? My bed? My toys?” she asked, her curiosity bubbling over.

“Your room is waiting for you,” Steve answered, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “It’s just as you left it—pink and perfect, just the way you like it.”

You smiled at her, your heart swelling. “And we’ve got lots of toys and books for you to enjoy. We can play together, every day.”

By the time you arrived at the apartment, Olivia’s excitement had reached its peak. As soon as you parked the car, she was already unbuckling her seatbelt, eager to get out. You both helped her out of the car, holding her hands as you walked into the building and up the stairs to your apartment.

When you opened the door, Olivia stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, her eyes scanning the familiar space. It was no longer just a place she had visited—this was her home now, every corner filled with love and warmth. She walked inside slowly, her little steps careful, as if she were waiting for something to change.

“Do you want to see your room?” you asked gently, crouching down to her level, making sure to give her the space she needed.

Her eyes widened, and she nodded quickly. “Yes!”

You took her hand and led her down the hallway toward the room that had been waiting for her all this time. The door creaked open, and Olivia gasped, her tiny face lighting up as she took in the sight of her room—her very own room. The walls were painted a soft pink, the bed covered with a fluffy duvet, and the shelves lined with toys, stuffed animals, and books. The soft cream rug beneath her feet added to the warmth of the room, and it felt like a true sanctuary.

Olivia’s small hands touched the bedspread, the pink fabric soft under her fingers. “My bed… it’s so soft,” she whispered, sitting down gently, her eyes wide with awe. She ran her hands over the sheets, a sense of wonder filling her voice. “This is mine?”

“It’s all yours,” Steve said softly, his voice full of pride. “And it’s where you’ll sleep every night, sweetie.”

Olivia beamed, her little face glowing with happiness. “I love it,” she said, her voice quiet, as if taking in the gravity of the moment.

You sat next to her on the bed, wrapping your arms around her. “We love you, Olivia. This is your home now, and we’ll always take care of you.”

Over the next few days, Olivia slowly settled into the rhythms of her new life. At first, everything was new and a little overwhelming for her. She had never had two parents who looked after her constantly, never had a place where she could leave her things out without worry, and never had the security of knowing that no one was going to take it all away.

There were moments when she seemed uncertain, moments when she clung to you a little tighter than usual, but as time passed, she began to relax into the comfort of her new home. She knew she was safe here. She knew that Steve and you would always be there for her.

You and Steve took turns comforting her when she woke up in the middle of the night, crying softly for reasons she couldn’t always express. It wasn’t always easy, but you both understood that this was part of the process. Olivia was learning to trust that she would never be abandoned again.

“I’m here, sweetie,” you whispered one night as Olivia curled into your arms, tears staining her little cheeks. “I’m right here. You’re not alone.”

Olivia’s tiny hands clutched your shirt, her sobs quieting as she relaxed into your embrace. “Mommy… stay with me.”

“I’ll always stay with you, Olivia. We’ll always be together.”

And slowly, the nights became easier. Olivia began to sleep through the night more and more often, her dreams peaceful as she adjusted to the stability of her new life. During the day, she was full of energy—laughing, playing, and exploring her new home. She was becoming more and more comfortable with the idea of having two parents, and it filled your heart with joy to see her growing so quickly.

Steve was always there, helping to create routines that made Olivia feel secure. Breakfast together in the mornings, with the sunlight streaming through the windows as Olivia ate her pancakes and giggled. Afternoons spent playing games in the living room or reading books together, Steve sitting on the couch with Olivia in his lap as she pointed at pictures in the storybooks, asking him to read each word. Evenings spent cooking dinner together, with Olivia sitting at the kitchen counter, her small hands stirring the bowl of batter as you and Steve worked side by side.

Sometimes, when Olivia wasn’t looking, you’d catch Steve glancing over at you with a smile that said everything. The joy in his eyes as he watched his little girl grow more confident, more secure in her place within your family. It was a look you shared—one that said this was everything. This was what you had been waiting for, together.

Olivia had begun to call Steve “Daddy” without hesitation. It had been a slow process, but now, when she ran into the living room with a drawing in her hand, her eyes shining with excitement, she’d shout, “Daddy, look what I made!”

And when she ran into your arms at the end of the day, she’d whisper, “Mommy, I love you.”

There were still moments of adjustment, of course. Olivia sometimes had trouble articulating her feelings, and there were moments when she felt confused or afraid, but those moments were fewer now. With each passing day, she was learning to trust the love you and Steve had for her, learning to see you both as the safe haven she had always longed for.

One afternoon, as you sat on the couch with Olivia nestled beside you, her head resting on your shoulder, you thought back to the beginning. The first time you had met her at the orphanage, the way she had clung to you so tightly, unsure of the love you were offering. And now, months later, she was here—fully your daughter, fully a part of your family.

It had taken time. There had been struggles, doubts, and moments of uncertainty. But none of it had mattered. Because now, Olivia had a family who would always love her, who would always be there for her.

And you, Steve, and Olivia were finally together, forever.

Every day with Olivia brought something new—moments of discovery, laughter, and, occasionally, confusion. She was growing more comfortable in her new life, but there were still times when the weight of all the changes was visible on her small face. You and Steve worked tirelessly to make sure she felt loved and safe, prioritizing her happiness above everything else.

One of those days came during a trip to the mall, an outing you had planned as a fun adventure for the three of you. Olivia was still enamored with the idea of the mall after her first visit, but this time, you promised to let her pick out something special for herself. As you walked hand in hand through the bustling corridors, Olivia’s wide eyes darted from one brightly lit store window to the next.

“Mommy, what’s that?” she asked, pointing to a mannequin dressed in a shimmering pink dress.

“It’s a dress, sweetie,” you explained with a smile. “Do you like it?”

She nodded thoughtfully, her tiny face serious as she considered the possibilities. “Can I try it on?”

“You sure can,” Steve said, squeezing her little hand gently. “Let’s go see if they have it in your size.”

Olivia’s excitement bubbled over as you led her into the store. A kind salesperson helped you find the dress in her size, and soon, Olivia was standing in front of a mirror, twirling as the pink fabric shimmered under the lights. Her giggles echoed through the dressing room, and your heart swelled as you watched her revel in the simple joy of trying something new.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Steve said, kneeling to her level as she continued to twirl. “Like a princess.”

Olivia stopped spinning and looked at Steve with wide eyes. “A princess? Like in the movies?”

“Exactly like that,” he replied, grinning. “But even better, because you’re real.”

Her laughter filled the air as she hugged Steve tightly. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Moments like these made the transition easier for Olivia. She was discovering a world she’d never known before, filled with kindness and possibility. But not everything was so straightforward. One evening, while you were all enjoying dinner together, Steve’s phone rang with a tone Olivia had come to recognize—the one that meant he was being called to work.

“No,” she said suddenly, her fork dropping onto her plate. “No, Daddy, don’t go!”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he crouched beside her chair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart, I have to. It’s my job to help people, remember?”

“But what if you don’t come back?” she asked, her voice trembling. Tears welled in her eyes as she clung to him.

Your heart ached at the sight of her distress, and you knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her small shoulders. “Daddy always comes back, Livvy. He always will. You know how much he loves you, right?”

Olivia sniffled and nodded, but the worry didn’t leave her face. Steve pulled her into his arms, holding her close. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he whispered. “And I’ll call you every chance I get. Promise.”

Eventually, Olivia let him go, though her eyes stayed glued to the door long after he’d left. That night, you let her sleep in your bed, her small body curled against yours as you stroked her hair and reassured her that everything would be okay.

Despite these challenges, Olivia continued to flourish. Her days were filled with new experiences, like her first trip to the park, where she discovered the thrill of swinging high into the sky, and her first attempt at baking cookies with you, which ended in flour-covered laughter and some surprisingly delicious treats. She was constantly learning and growing, her curious mind eager to absorb everything her new world had to offer.

But what she seemed to love most of all was simply spending time with you and Steve. Whether it was movie nights snuggled on the couch, reading bedtime stories together, or lazy Sunday mornings filled with pancakes and cuddles, Olivia thrived on the love and attention you both gave her.

One particularly chilly evening, after a long day of playing in the park, the three of you were bundled up on the couch, wrapped in blankets as a movie played softly in the background. Olivia was nestled between you and Steve, her head resting on your shoulder as her tiny fingers played with the fabric of your sweater.

“I love this,” she murmured sleepily, her voice barely audible over the movie. “I love being with you.”

Your heart melted at her words, and you kissed the top of her head, holding her a little tighter. “We love being with you too, Livvy.”

Steve reached over to brush a stray curl from her face, his eyes filled with warmth. “You’re the best part of our lives, kiddo.”

Olivia beamed up at him, her face radiant with happiness. Moments like this were what made everything worth it—the late nights, the tears, the challenges. She was your daughter, and there was nothing more fulfilling than seeing her feel safe and loved.

As time went on, Olivia continued to settle into her new life. She grew more confident and independent, but she never stopped seeking the comfort of your arms or Steve’s reassuring presence. She learned to navigate the complexities of her world, from the excitement of trying new things to the confusion of understanding Steve’s dual role as her dad and Captain America.

And though there were still moments of uncertainty, one thing was clear: Olivia had found her place in your family, and she knew, without a doubt, that she was loved.

For her, that was enough. And for you and Steve, it was everything.

The week flew by in a blur of cuddles, playtime, and quiet moments that made life feel impossibly full. Then came the invitation: a family dinner that would bring both your and Steve’s families together, all eager to meet the newest addition to the Rogers household. You were thrilled at the thought of introducing Olivia to her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, but as the day approached, Olivia grew quiet and withdrawn.

On the drive to your parents' house, Olivia sat in her car seat, clutching her pink bear—a beloved souvenir from her first mall trip. She was uncharacteristically quiet, her eyes fixed on the scenery outside.

“You okay, Livvy?” you asked, turning slightly in your seat.

Her little shoulders lifted in a hesitant shrug. “What if they don’t like me?” she asked in a small voice, barely audible over the hum of the car.

Steve met your worried gaze in the rearview mirror. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said gently, glancing back at her. “Why would you think that?”

“’Cause I’m not really yours,” she mumbled, her words tugging at your heartstrings.

You immediately turned to face her fully. “Olivia Rogers, listen to me,” you said softly but firmly. “You are ours in every way that matters. And our families are going to love you because you’re you. You’re smart, funny, sweet, and the most incredible little girl. They’ve been so excited to meet you.”

“Really?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

“Really,” Steve said, smiling warmly. “They already love you, Livvy. Just wait and see.”

The reassurance seemed to calm her nerves a little, but she still clung to her bear as the car pulled into the driveway of your parents’ house. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over the scene, and the sounds of laughter and chatter floated through the open windows.

As soon as you stepped out of the car, the door opened, and your mother appeared, a wide smile spreading across her face as she waved. “They’re here!” she called over her shoulder.

Olivia hesitated, her small hand gripping yours tightly as you walked up the steps. Steve carried her overnight bag, his other hand resting reassuringly on her back.

“Hi, sweetie!” your mother greeted warmly, kneeling to Olivia’s height. “You must be Olivia. I’ve heard so much about you!”

Olivia glanced at you, her eyes uncertain. You gave her a gentle nod, encouraging her. “It’s okay, Livvy,” you whispered.

“Hi,” Olivia said shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your mother beamed, her joy palpable. “Come on in, everyone’s so excited to meet you!”

Inside, the house was a bustle of activity. Steve’s mom was setting the table with your dad, and your siblings were chatting with Steve’s sister. The moment Olivia stepped into the living room, she froze. Piled in the corner, almost spilling into the room, was a mountain of brightly wrapped gifts, each adorned with a bow or ribbon.

“That’s for me?” Olivia asked, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

“Of course, they’re for you!” Steve’s mom chimed in, coming over to greet her. “We couldn’t wait to spoil you!”

Olivia’s grip on your hand tightened. “But… why?”

“Because we already love you,” your mom said, her voice filled with emotion. “And we want you to feel at home here.”

Slowly, Olivia’s nerves began to melt away as family members took turns introducing themselves. She remained quiet at first, answering questions in single words and holding tightly to her bear. But as the evening wore on, the warmth of her new family worked its magic.

The turning point came when your dad crouched down beside her and asked, “Olivia, do you like games?”

Her eyes lit up for the first time since arriving. “Games? I love games!”

“Well,” your dad said conspiratorially, “I happen to be the best checkers player in this whole house. Think you can beat me?”

A small giggle escaped her lips, and she nodded enthusiastically. “I can try!”

From that moment on, Olivia blossomed. She played checkers with your dad, who “accidentally” let her win every game, and she insisted on showing Steve’s mom her pink bear. Your mom pulled out a photo album and sat with Olivia on the couch, showing her baby pictures of you and Steve, much to Olivia’s delight.

“Daddy was a baby too?” Olivia asked, her tone incredulous.

Steve chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Yep, even me.”

As the night continued, Olivia grew bolder, her laughter filling the room as she bounced between relatives, sharing stories and soaking up the love and attention. The mountain of gifts was slowly unwrapped, revealing toys, clothes, and even a pink tricycle, which earned an ear-piercing squeal of delight.

By the time dessert was served, Olivia was perched on Steve’s mom’s lap, chatting away like they’d known each other forever. She didn’t seem to mind that her grandparents couldn’t run and play the way she was used to; instead, she found joy in their hugs, their stories, and the simple act of being included in the family.

As you watched her interact with everyone, your heart swelled with pride. This was her family now, and she was already carving out her place in it.

Later that night, as the guests began to leave and Olivia’s energy started to wane, she curled up on the couch beside you, her head resting on your shoulder. “Mommy?” she murmured sleepily.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“They really like me,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.

You wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. “Of course they do, Livvy. They love you.”

“And I love them too,” she said, her words slurring as she drifted off to sleep.

Steve scooped her up gently, carrying her to the guest room where she’d be spending the night. As he tucked her in, he kissed her forehead, his voice soft as he whispered, “Goodnight, kiddo. Sweet dreams.”

As you stood in the doorway, watching him with Olivia, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. This was your family.

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

to be added: Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6 | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,6K

tag: #what was that

summary: A romance that explores two insecure people growing closer together through snippets of their time at work.

author’s note: Can I post three things a day? Yes. This is the first fic I've written and I love it dearly. It connected me with @rennethen who has been beta reading it patiently and helped me create significant parts of it, and for that connection alone it was worth to write it.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Renly, are you being serious right now?” John stormed into the lab’s kitchen visibly flushed with anger. Renly only blinked at him, a question in her eyes.

“I guess? Didn’t you get my note?” She definitely remembered sending the note asking John to take a raincheck. She even made a song about it to not forget, like the last time. Viktor had mocked the song at first but later grew annoyed with it.

”Please stop, this song is now rotting my brain. I get it, John is a nice guy,” Viktor rotated on his chair with a groan that has clearly been building up for at least one minute.

“Sorry, it’s the only way I don’t get distracted and forget!” to Viktor’s demise, Renly sang this line as well.

“Well, didn’t you get my note?” John said, already huffing, seemingly offended. He did get her note, he did see the little heart she drew on it and a coffee stain that suggested she wrote it hastily, while doing something else with her other hand. So, he sent a passive aggressive jokey note back stating that it’s tomorrow or he doesn’t know when, because he is also oh-so-busy.

“I can’t make it otherwise,” he laid his hands apart in apologetic gesture.

“Like… this week? Or ever?” light mockery in her voice, she said with her back to John, while pouring coffee into two cups. “It’s okay, we can have breakfast here. Do you want coffee?” Renly pulled out the third cup from the sink and waved it at John expectantly.

At which point, Viktor entered their tiny lab kitchen, scrunching his wet hair with a damp towel, his cheeks flushed and clothes slightly dishevelled, clinging to his hot-after-shower body. “Do I smell coffee? Hi John,” he said, waving at the doorway.

“Nothing will hide from you. Crisis averted?” Renly asked referring to fifteen minutes ago, when Viktor banged viciously on the bathroom door, demanding shower access immediately, as he spilled suspicious fluid from Renly’s workstation all over himself.

She said it was punishment for snooping. He said she’d taken his favourite pen, and her workstation was planned ridiculously, making moving around risky. Also, she took showers that lasted forever. She said her shower was only fifteen minutes, which is perfectly within bounds of morning toilet routine. He said she should shower at home and sleep at home; otherwise, she would end up a social pariah like him and Jayce. She said it’s a bit late for that as night is a perfect time for quiet work and she is one person away from the social pariah status. She meant John. So right now, it really did look like she was close to adding it to her work signature. She had to evacuate from the bathroom before she had the chance to dry off completely, which is why her hair was wet.

“Did you shower together?” John’s tone gained additional pitch to it as he asked his ridiculous question, visibly getting more and more distressed.

“Yes, John. We also have occasional orgies that I forgot to mention,” Renly couldn’t help about the snarky comment but when she turned around to take a look at her… boyfriend? They went out about ten times and slept together twice, so she guessed he was her boyfriend already. Well, he looked hurt, and she immediately wished she didn’t say it, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

“Please, don’t be like that. I pulled an all-nighter again, and it was too late to go home. We showered separately, obviously,” she said in a softer voice as the cups were placed on the tiny table in the middle of the kitchen, only three chairs.

“I will give the two of you some space,” Viktor swept his cup with Jayce’s face on it and gave both of them polite smile as he walked out faster, than Renly thought he was able to.

“So… are you very cross with me?” she waited for Viktor to leave the area and asked reaching out to place her palm on top of John’s forearm, but he winced away.

John had always been good at making himself seem indispensable. When they first started seeing each other, his charm felt effortless—little gestures like remembering her favourite tea or distracting her with a ridiculous joke when she was too stressed to focus. She had let her guard down with him in a way she rarely allowed herself to. It had felt safe, comforting even. But lately, the cracks in that façade were harder to ignore. He got offended easily and threw some stupid accusations at her when he was out of arguments. She did admit, she was quite oblivious to some of relationship savoir-vivre, but it was also discussed priorly! And he said he doesn’t mind, so the next part caught her off-guard.

“I… don’t think this will work out this way,” he said with a sigh and waved his hand around making her question if he meant them, or breakfast with Victor in near vicinity. “I didn’t know this is what I was signing up for frankly,” he finished and gave her a sad puppy glance. This made her… angry? Of course, he knew what he was signing up for. She told him from the very beginning how important her work was. And how bad she was at this, but he just called her cute. Surely, this was enough of a warning. Or maybe it wasn’t but John really didn’t seem like he heard anything of what she ever said in the long run.

He was a Piltie, and she was from Zaun. He liked posh places that were trying to pass as casual, she liked to hang out by the riverbank in the evenings and sneak into The Undercity to look at street art and eat street food. He always seemed to pay attention to what she was telling him about her lab work and how many lives it could potentially change but at the end of every test presentation and heated one-sided conversation (it was hot on her side only) when she looked at him expectantly, he praised her with a you are so smart or you look pretty when you get excited about science and it left her empty of all air like a sad balloon in the aftermath of a party. He probably had a politician’s career ahead of him, so in the future, he would be the person to decide whether she does or doesn’t get funding for her research and in her mind’s eye John was a person that would probably happily fund something else than the medicine for long term Grey exposure symptoms. But he was a good practice for that. And despite everything else, she did like him. He had his moments, as they say.

In a few seconds, that took very long in the pocket dimension of her brain, Renly tried to calculate how much fault in this situation was hers and if it was worth to back down and give him a peace offering in form of a dinner at her place, that she would cook, and they would be alone, and it would be romantic, and he would probably get to fuck her on the dinner table.

The plan started forming itself, when John said “I mean… you spend all your free time here, or you drag me around the lanes. Also, this Viktor guy? I got over Jayce, recently he is barely here. So…” he dragged his huge eyes across her face looking for a sign of understanding that wasn’t there “…you understand how I feel when you spend most of your time with another man.” It came out weak, but he decided to stand by it.

“Another man? It’s Viktor,” she scoffed. “Not even a day ago he stated how much I disgust him with Zaunian food in fridge. He works all the time. We sleep in separate rooms. He…” Renly inhaled, exasperated by this accusation. It’s ridiculous, how insecure John was to even suggest that.

“He is a friend. And that’s all. I assure you he is not interested in me.” She had a dead serious certainty about this. If something was fixed in this universe, it was the fact that Viktor wasn’t interested in her. And she didn’t think of him that way either. Except the one time she let her mind wander, and she did. Which was a lie, because she thought that at least twice.

Once, when they met for the first time. She already knew Jayce, who made her gasp the first time she saw him. The impression passed, but friendship remained. Jayce and Viktor, freshly acquainted, were passing her classroom when a quake shook The Uppercity. It caused one of her test tubes to fall into the vial she was working on, breaking and triggering a teeny-tiny exoenergic reaction (it exploded). The hero within Jayce’s body drove him straight in to help any casualties, of which the only one was Renly, face full of colourful goo. From the floor, she glanced at Viktor walking in shortly after his partner, and she gasped, even more than when she had met Jayce. She immediately knew it was wrong to look for so long. Her suspicion was confirmed when Viktor’s expression shifted from amusement to the realization that his brief chance to present himself as more than the guy with a cane had passed. From that point forward, he was very formal with her, though he occasionally joked about history repeating itself within the academy walls.

It was a lie though, as well. She first saw Viktor by the riverbank in Zaun, as a child. She had been maybe seven, and he could have been slightly older. Her eyes, round and curious, followed him trying to chase down his mechanical ship taken by the stream. She tried to shadow him that day, but he disappeared in the mouth of a cave she was afraid to walk into. He had a smaller cane then and she thought him a magician. So, she only lingered in disbelief that their paths crossed once more and that he was, indeed, real. And also, in awe of how beautifully he has grown up. But overall, Renly counted it as a one time.

Second time, after she decided to stay at university to continue her research and teach students, they were copying the notes together and Jayce was growing more and more bored, so he kept trying to start random topics.

"I wonder if all of them are as pretty as Mel,” he said, trying to trace down beautiful Mel Medarda’s heritage while fishing for reassurance from his friends about their imminent romance.

“But maybe it’s not a rule. I mean, looking at the both of you I would say the rule for Zaun is to be full of attractive people as well,” Jayce was waffling on, and Renly grew tired of it.

“And ugly people. And short people. And tall people. And fat people, and skinny people, Jayce. It’s all just people, like in Piltover, there is no rule to here or Zaun. Initially, it’s the same city, and we all come from different places,” she said harshly not lifting her sight from the notes she was copying.

“Oh relax, it was a compliment! And I am looking for reassurance from you guys, yes,” he traced his finger down the blackboard, wiping some of the old equations away.

“Not very progressive of you, the Man of Progress. I can give you reassurance – Mel seems fine. You will be fine. You are a big boy, Jayce. But I do not need compliments, not because I’m from The Undercity, nor because I’m a woman,” Renly’s dead stare made Jayce look for help from Viktor. She gave him a pass and went back to scribbling.

“Vik, any help?”

“I’m afraid with this one I have to place myself in Renly’s corner. Even though of the two of us, I probably am the one that needs compliments,” Viktor also didn’t glance up from above his paperwork.

“No, you don’t,” Renly didn’t notice she now got the attention of both of her friends.

“You are, yourself, quite…” her mind was absent at this moment, so it was probably the other part of her that spoke the rest “…dreamy.” A second past, in which her brain caught up with her mouth and a deep shade of red bled into her cheeks and chest. She cleared her throat, stood up quickly and threw barely audible excuse me leaving the boys to exchange their looks and make their fun of her. Jayce snorted when Renly was out of hearing range and Viktor only mouthed a what was that? That was the second time, infinitely more mortifying than the first one.

“You put a lot of effort into assuring me of this, but you never once said if you are not interested in him. From where I’m standing, you are definitely not interested in me,” John’s voice broke her out of reminiscing.

Renly’s face went into stupid mode, twisting her features with disbelief. How dare he.

“Are you really saying what I’m hearing? Are you accusing me of infidelity based on your own insecurity? Have I truly given you any reason to believe I’m involved with anyone else but you? When do you think I would have time for that? Or do you actually not listen to me when I tell you about what I’m doing here and how much of my time and energy it consumes?” John’s expression grew more and more panicked as he saw how far he has overstepped.

“This is not… I didn’t…”

“What you didn’t do is think. You are the one who is not interested in me, John. You listen to me, but you do not register, nor remember anything I tell you. What do you want from me? Should I drop everything I’m doing just to dangle from your shoulder at the parties? Should I change the way I speak? Should I cut all my friends and relatives loose because they are from The Undercity? Would that make you feel secure enough?” she spat at him, becoming more and more angry with every sentence, self-winding regret fuelling her.

“Gods, this is not what I want, and you know it,” John brought his hand to the back of his neck, his voice gentler this time. “I just don’t feel like you want me around, is all,” he whispered, his words making Renly’s shoulders drop and her chest sink.

His fingers tapped an idle rhythm on the table, his eyes darting toward the adjoining lab room. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him stealing glances at her colleagues’ workspaces, but she had always dismissed it as idle curiosity or stupid jealousy, first over Jayce, then over Viktor. Now, though, every stolen glance felt like a clue she should have picked up on sooner.

“I do,” she hesitated. “I did. I invited you to meet my people, come to my home, my work, my bed,” at which point, in the other room, Viktor—who was doing his absolute worst not to listen—squeezed a piece of chalk a little too hard, causing half of it to disintegrate into dust with a loud, whiny, bone-chilling sound that gave him goosebumps at the back of his neck. So, they slept together, great. Just great. It didn’t bother him at all, and yet… it bothered him greatly for some reason. Probably just because she will be a nightmare to be around for the next week or so.

Ridiculous, Viktor thought, though the word didn’t carry the weight he wanted it to. What did it matter who she invited into her bed? It certainly wasn’t his concern. The tightening in his chest wasn’t jealousy—it couldn’t be. No, it was irritation, that’s all. Irritation because she was so impulsive, so reckless, letting herself be distracted by someone so undeserving of her attention.

Why did it bother him? It wasn’t the first time she’d been entangled in some personal drama, and usually, he had the patience to tune it out. Yet here he was, bristling at every raised word, every pointed jab from John. It wasn’t his place to care. He had told himself years ago that people like Renly—bright, chaotic, and distractingly beautiful—were nothing but a complication. And yet, he found himself gripping his cane tighter every time John’s voice rose.

“Just realistically, I don’t think this is what you want. So, the obvious choice would be to put a pin in it until we both decide what we want,” her voice faltered. Breaking things off with John hadn’t been part of her plans for the day, and she could never have been emotionally prepared for this—especially not before breakfast. She wasn’t really breaking things off with him, either. Maybe a short, temporary break would do them good, cool things off. She fidgeted with her fingers under the table, becoming increasingly self-conscious about how much of the conversation Viktor had overheard.

“Really? So now it’s about me not respecting your Zaunian heritage, instead of you blowing me off at every opportunity?” at this point John knew that guilting her into giving it one more shot was probably his only chance. His father really wanted those hextech blueprints, and he would be very disappointed if John didn’t manage to get them. “Look, I don’t mind if we hang out here at all. But truth be told, you don’t really invite me here very often,” John said, his voice softer now, but there was an edge beneath it, like a scalpel disguised as a pen.

He had a way of twisting her words, making her feel like the selfish one for not prioritizing him more. It was a skill he wielded well, and for a moment, it almost worked. But the memory of all those little disappointments—the times he had brushed off her work as "just another experiment" or barely listened when she explained her progress—bubbled up like a pressure valve ready to burst. He did actually like her. She was his type – pretty, quirky, talented and driven. She could be a bit more elegant, but that would be polished with time. “We could make a schedule, meet here when nobody is around? Maybe you could even show me some hextech, hm?” with this, he knew he probably pushed a little bit too far, as her expression grew weary.

There it was again, that same calculated curiosity masked as casual conversation. At first, she had chalked it up to natural interest—what Piltover scholar wouldn’t want to know more about hextech? But now, with his eyes lingering too long on the blueprints and his questions steering the conversation in predictable directions, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was about more than idle fascination.

“I… you know I don’t work with hextech,” she shook her head while her brain was glueing the pieces together. “Why would you…,” and it hit her gently, prompted by the guilt painting her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend’s face. Unbelievable. When she thought about it longer, he did usually snoop around innocently while waiting for her to wrap up work. He would wander between the lab rooms, seemingly just killing time, but she saw him linger on the blueprints more than once. When she told him about her experiments, he always drove the discussion towards Viktor and Jayce’s work. How are they doing? So does this hextech actually work? And what do they want to use it for again? And he tried to pin it on her sleeping with Viktor. The audacity.

Renly wanted to believe the relationship had been real, that it hadn’t just been about her work or her connections. But as she stared at him now—his charming smile just a little too polished, his words just a little too well-placed—she realized how many times she had ignored her instincts. How often she had pushed aside the nagging thought that he didn’t see her, not really. Just the parts of her that were useful.

“So… you come here and make a scene about the note that you seemingly wrote for me and that I didn’t get. You accuse me of cheating on you with my colleague,” at which point Viktor scoffed to himself in the other room. The idea of Renly and him being a thing was laughable. She was too stubborn, too unpredictable, too... distracting. And yet, John’s misplaced jealousy had struck an uncomfortable chord. Absurd, Viktor reassured himself. If anything, she deserves better than someone like me. She deserves better than both of us.  

“You propose a solution – let’s hang out here,” Renly exhaled, and her eyes rested on her hands with the realization of being used all this time hitting her hard. She didn’t think she cared that much. Frankly, having a normal secure relationship also with someone normal and secure was a hope she didn’t dare to entertain very often. It was mostly work and friends for her. So, when John came along, she just let it happen, as maybe, she thought, it was a good thing happening to her. Realizing there was no love in it, left her feeling numb.

In the other room, Viktor stopped pretending to work and simply sat on a stool, his hands and chin resting on his cane. That was new territory, a kind of danger they hadn’t anticipated. Also, he did feel angry for Renly – annoying as she was, she really didn’t deserve this. He wondered if he should intervene and kick John out, but the act would have to be based on his authority, which as a fellow Zaunian in John’s eyes he had none. Any show of force would need to be purely verbal—calculated and precise enough to leave the boy speechless and make him back down without a fight. While he was negotiating the terms of this heroic act with himself, he heard Renly’s voice echoing across the corridors: “I think it’s best you go.”

“Can we talk this through?” one last desperate attempt on John’s side as he covered Renly’s palm with his. She slid her hand from underneath his, threw a quick no over her shoulder and stepped through a heavy metal door that separated living area form the laboratory. She locked it behind her with a loud crank and immediately sank to hug her knees. Well, shit. This wasn’t part of her plan for today. And she didn’t want to cry in front of Viktor. If Jayce was here, he’d make it better, but he was with the beautiful Mel Medarda having breakfast in her quarters, which was a secret. Viktor would make fun of her—or worse, he’d get cross for endangering their life’s work. On one side of the door, her mean ex-boyfriend, on the other her mean niggling friend. She could just stay here.

“Do you need help getting up?” Viktor’s voice made her gasp and release the tears that were gathering under her eyelids, now streaming down her cheeks. And just to be clear, they were angry tears, not sad pathetic tears.

“Maybe,” Renly said, wiping her face with a sleeve, unable to bring herself to look him in the eye. She accepted his offered hand, which was about to pull her up. Unfortunately, the sudden movement sent a cramp shooting down Viktor’s calf, leaving Renly standing while he folded in half.

“Oh shit, Viktor I’m sorry, let me grab a stool!”

“Ah, no need. It’s fine. Just a cramp, it’ll stretch,” he panted, sliding down the corridor wall. She crouched down by him, question in her eyes about what to do.

“Well, where is it? I can… rub it out?” she heard herself saying and a darker shade of pink flushed her already enflamed cheeks. Viktor noticed. Her hands were faster than her brain this time and she already had his calf in her grasp, looking for the knot.

The warmth of her hands startled him, a flicker of something unwanted creeping into his thoughts. He shut it down immediately. She’s just helping. Don’t make it into something it isn’t. But the gentleness of her touch lingered longer than it should have, and when she looked up at him, her face flushed with concentration, he had to look away. Focus, Viktor. This means nothing.

“How did you get this so bad, Viktor?” she gasped at the state of her friend’s muscle, contracted like a rusty hinge. Her eyes full of concern, and some guilt. She made him uncomfortable in his own lab, because of some stupid drama. Stupid, yet it tore a hole in her heart.

Viktor remembered this look. He remembered the way she had looked at him back when they first met—not the awestruck gaze she reserved for Jayce, but something deeper, sharper. It had unnerved him. People always noticed the cane first; it was a fact he had come to accept. But she had looked past it—no, she had lingered on it, and he wasn’t sure whether it was curiosity, pity, or something else entirely. It didn’t matter now. He had decided long ago to keep her at a polite distance.

“Too much sitting down, ah!” he gasped when more pressure was applied “I tried to work through your… quarrel,” Viktor’s voice grew breathier, his eyebrows pinching together. Absent-mindedly, he placed his right hand on Renly’s shoulder and closed his eyes, letting his body relax into her touch. She was very careful, almost… affectionate.

“I guess this would fuel John’s theory,” he chuckled slightly, forgetting himself. Did he just admit that something was possible? Renly was too focused on getting rid of the knot to notice the awkward grunt following this sentence, and without much thought to it she said, “don’t be ridiculous.”

Something sunk in Victor’s chest hearing that. Of course, it was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. All of it. He was about to figure out how to run away, take his leg with him and tell her this is good enough, when she continued.

“I mean, we are not responsible for someone’s insecurities. I refuse to be. Also, as I presume you heard all of it, you will know that it was all a play,” she put so much attention into rubbing Viktor’s calf that the words just went out of her mouth. “Just to get his hands on hextech. So, I’m guessing this accusation was also fabricated to guilt me. Or he was obsessed with you. Which I understand… gotcha!” she exclaimed as the muscle relaxed under her fingers, and Viktor gave an involuntary moan, making both of them flush slightly.

The tension in his calf eased, but his chest felt impossibly tight. He was about to thank her—briefly, formally—when the look on her face stopped him. She was glowing, not with the self-satisfaction he often associated with Jayce, but with genuine care. It was infuriating. No, not infuriating—irrelevant. Why do you even notice these things? he scolded himself, rising awkwardly to his feet and turning away before the warmth in her eyes could undo him further.

“Forgive me, I… thank you,” was all he was able to say.

“That’s… it’s nothing, no worries.”

“I believe you know this, but in case you don’t—he’s a donkey, and you’re brilliant, yes?” Viktor tossed over his shoulder. “Ah, I’m not… thank you,” she said, standing in the corridor, confused, her face burning. What was that?

[rlbbackup]

A year in review - 2024 (SxF)

So, after reading the lovely @unhappy-sometimes's 2024 retrospective (which I highly recommend you read!), I thought I'd do something similar!

This will be pretty long and have lots of links and tags but I hope you enjoy this little romp I took down memory lane about all the fics I wrote this past year!

All for Naught

This was a fic that was inspired by a conversation with @glacialdawn and I wrote it up completely in 12 hours. I’m not exaggerating! We were just goofing off in dms and we got on the topic of Yuri’s decision to become an SSS officer and how it relates to Yor’s raising him…and it evolved from there. 

All in all, I’m VERY proud of how this fic turned out. Having it be solely from Yor’s POV and forcing her to deal with an abrupt change in how she views her brother was a lot of fun. Of all the reveals that may or may not happen in SxF, I personally feel that the Briar Siblings reveal will be the most critical. Yeah there’s betrayal involved in the TwiYor one and Anya’s reveal will likely end in bloodshed, but Yor has hid what she needed to do to raise Yuri for over a decade and a half at least. And while she admits that her brother is intense, seeing him in his work environment would probably shatter something within her. The work of the SSS isn’t glorious. Neither is that of an assassin. 

All this to say that with this as the start of my fics in 2024, I’m not surprised how later fics turned out XD

Hypothetically…

While my Post-reveal, Pre-relationship series has been written almost entirely out of order, I really enjoyed the inspiration that led me to writing this one. When I saw this post by @itsmechini, the words almost poured out of me. Twilight and Yor have had a lot of things taken from them in life, things that ultimately made them who they are but they didn’t have a choice or say in the matter. Having the choice to reveal who they truly are to each other and accepting the other for who they are feels like a healing of that particular wound and I couldn’t help but put pen to paper. 

I was also inspired by the writing style of the lovely Puolain while writing this, leading me to use different scene change styles and I think it flows better because of it! 

I will also admit that I cried several times while writing this, especially at Yor’s answer to a hypothetical question asked. Beyond that, this was a really cathartic fic to write and I’m glad I got to share it with you guys!

Side by Side and Locked in Tight

THIS FIC.

It’s been bouncing around in my head for a long time now, since I love the song that inspired this (Cop Car by Sam Hunt - there is also a version by Keith Urban, but the Sam Hunt version feels softer so I’m going with that one XD). I had an early draft of this fic existing in my Google docs since… 2021 I think? Right after I fell down the Ken/Anya shipping cavern and haven’t wanted to climb back out.

But actually writing this fic was a STRUGGLE until talking prompts out with the people in the SxF Rare Pair server. While it was a NSFW prompt, handcuffs just broke through the fog I’d had regarding this plot idea and BOOM I was finally able to post it. 

While Ken has some of the shortest character involvement in SxF, I love this kid. I get he’s practically an OC at this point, but I’m okay with that and I love playing around with how he’d interact with the Cecil Hall Gang. I want them all to be friends. Anya should have more friends!

Anyway! I go back and read this fic from time to time and I’m still happy with it. Especially the twist at the end XD

Don’t forget to lock the door

Another fic created with the help of the Rare Pair Server! (love you guys!)

One thing that makes me laugh constantly in SxF is the fact that the Forger’s apartment has a deadbolt but it looks like the Forgers never use it XD. Imagine all those times people barged into the apartment stopped by a simple use of a sliding lock 🤣So, why not make it a plot point of a fic!

I blame @creativwit for this ultimately. Though it was a pleasure to write Twilight and Franky needling each other and Yor soothing both of them. On a second/third/however many times I’ve read this thing, I still love how they are soft with each other in their own ways.

Little Black Number

A fic inspired by my own art!

Sometime in 2023, I was talking to some friends on discord when I was reminded of Princess Diana’s “Revenge Dress” that she wore after then Prince Charles’ “Tell All” interview where he sort of hinted at being unfaithful to her during their marriage. This spiraled into “I’m pretty sure Yor would look fantastic in the Revenge dress” and going from there.

Now, based on anecdotal evidence, it’s believed by myself and others that SxF takes place mostly in an alternate version of the 1960s. Endo-Sensei does mix things about the world regarding technology in his story, but the fashion is straight out of 1960s fashion magazines. So, the revenge dress is way out of the possibilities. Still. I think the dress would look good on Yor and drew it!

The dress I describe in the story is notably different (namely that the skirt is ankle/floor length versus the above knee design of the inspiration). 

To the story itself, I really want Yor to have friends and while I’m still wary of Melinda I think the two of them could be close! So I wrote about them having girl time together, bonding even when they are in two different social groups and where they can compromise on things. It was a quick and fun write! I really loved this one!

A moment of weakness

This fic was inspired by @/usleepover's art on Twitter!

Like most of the other fics mentioned here, this was inspired by chats on Discord. I have USleepover and @astersugar for this. Long before ch. 109, we were wondering what would lead these two to interact, and guessed that it would probably involve Dr. Forger’s office. Now…that conversation spiraled into something wildly different from what I did in this fic, but it did inspire me.

As a little more background, I have had a fic in the background for a year and a half now where Yor experiences a medical emergency and how the Forgers’ lives change as a result. I have no idea when or if I will ever post that fic since it’s…heavy. Emotionally and mentally heavy. But I was able to write this in relation to it. While I’m not specific in what ails Yor, I did leave enough for one to guess. Like it’s larger, heavier sister, this fic took an emotional toll on me. Having someone you love in the hospital and not being able to do a damn thing to help them is…difficult. I can’t put into words exactly how difficult that is. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, that’s how bad it is. So writing Loid and Melinda come to terms that they are out of their depths and still want to do something for Yor was cathartic in a way. I’m really happy with how this one came out and still reread it on occasion.

Rendezvous

I half blame @sister-cna-reader for this 🤣Her Hidden Under Roses’ Au with McMahon and Sylvia has me in a CHOKE HOLD and I was sunk for this ship from the start. So I decided to write about it. The other person I “blame” for this is @/Ari_Gateau on AO3 for encouraging me and ultimately giving me the prompt idea in the first place! You both are wonderful and I love you dearly!

I went back and forth on where in any timeline to put this, but ultimately decided that my PRPR verse was the best place. With Twilight and Thorn Princess revealed to each other, I could see their handlers also involved in that. Handler and Director aren’t exactly friends, but they are allies enough to watch each other’s backs if they find themselves on an assignment where they have aligned goals. 

Leaving this fic with the ending I did was a choice I also debated internally but I like it! And I guess that’s what matters 🤣

Pink Sakura

OH BOY THIS FIC.

The inspiration for this hit me upside the head very suddenly on Kiss Day (May 23) and I decided to choose violence. Like with Side by Side and Locked in Tight, I pulled my “canon but mostly an OC” buddy Ken back for some hanahaki “fun” 🤣This one is in the same universe as Flowers and Thorns, but this is clearly the angster younger sister. And once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. I wrote for almost three days straight before I was ready to post this. But it was worth it.

Adding Anya’s chapter wasn’t something I had originally planned (not that there was much planning involved in this fic 🤣) but once I finished Ken’s chapter, I realized there were some pretty glaring plot holes. So I used Anya to fill them and I think that worked out really well! I know hanahaki isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I enjoy it and I’m glad I wrote this one!

New Moon Blues

I return to my Myth Au! 👏 I’ve mentioned this in my author notes, but this whole au was developed by several people (@httplovecraft1890 , @gonnahypatia, @whatroguewrites, @awphooey2u, @juuyeah and @connoisseursdecomfort) and started by @foxtamer113. I couldn’t have made this without everyone’s inputs!

This one was a plot we had discussed ages ago. I think once we nailed Loid and Yor’s roles down, we almost immediately started brainstorming how Anya fit into their lives. We pretty much made her their biological child from the start (if my memory serves me), which I genuinely love in Aus. We did debate over HOW she was born, even though we agreed that she would be a baby goddess. One of the ideas mentioned was something about mingling blood and tears but we decided that the "Athena" route was much more fun to play with. In the end, I altered it just a bit mostly because of inspiration from a comment on the story before this one (Soothing Rays). (thank you to that commentor! I can’t find it right now, but you are amazing!)

Floodgates / Throwing Away Fate (just to keep you safe)

These fics are a RIDE my guys. 

First off, Floodgates was originally a gift from the lovely @creativwit and I hijacked it because of conversations about this au on discord 🤣(like several others on this list amirite??) The idea of Kasper came from those conversations and we’ve grown insanely attached to him. Originally, he was going to be the contact that Garden silenced in ch 43, but we loved him too much to do that.

Since then, we had this idea of what would happen if Franky really did end up in Garden’s crosshairs, and Wit wrote the first chapter of Floodgates as a start. I’m pretty invested in Yor as a fault, so I kept thinking about how she would handle this situation and ended up writing the “interludes” for this fic. I’ve since renamed those chapters to the lyrics of Loyal, Brave, True by Christina Aguilera since that’s the song I primarily write these chapters to. 

Throwing Away Fate is a prequel (hence why i’m mentioning it here) and was pulled from those same conversations. I love the idea of Kasper already been head over heels for Franky before the real action gets going in Floodgates, so I wanted to explore how he found Franky and went on this adventure running from Garden. Originally, I had wanted to write more (up until they are found in Floodgates ch. 1) but I was running out of steam and didn’t want to force myself any farther. Maybe one day I’ll (or wit, or both of us together) write the scene where Shopkeeper finds Kas. That might be fun 😈

Crosslegged in the Dim Light

Unlike the song this title is drawn from, it’s pure fluff! I saw this art by EvuriKigen and immediately started writing. There wasn’t much thought put into the development of this fic since I just started writing. The only thing I did think was that I wanted this to be in my Post Reveal/Pre relationship series, where even though Twilight and Yor have all their cards on the table, sometimes they don’t need to talk about the specifics of their jobs. They know and trust their partner, and that’s really the point of this story. 🥰

Inferno

Shifting gears pretty abruptly, we once again dive into my chats over discord 🤣While I will grumble about how Yuri’s superior doesn’t have a name 😒, I love the dynamic Endo-Sensei set up for the First Lieutenant (I know in the English version he’s called “Captain” but the Japanese says “First Lieutenant” so that’s what I’m going with!), Yuri and Chloe. So I wanted to expand on that outside of their tracking down WISE agents. 

And while I know there is no evidence of any of them being closer than colleagues, my shipping brain just loves the idea of Chloe at least admiring her superior. Hence This fic. 

Like Crosslegged in the Dim Light, I wrote this one very quickly and with little thought about plot. I’m pretty happy with this one!

7 Minutes in Heaven

This one was a beautiful joint venture with @cambot77, @sister-cna-reader, @strangeduckpaper and @creativwit! As with several of the last fics, this one started it’s life on discord. It was our original hope to have this done by Kiss Day (May 23) but that changed as we all kept writing. It was a blast!

Writing out a list of all the pairs to start off was a treat because I kept randomly forgetting some of them XD. But we got them all and planned out a vague idea of what could happen in each chapter. Then I used an online spinner to divide up the ships that hadn’t been previously claimed. After confirming that everyone was happy with what they had, we made the order. 

Ao3’s Collections and Co-author features really helped us here and reading everyone’s chapters brought me genuine joy. It’s so wonderful watching how all of our different writing styles and takes on the characters fit together as a whole. I honestly cannot pick a favorite chapter since I love them all. Thank you all again, my dears. This project was so much fun!

Complicity

The fact that it took me 9 months to finish this one is still astounding to me 🤣I had planned for All For Naught to be a stand alone, but then I saw a prompt on the @dailytwiyorprompts tumblr and that quickly flew out the window!

Seeing everything from Twilight’s perspective and going through his mental gymnastics was honestly a blast. Not sure if there will be a follow up to this duology or not, but anything’s possible.

Psyche

The last fic I started in 2024. This is a gift for the lovely @cantareincminor and was something she requested specifically. Her prompt was: “Mole hunt arc with a twist: Garden sends Thorn Princess to Shellbury to assassinate Wheeler. Instead of Nightfall, Thorn Princess is the one to stumble upon Wheeler and Twilight. She absolutely mops the floor with Wheeler and saves Twilight. Up to you whether his mask is off or on—could be awesome either way if she believes her husband or her brother is in danger.”

No going to lie, I was completely surprised when this developed into a 10k first chapter. The second chapter is still in the works and looks like it may also end up about that length and there’s no clue about the 3rd. But I want to talk about the inspirations behind this fic beyond the prompt. 

The title for this fic changed multiple times as I was writing it and probably spent more time as “untitled” than anything else. But within the day I posted it, I was struck by Orpheus by Cantare herself! I honestly love mythology (as my Myth series shows I hope 😅) and considered the wider plot of where this story would go. Without giving away too much, the story of Eros and Psyche just fits. Yor is the wife that doesn’t truly know her husband and through some twist of fate ends up finding out. While this story won’t be a one-to-one retelling of the myth, there may be echoes found within it until the end. And I’m really excited to share that with you all!

Honorable Mention: Sleeping with the Telephone

While I started this fic back in Nov 2023, a lot of it has been written in 2024. This fic has been an honest to goodness rollercoaster to write…and it’s not done yet. 

In my author’s note, I mention that I originally wrote part of the first chapter as a one shot on my RP blog, but it has developed moreso than I could have anticipated. There are a lot of themes in this, from draftees suddenly leaving their children and spouses behind, to family dynamics and the struggles therein, how war impacts relationships as a whole, and the like. Of course most, if not all, of these are addressed in Spy x Family, but bringing the war back to Ostania and having them fight another country entirely was interesting. 

Unlike the phenomenal @niregonnagiveyouup’s Not a Vein of Stars (which i HIGHLY recommend), I wanted to base this story around some of the hot conflicts during the Cold War. The US and USSR were infamous for recruiting other countries to help fight “their own” wars (like the Philippines sending troops to South Korea and The Warsaw pact sending troops to fight with the USSR in Albania). This still happens in the present day (such as the UK sending troops to Afghanistan and Belarus to Ukraine), even if it’s not to the same insanity that WW2 was. I don’t like it. I never have liked war, and writing this story from the perspective of a family being caught in the proverbial crossfire helped me hate it all the more.

But this story is a passion project of mine. I’m at the home stretch and re-reading this story to center myself for that happy ending I’ve promised myself really helps me love it all the more. Someday soon that fic will have a complete next to it’s name and I can’t wait. 

I know this was long as heck, but thanks for sticking with me! I didn’t realize I had written so much this past year since I took a break for a good chunk of it. But in hindsight, I’m really proud of how all of these works turned out and want to thank everyone who read, left kudos and/or comments. You all are wonderful!

Happy 2025 everyone! Here’s to more stories! 🍾

[eand47]

I love writing and I would love to write something based on your request especially if you enjoy the way I write ♡ Each request might take some time to be done depending on my schedule (after all I study, work and also have my personal life on the side) so please when requesting be patient ♡ Request will most likely be between 1-5K words, unless I fell in love with the concept and it turns to be more than +10K (if you follow me you know that I am a sucker for long fics/one-shots hihihi). But note - you can only request one-shots and headcanons ♡ I write exclusively for Portgas D Ace, but if you want to see another character I am very easy to convince, so send me a message. Soon I plan to start writing with some of my favorite characters from JJK - Sukuna, Choso, Geto. But for now my main focus is Ace ♡ Notice that I write mostly Modern Au/Alternative Universe, as I think that this is something that the OP fandom is lacking and it also gives me more freedom on how I can write the characters in different scenarios. But still you can always request something within the OP/JJK verse and I will try my best to deliver it ♡

Things I am willing to write about: fluff, smut, angst, use of substance/alcohol/cigarettes, nsfw, characters deaths and all the things you have seen as warnings in my fics - if I have already wrote about it, I'm okay with it. Things I am NOT willing to write about: rape, extreme kinks, self harming, suicide, requests from minors, writing about minors and overall things I'm not comfortable with so if you request something that it's not listed here but I don't feel like writing about it I will let you know.

Please note: I have the right to say 'NO' to any request so please keep this in mind, this is my hobby after all, not my job or personal life! Also if you don't follow my blog don't bother to request!

writing, format & dividers © eand47 ©eand47, do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[ecklekecle]

STOPP IM SO INVESTED IN THIS NOW SKDHSKSN

THE WAY FELIX FINDS OUT ABOUT ROSEKILLER IS BECAUSE BARTY IS BEGGING FELIX NOT TO LET THE DEMENTOR GET TO HIM BUT HES CALLING OUT EVANS NAME INSTEAD AND BEGGING EVAN NOT TO LET HIM DIE AND THAT EVERYTHING HE HAS DONE LEADING UP TO THIS POINT IS TO GET REVENGE ON THOSE WHO KILLED EVAN (barty participating in the torture of Alice and Frank). AND HES BEGGING AND TELLING EVAN (felix) THAT HE LOVES HIM AND WILL ALWAYS LOVE HIM SLDHSLS (i actually love rosekiller sm)

OR ALTERNATIVELY BARTY AND FELIX TALK RIGHT BEFORE BARTY GETS THE DEMENTORS KISS WHICH MEANS FELIX FINDS OUT EVERYTHING INCLUDING REGULUS HUNTING FOR THE HORCRUX, EVAN BEING FORCED TO JOIN, BARTY JOINING IN HOPES TO PROTECT HIS BEST FRIENDS ONLY TO FALL DEEPER INTO THE DEATH EATERS. THEN WHEN BARTY DOES GET THE KISS, AS HIS SOUL IS GETTING SUCKED OUT (?) HIS MEMORY GOES LIKE HAZY AND HES CALLING OUT FOR ALL HIS FRIENDS TO JUST LET HIM SEE THEM AGAIN AND THAT HES SORRY AND HE DIDNT MEAN TO GET THIS FAR IN TO THE “DARK SIDE”, HE JUST WNATED TO LOOK OUT FOR HIS FRIENDS :( to add to the Barty angst, i can see him getting deeper into Voldemorts like closest death eaters because he was desperate to belong somewhere after his friends died. And since his father obviously didn’t care for him, and his mother had died, the closest thing he ad to belonging was Voldemort

also im imagining felix joining the aurors because he doesnt want to end up like Evan and he wants fight for rhe “good side” (plot twist dumbledore is just as bad 🫣), there he meets Barty yada yada yada then barty dies so Felix starts to research the horcruxes and everything WHICH LEADS HIM TO SIRIUS (because regulus) AND HE EXPLAINS EVERYTHING TO SIRIUS AND THEN BLACK BROTHERS ANGST and since sirius is connected to harry which is connected to ron which is connected charlie (you see where im going with this?) he is then reconnected with charlie and they get talking, which leads felix realising like, “oh! ive hated my job this whole time!” and “i literally love dragons sm why am i not working with them?” (pretty sure this canon too lol) and so he quits his job (assuming aurors get paid rlly well) and lives off what he made through being an auror as well as his family’s money (they’re probably super rich) and goes horcrux hunting and so this would probably speed up the original timeline, then comes the big battle yada yada yada voldemort is defeated (hopefully less people died this time) and felix goes on to pursue a career with dragons (then maybe charlie and felix fall in love and live happily ever after (and for ppl who dont ship that, charlie and felix then go ahead and become best friends again and work with dragons together idk)) (also im not sure how old felix is during this whole thing but according to google and my calculations Charlie is about 22 in GoF so im gonna assume felix would be around 21-23 ish when barty dies)

ALSO felix telling luna all about her mum, dorcas, regulus, barty and Evan. Then also lets pretend Sirius doesnt die si then hes able to tell harry about his parents and also about regulus.

i had more to add but i forgot what lol (I ACTUALLY DID THINK ABOUT WRITING A FIC HUT LIKE MOTIVATION AND THE LAST TIME I WROTE A FF I WAS ABOUT 11 (so about 5+ years ago) SO MY WRITING IS A BIT CRUSTY ATM LMAO BUT IM LOWKEY KINDA THINKING ABOUT IT)

i should be sleeping but anywho i keep getting these tiktoks of rosier twin angst and im just think like, what about Felix?

Like, just some thoughts, Pandora and Evan have like a 6-7 year age gap with felix. Theyre very good siblings to him, and they love him and like you know, typical older sibling things, but then the war happens and Pandora and Evan aren’t in the same side of the war and this is because Evan (this is just a hc) is forced by his father (and possibly because he cares for Regulus) to join the death eaters. Pandora probably, while she didn’t necessarily get to choose what she wanted, she probably pushed to stay out of the war altogether, i just see that for her, anyway, adding to the angst, Pandora doesn’t know that Evan was forced into the death eaters and doesn’t know his motives of wanted to like, protect Regulus (and probably Barty too), so she starts distancing herself from not only him, but the whole friend group. So now Evan and Pandora dont talk naking it hard for Felix yk cause if Evanbis being forced into the war then whats stopping Felix from also being forced into the war (though hes probably only 10-12yrs old (thats if Evan also got the dark mark at 16-17 ish)) anywho then Evan dies (lets just say at the age of 19-20ish). Pandora still knows nothing, abd Felix has lost one of his siblings (he’ll be around 13-14ish) . Then later on (lets just say three years later) Pandora dies and now Felix has lost both if his siblings (and now hes 17-18 ish). anywho so jow Felix has no siblings. On a hppier note we can pretned his parents no longer care for him in joining voldemort and he becomes a dragon tamer person with Charlie (Weasley) (THEYRE BEST FRIENDS BOYFRIENDS WHATEVER IDC)

I have seen this ither hc that Felix looks very similar to Evan, like basically copy and paste so whenever he looks in the mirror he just gets reminded of his siblings. He then goes ahead to dye his hair tro try and leave the similarities all behind is that even makes any sense but his facial features still look so close to his siblings, like he has the same shade of blue pandora has in his eyes, and his facial structure(?) clearly resembles Evan and no matter what he does he just gets reminded of them.

also what if Felix knows barty (just gotta add some rosekiller in there). NO VUT WAIT IF PANDORA KEPT IN TOUCH TOUCH WITH FELIX THEN HE WOULD KNOW LUNA OMG crazy realisation cause lets say Luna is A LOT like her mum and while felix absolutely adores Luna, everytime he visits her he just gets glimpses of pandora in her (then he bonds with Xenophilius and Xenophilius kinda becomes like an older sibling figure for Felix (thats actually kinda sweet)). Anyway back to barty idk hoe to include him in atm oh well

Anyway idk if any of that even makes a sliver of sense its all just rambling tbh i’ll add kore to it in the morning if i think of any more ;)

[necrotic-nephilim]

@sasheneskywalker i love when you enable me to ramble about things because oh my god do i have thoughts.

so recently, i made a post discussing the phenomena of DC x DP and DC x MLB crossovers and why they exist and part of that post was discussing how largely speaking, at least half, if not more of the Batfamily fandom doesn't read the comics. if they interact with canon DC material, it's adaptations that are their own sequestered universes and oftentimes not remotely comic accurate or seeking to be. the most obvious example is the Young Justice cartoon. i'm adding a cut to this post because it just got so long i'm so sorry.

a lot of times, when people are discussing the "why" of this oversaturation of fanon-only fandom, they blame Wayne Family Adventures. and i think, to a point, i agree WFA is responsible for a boom in this fandom. but as someone who's been in the fandom long before we had WFA, to me it's the other way around. WFA was DC's way of meeting the demand for this easy-to-get-into, easy-to-consume content about the Batfamily that predicates itself on the comics just enough to be vaguely the same characters, but has a more sitcom, slice-of-life sort of vibe so DC could profit off of this section of the fanbase that otherwise wasn't consuming its primary material. and well, it's definitely worked. not only that, but i have a weird theory that the decline in the MCU also led to the rise in the Batfamily fandom. when you consider the fan content that made the MCU popular within fandom, it's that 2012 "they all live in Avengers Tower and Thor is eating poptarts and Clint is in the vents and there are movie nights every Friday" sort of vibe. those were the fics that were a hallmark of the fandom. and as the MCU has strayed from well... quality content in general, but specifically well-thought-out crossover content where characters can have their own arcs but also exist in a wider story where they clearly care about each other, that fandom was sort of homeless. so where do you go, if you like a superhero found family where you can have villains for angst but also stick them all in one big family-like home for silly crack and have a plethora of options for gay ships? well. you go to the Batfamily. if you write a crack/fluff Batfamily genfic with silly vibes and low stakes instead of say, a fic about a very specific comic issue even if it's a popular comic, you're *going* to get more traction for the former. because the fanbase largely just isn't reading the comics.

and i feel... complicated about this. because on one hand, Don't Like Don't Read has been a tenet of my fandom experience. i'm very pro-fandom and that includes fandom content i don't like. and to an extent, i do think this sort of should apply to Batfamily fanon. i enjoy having my moments with other comic purists, giggling over exceptionally painful OOC headcanons or even facepalming in pain over some content but it is on me to not interact with that content. you don't make fandom a better place by being hostile to fans who engage with canon in ways you don't approve of. and frankly? we as comic readers are not going to get non-comic fans to read the comics by being asshats to them. no one is going to want to pick up any comic if we get a superiority complex about it. and also, i feel like we're all lying to ourselves a little bit insisting comics are so, so easy to get into. they're not. we can just all agree, they're really not. i've been single-handedly helping my sister get into comics, specifically Wonder Woman and no matter how simple i make it, i watch her get frustrated trying to understand what pre-Crisis and post-Crisis and New-52 and Flashpoint and all these things mean and what a retcon vs a reboot is and what a Crisis Event is and what the hell Diana's current backstory even *is*. sure, you can give someone a beginner list of comics to start with and slowly dip their toes in the water but sooner or later, *something* is going to confuse them. comics as a medium straight up aren't going to be everyone's cup of tea. and if someone *just* wants to read silly fluffy fanfiction about the Batfamily, i can't entirely begrudge them for not wanting to take the hours and hours out of their day to understand this medium. it's not an accessible medium to get into. "read this and this, but this run is out of print and this run wasn't collected in trades at all but also make sure you read that event in order and this is a good comic but the backstory in it is retconned and you *have* to read this it's so important but it's also really bad because the author kind of sucks" sounds. ridiculous for someone who like. just wants to read some stuff about Nightwing. sometimes, we all make reading comics sort of sound like a chore, not a hobby.

so my point is, i do extend some grace to Batfamily fanon for existing. i think my biggest gripe is, as i said in my other post, misuse of tags (if you're not creating content about comics, maybe you don't need the comics fandom tag on Ao3, just the all media types umbrella tag) and my far bigger gripe: when panels are taken out of context to support fanon only headcanons. if i could impart *anything* onto the Batfamily fandom as a comic fan it'd be this: if you haven't *read* the comic, don't spread the panel. if you don't even know what comic it's *from*, don't spread the panel. it's fine to use comic panels to discuss your headcanons, but so often i see someone spreading a comic panel from a comic they haven't read, and when asked where it's from, they can't source it. a silly example that comes to mind is a post going around, taking a panel where Dick, in his internal monologue goes "here comes the sun. do do do do." and the post is claiming it's from him getting buried alive. when that panel comes from Nightwing (1996) #140, and he gets buried alive in Nightwing (1996) #127, two completely different moments frankensteined together. if you're going to not read the comics, that's completely fine, but unless you're sure of the source and the context, panels shouldn't be spread around. i'm sick of this specifically happening to Red Robin (2009), with ppl claiming Tim has totally killed people because he blew up some of Ra's' bases, when those panels within context, make it clear he gave everyone time to escape. and in a later arc in that very comic, Tim grapples with the idea of murdering Captain Boomerang, and *specifically chooses not to*, because he doesn't agree with murder, even against the person who has hurt him the most. if you'd like to write fanfiction where Tim is pro-murder and has done some sketch things, i'm totally on board and would probably like to read it. but there's no need to pretend it's canon from a few panels you saw out of context.

beyond that, i think it's not *entirely* correct to say that fanon is harmless. whenever i see very WFA-positive posts, they often default to the argument that WFA is fun and silly, and comic fans are killjoys for not liking it. which. i think is complicated because the issue is, WFA and fanon don't exist in a vacuum. if you like WFA power to you, i don't think it's the worst thing ever, but i do think it's degrading to these characters because honestly? they feel incompetent in the webtoon. it's one thing if WFA was solely a slice-of-life sort of deal, just having silly episodes where Bruce is taking on a PTA mom or they're all fighting for the last cookie. but when WFA attempts to take on more serious plots with these characters, it *fundamentally* falls flat in understanding them. i get it, Bruce comforting Jason having a panic attack because a noise reminded him of the crowbar felt cute in a microcosm, but i'm so serious when i say that storyline destroyed how like. half of this fandom understands Jason Todd's relationship to his trauma. it doesn't understand how he reacts when he's triggered, what coping mechanisms he seeks out, and how he would handle Bruce comforting him. even if i can believe for a brief moment Jason *would* be triggered by something like that, him running and trying to hide and then getting a hug from Bruce to make it okay is just. painful. WFA needs everything to be wrapped up in a nice, neat little bow. so even when it starts to tackle interesting concepts, it makes them fall flat with its need to be soft, low stakes, hurt/comfort. there was a two-parter episode that dealt with the complicated mutual hatred/jealousy between Tim and Damian that *almost* really interested me because for once, it felt like the webtoon wanted to explore canon messy dynamics. but of course, it had to be fixed with one conversation and a hug. you don't mend the *years* of issues these characters have like that. WFA isn't in character because these characters are hyperbole cartoonified versions of themselves to fit within the medium and be a cute happy family.

because that right there, is the crux of it. the Batfamily fanon seeks to simplify the Batfamily and force them into a nuclear family. there are so many fantastic posts on here discussing how the nuclear family-ification of the Batfam is eroding decades worth of complex histories so i won't go too far into that. but what i will say is that there's this need, in the Batfamily fandom, for the Batfamily to exist as a unit. they are a *family*. (honestly i think calling it the Batfamily is a misnomer and has been for years but we're in too deep now.) they exist to each other first, and any teams or friends they have come secondary to this family unit. you can *specifically* see this demonstrated in what headcanons are becoming popular these days. i have an entire lengthy meta in my drafts about how i *loathe* the "the Batfamily meets the Justice League" genre of fanfic because it makes no *sense*. in order to have this genre of fic exist, you must operate under the assumption that no one in the League, or adjacent to the League, knows the Batfamily exists and are thus utterly shocked to discover Batman has kids. and to make *that* work, you have to strip *every single Batfamily member* of such important dynamics and friendships so you can lock them all in Gotham for their whole lives. Dick can't have the Titans, Tim can't have Young Justice, Duke & Cass can't have the Outsiders, Jason can't have the Outlaws, Damian can't have the Supersons, Babs can't have the Birds of Prey, and so on. because if they had these relationships, they would be known to the League. the Batfamily fandom doesn't care about this, it's just "silly fanfiction", it's not trying to be serious. but how can you say you like Dick Grayson as a character if you don't understand the Titans *are* his family? at some points of his life, moreso than the Batfamily even is. it is constantly repeated to us in most comics with Dick how much the Titans mean to him. he *needs* them to be who he is. the same extends to every other Batfamily member, most of which have been full League members at this point. but in fanon, that doesn't matter. the Batfamily are a sequestered unit first, and all of those side relationships are secondary and easy to toss away, if it makes your fanfic work better.

and because they have to be a unit first, you have these forced relationships that dump years of actual canon material for the sake of making them get along. the Batfamily fandom has its favorites and well. it's no secret it's usually the boys. Jason and Tim by *far* stand out as fandom faves so, their dynamic is a heavily explored one. it does matter that in canon they don't tend to get along and especially don't see each other as family. what matters is that you can push dynamics onto them. and so fanon gets all twisted up about which Robin Tim actually idolized as a kid (Dick) and what member of the Batfamily is pro-murder but still an older sibling figure to him and looks out for him (Helena, or if you want the dynamic of once tried to harm Tim but they've reconciled, Jean-Paul) in favor of who's the most popular. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are always going to be the standouts for popularity, but it's specifically Jason and Tim who are getting fanonized the most. and that's because really, we don't have much canon content of Tim that *isn't* the comics. for Dick you've got Young Justice (tv), for Damian you've got the DCAMU, for Jason you've sort of got the Under The Red Hood movie, but Tim sort of lingers in this limbo. (yes, he's in Young Justce (tv) and Titans (live action) but in neither is he the main character nor given much depth) so, he gets a *lot* projected onto him and has become fanonized. and even with Jason's animated movies, you don't see him interact with Tim, so people build it from the ground up how they want to see it, disregarding of canon comics. i think it's what makes him so popular in the first place- he's malleable into whatever you want or need him to be.

and of course, the fanon ignores other characters in the Batfamily it doesn't know about. i feel like you could create a tier list of Batfamily characters by their popularity, going from the fandom main characters: Tim, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Damian. to the underrated: Steph, Duke, Babs, Cass. to the forgotten about unless they're convenient for a story: Kate, the Foxes, Helena Wayne, Carrie, Selina, Harper Row, Maps, Minhkhoa Khan. to the absolutely unknown: Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley, Onyx Adams, the Clovers, Julia Pennyworth. it's not lost on me that the ignored characters tend to be women and people of color. which is both a canon and fanon problem, DC will continue adding interesting characters to the Batfamily, play with them for a few years, then drop them to default to the "Batboys" again. and it's a vicious cycle of the fandom only caring about the "Batboys", and thus people entering the fandom via fanon osmosis won't have content about the other characters, therefore, they won't be interested in those characters enough to create it, and it's just this ouroboros consuming itself, no matter how much canon content we have of these other characters. and it's ridiculous just how large the Batfamily is becoming because of this, which is why i'm a pre-Flashpoint fan, because then the Batfamily was contained enough to actually feel like a family with every character having nuances relationships with each other, but i digress because those thoughts could be their own post.

and the thing about fanon is it doesn't exist in a vacuum. DC has started turning the comics to accommodate for what fans are asking for, because fans will beg and beg for content they're not going to consume. Tim Drake: Robin had Tim as a coffee drinker because that's the fanon accepted headcanon. and the resolution of the recent Gotham War arc was for Bruce to buy this new manor for everyone to move in and call him. nevermind that most of these characters have their own homes and have zero reason to be moving in with Bruce. Tim had his marina in Tim Drake: Robin, Dick has Bludhaven, Cass and Steph have their little side of town in Batgirls (2022), and so on. these characters are being forced together as a unit, as one big happy family living together, to appease what non-comic fans want and it's damaging comic relationships. Robin: Knight Terrors saw Jason and Tim team up and working together, which i've seen varying opinions on but i personally despised. their interactions made zero sense for any of their canon history, but it appeases them being this close sibling relationship that fanon acts like they are. also the fears they faced in their respective knight terrors didn't make sense for either character and *only* worked as a moment of bringing them together so they could reassure each other and have this weird dreamscape bonding moment. the canon is bending itself to the will of fanon rather than building on the pre-existing complex relationships. Tim barely even gets along with his most important team in Dark Crisis: Young Justice because it seems the only important relationships the Batfamily can have is with each other. and when we do see them outside of the Batfamily, it only seems to be to relive the glory days like with World's Finest: Teen Titans, instead of developing them as they currently exist. this isn't recent in the comics, it feels like you can trace it back to the New-52, but it does feel a *lot* worse over the recent years. WFA is fine when it exists in its own bubble, but the simple truth is, DC content never exists on its own. the adaptations will reflect back onto the comics. (the damage the Young Justice cartoon has done to some characters should honestly be studied) and so it does frustrate me a bit when fanon-only or adaptation-only fans act like we're being nothing but killjoys for being frustrated with this. since they don't read the comics, they don't see how the comics are suffering as a result of this.

people argue about what's out of character for the comics they don't even read. i'm sorry, but "bad dad Bruce" is consistently canon. that man is just kind of shitty. when you take someone who has the drive he has, who has this need for the Mission first, who needs a teenager in spandex next to him to keep him off the ledge, that guy is sort of going to be a shitty father figure. he just is. not on purpose or with malice, but when you compare him to any other dad in a big DC family, he sure takes the cake. it's why characters like Oliver Queen tend to *really* fucking hate Bruce for how he treats his kids. Bruce loves fiercely, but he doesn't do well with putting that love first. and his love is a controlling one, he is very particular about controlling how others in the Batfamily are "allowed" to operate. it's what drives the wedge between him and Dick, it's why Steph is never a true daughter to him. (besides the reason of her needing to be a love interest to Tim first, anyway-) i've never understood the massive outcry of people reacting to Bruce kinda being shitty in comics they're not reading. there are some moments that get ridiculously OOC with how cartoonishly evil he is (the whole Gotham War arc and that... complicated mess with Jason) but largely if you want sitcom loving nuclear father Bruce, you have to accept that is a fanon thing, not a canon one. the Batfamily being a nuclear family in *general* is fanon. most of the "Batkids" don't actually see Bruce in a particularly fatherly light and begging for moments where he calls them his kids or they call him dad outside of incredibly specific circumstances is just OOC.

it's getting harder and harder to exist peacefully in this fandom it feels like, if you don't comply to the standard fanon has set. i'm happy people are having fun with their blorbos, even if in ways i dislike, but that "harmless fandom fun" does ripple it's way back to canon, eventually. so i end up pretty tangled with my feelings because are fans at fault for DC making these poor decisions? probably not, but it certainly feels like an unfortunate cause-and-effect situation whether at the end of the day, nobody is happy. and of course, i know some fanon-only fans are striving to be more canon accurate and care about canon dynamics more than others, but for them it's always going to be an uphill battle with the above-mentioned out-of-context panels thrown around and ever-pervasive fanon overtaking anything that's truly seeking to be canon compliant. so really, it sometimes feels like we're all losing.

[myokk]

For writers:

What’s your favorite piece of writing you’ve done, and why??

Idk I just woke up thinking about this & now I’m curious!!! & may or may not be compiling a tbr based on your responses since I really haven’t had the time to read any hl fics yet🫶🫶🫶

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

[nostalgia-tblr]

i nearly anon'd the thorki non-con fic out of SHAME but in two weeks it's become my third most clicked-on fic of the year, behind only a multichapter fic and a bit of angsty sifki porn lololol