#easily top 5 fics I've ever written

[crsssie]

saying we're just friends, thinking you're my man

word count: 11.3k

warnings: non-explicit smut, heavy making out

summary: Distance gives the soul time to think, and Tim thinks he's in love with you.

It's a textbook relationship.

Tim can't count the number of times he's read a fic like this.

In fact, he can already imagine the tags on your love story. Strangers to lovers, Friends to Lovers, Fateful Encounter, Alternate Universe - College, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn... the list goes on. You'd probably have a field day trying to finish the story inspired by the one the two of you experienced. Though, as he brushes his fingers through your hair in the kisses of the morning sun, he wouldn't have it any other way — even if he couldn't form a coherent thought when you were awake and talking to him. God, you make him weak.

In the blaring heat of August at orientation, you landed right at his feet after getting shoved around in the crowd of students.

"You good?" He holds his hand for you, and you take it, pulling yourself up.

"Sorry! They're quite a crowd." You laugh awkwardly. "I'm, uh—" Your name tumbled past your lips, an apologetic smile on your face, explaining to him that you were trying to get to the English building through the crowd of students. Tim told you his name (only first in fear you'd recognize his last) and showed you a shortcut to the building. You had taken the messily scribbled image, airdropped it onto your phone, and you had rushed off with a thank you yelled into the air. Tim hadn't thought much about you. It wasn't as if you'd be in the same department as him. He also had minimal GE classes, so��

Two days later, you sit next to him in his only GE class. He was required to take English regardless of his previous experience with it. His AP classes hadn't been kind enough to remove the requirement. Not even the fives on both of his English APs could have helped him avoid the expository hell all freshmen were required to take. So, he meets eyes with you as you apologize for sitting next to him, confessing that he was the only face you knew.

"So? What's your major?" You blink at him curiously as the class waits for the professor.

"I'm in Cybersecurity."

"Woah." You mumble. "Stem..."

"You?"

"Creative Writing." You grin. "Well, build your own major. But Creative Writing nonetheless."

"A writer?"

"Yeah."

Tim had watched as you played Minecraft the entirety of class, only skimming through the syllabus for his late work, absence, and attendance policies. He's not sure if you even caught the way the professor mentioned there was a syllabus quiz next class. Though it wasn't his job to tell you, but he still felt kind of bad if you were to fail it. He passes you a note, and you pause your game, glancing at the note. You grin at him, opening your phone and showing him your reminder. You go back to your Minecraft world for the rest of class, information going in one ear and out the other. (Tim found out later that you actually listen, and gaming was only a focus tactic you used.)

At the end of class, you save your world, push your chair in, and sprint for the door.

Tim shared no other classes with you. In fact, the two of you only had one class together for all four years of your college lives. Yet, there was something about you that had stuck with him. He didn't know what it was, but he hadn't felt that giddy over someone since his last relationship, his heart racing in his chest, his head spinning. He pushed everything down in favor of being able to pay attention in class. Though his coding skills were spectacular, his writing skills were less than stellar. He didn't understand how writing just came to you.

Especially not when you fell asleep halfway through your first monthly timed essay and still scored a 97. He could learn a thing or two from you, maybe. Were you doing memory consolidation in the middle of the exam? He has no idea how you did it.

Your name slips past his lips as you pack up after one class.

"Yeah?" You tilt your head at him.

"Are you," he pauses, (a little embarrassed. Tim Drake, son of Bruce Wayne, CEO of WE, was in need of help. Of course he was a little embarrassed.) "down to tutor me? My grade in this class is less than... acceptable." He grimaces at how his voice goes quiet.

You smile. "Yeah. I'm down. I'll give you my number and schedule and we can arrange a time. Expository writing isn't that bad. It's just the same sentence structure with some BS and then you're done."

"Easy for you to say," He hands you his phone.

"No. It's just like how you have structure when you code." You click your number in, texting yourself and saving his contact before you forget. "There is structure in everything you do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You beam at him.

Tim's next essay comes back with an 81. It's a big improvement from the 64 he scored the first time. You were right, the essays being the same thing over and over again. The structure is as easy as basic coding is to him. He understands you now.

He thanks you by taking you to the diner, paying for your meal.

You kick your legs at the booth, milkshake straw between your lips, lost in thought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He raises a brow.

"Tim... what's your last name?" You frown. "It's fine if you don't tell me, but my friends have been asking who I've been tutoring and I realized I have no idea what your last name is."

"It's Drake." He scans your face for something when he tells you.

"Drake..." You pause, letting go of the milkshake straw. "huh. Like the CEO." You go back to your milkshake after the revelation.

"Not surprised?"

"I mean," You grimace at him. "You wear the down-low designer brands your adoptive father does, so not really. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to pry in case you didn't want to tell."

"Down-low designer brands?"

"Bruce Wayne has a specific way of dressing casual." You bite on your straw. "I know this sounds creepy but I've done more research on brands billionaires wear than I'd like to admit."

"Does it have to do with your writing?" Tim thanks the waiter as his order is brought.

"Yeah." You smile sheepishly. "Is that creepy? Sorry."

"No. I've been expecting the unexpected from you for a while now."

You laugh. "Yeah?"

"I have an older brother who writes in his free time and the amount of things he's done for research is crazy."

"Right? Reddit and Quora are my saviors." You mumble. "I obviously can't kill for research, so the internet is my best friend."

"Do you search on incognito?"

"No. I prefer being able to dig up my weird research from my search history." You shrug. "I bet the FBI has me on a watchlist."

"I could check if you'd like."

You feign a look of shock. "Really?"

He smiles at you, and the two of you burst into laughter.

"You going to Connor's Halloween party next week?" You finish the last of your milkshake.

"Of course not." He deadpans. "Must I remind you I hate going out?"

"Awh," You pout. "I wanted someone to match maid dresses with."

"Excuse me?"

"For research."

The smile on your face suggests anything but.

"You can consider it as payment for all the times I'm going to tutor you."

"I've been paying you."

"No." You shake your head. "You pay me each time we have a session. I'm letting you pay me for the rest of the lessons by showing up to the Halloween party in a maid dress with me."

Tim looks at you incredulously.

"Actually, I'll even draft a contract if you don't believe me." You smile.

"And if I turn you down?"

"I'll find one of my friends to do it with."

"Then why ask me?"

"The thrill of the unknown? The endless answers you could have chosen? A grasp on your character better? It could be anything." You smile sweetly at him. "It's fine. You can continue paying me like you normally do."

"Who would you match with if not me?"

"Well, I was thinking Sam or someone else," You shrug. "but Sam doesn't celebrate Halloween. I'd match with the other guy friend, but one of my friends is into him so I don't want to make it seem like I'm making a move on someone I know she likes."

"So you asked me?"

"I don't know, Tim." You shrug. "You tell me. I thought you were a genius."

He leans in to read your face better. "I'd say you asked me because you're interested in me."

"Bingo." You grin wider this time.

"It's been less than two months."

"And? Hasn't stopped people from already hooking up." You shrug. "You can say no."

"See, I'd say yes, but Connor would take a photo and it would end up in our groupchat's blackmail folder." Tim slides his fries to the middle when he catches you staring. "You can have one."

"I thought you were a master hacker?" You pick a fry from the carton.

"Yeah, but friend code."

"Ah." You nod slowly. "It's okay to say no. I won't get offended."

"Maybe next year." Tim shakes his head.

"No worries!"

Tim stalks your Instagram on the day of Halloween, staring at the post where you're matching maid dresses with your entire friend group. In the back of his mind, he wonders, for a brief moment, if it would have just been you and him if he had agreed. The thought disappears just as fast, sighing as he puts his phone down and domino mask on. He had patrol. He could think about his mess of emotions later. Gotham needs him.

Your breath hitches from the spiked punch, your friends long lost in the crowd, your head spinning as you stumble onto the balcony of the apartment, resting your head on the cool of the metal railing, trying to calm the thumping of your head. You hear something rustle in front of you, the sound of someone swinging, and you open an eye to get a look. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of Red Robin.

"Hey—"

"Dude... your costume looks way too realistic." You press your fingers to his armor, pulling him onto the balcony with you, mumbling under your breath as you feel him up through his costume. The smell of alcohol is apparent on your lips, the smell of your perfume flooding his senses — your cheeks are flushed beyond repair, and Tim finds himself frozen in place as you practically straddle him, fingers running to his face. His eyes dart to your cleavage unconsciously, staring back up to meet your eyes when he sees too much. You look sinful like this. His breath catches in his throat as he tries to loosen your grip on him without accidentally throwing you off, and he finally presses a hand of his to your stomach, successfully getting you to stop.

"Sorry." You mumble.

"No worries." He rasps, pushing you back onto your seat gently — heart drumming in his head.

"Ey, Red Robin!" Connor calls from inside the house. "You made it!"

"I'm not here to party. I was checking in on you to see if you were being responsible." He sighs.

You blink at him, doe-eyed, fascinated, drunken stupor all over your face.

"You're real?"

"Yes." He mumbles.

"Sorry for touching you."

"You're forgiven."

You lean back into your seat with an exhale, pulling out your phone as Connor leads Tim further into the party. He speaks to Oracle to let her know where he was, and he exhales when she tells him B says it's fine. He nods at the people who compliment his costume as he passes them, and he grabs himself a cup of punch, pausing when the alcohol stings his tongue. He dumps it in Connor's sink, eyes trailing to where you were sitting, breath catching in his throat at the sight of some sleaze slinging his arm around you. He rushes over to you, fingers smoothing down your neck to your shoulders, warning smile on his face.

"She has company for the night."

The man scrambles as you look up at him, beaming. His breath catches in his throat.

"Careful. I might just take you home."

"Don't you dorm?" He raises a brow in amusement.

"No one said my home." You turn around to reach for his jaw, fingers trailing down, breath fanning his. Tim would let you do this. He really would. He'd kiss you senseless on the balcony at Connor's house, yet he knows better than to do so. You're drunk from the punch. He'd be taking advantage of you no matter how much you want this when sober. So, he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, forehead meeting yours, every ounce of his willpower pulled into not just kissing you senseless here. If only you were sober. The things he would do.

"Where is she — babes! Time to go!" Your friend breaks the tension for him, pulling you away from him with a nod, alcohol riding off of her as well. He wonders if your driver is tipsy.

"I wanna go home with Red Robin..." You mumble, and your friend smacks you playfully. He notices one of you is sober, and he supposes that's enough. He heads back inside to find Connor.

Tim notices you miss class the next day. You text him to ask him to record the lecture for you, telling him the Halloween party was lit and you remember almost making out with a guy but your friend cockblocked you. Tim holds back a laugh in class, letting you know he'd email you his notes with the lecture recording. You thank him with an image, going offline immediately after. He clicks on his laptop, noting down whatever you might need. The recording would cover the rest. He sends everything at the end of class, your response instant. It wouldn't matter if you were absent from class. Your grade could take a hit.

He answers his phone when you dial him.

"Hey?"

"Timmers, you got Tylenol?"

"I can buy you some?" He offers. "I don't have class after this."

"Please? Oh, and throw in that one specific brand of bottled tea. I'll send you a photo." You grumble.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Like a dead girl walking."

"Taking that as a no. Want anything else?"

"I'll Venmo you the money. Bring me the receipt."

"You're sick. You can pay me back by actually being in class next lecture."

"Not hard. My head just hurts from the hangover."

"I'm guessing you got home safe?" Tim steps into the convenience store.

"Yeah. Our driver was sober. Thankfully."

Tim grabs the Tylenol and pauses. "I need the tea."

"Which convenience store are you in?"

"Metro."

"Aisle three by the American soda. It's green with white writing. You can read Chinese, right? It's Japanese but it says tea in Chinese."

"How'd you know?" Tim pauses. "Unsweetened green tea? The Japanese one?"

"Yeah. It helps a lot." You sniff. "Found out on google because someone made a compilation of you speaking foreign languages."

"So you assumed?"

"The part where you speak Cantonese, you were reading from a menu."

"Are you stalking me?"

"I'd prefer doing research."

"Stalking."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Tim checks out, tapping his phone to pay. He takes the bag and pauses at the sight of the instant noodles. "You sure you don't want anything else?"

"Nothing. Feel free to get what you need too."

Tim hears you drink something.

"I'll text you my dorm building and number. There's no pin to get in just let them know you're here to see me. I'm pretty close with the RA."

"Networking already, huh?"

"Whatever you want to call it."

You text him your dorm building and number, and he knocks on your door.

You open it with a weak push of your arm.

"Are you actually sick?"

"No." You thank him as he hands you the plastic bag. You pop two pills out, swallowing them with the tea. "I'm extremely hungover. I drank too much punch."

"And you didn't realize?"

"No. I was trying to drink my thoughts away." You sniff. "So? How'd you spend yesterday?"

"Handing out candy at the manor with Bruce." Which was a lie. He spent Halloween using every last drop of self-control to not kiss your drunk self senseless at Connor's place. He can still smell your perfume.

"Sounds boring."

"I do it every year." He shrugs. Also a lie. He spends every Halloween patrolling Gotham because it's the one night of the year where every single criminal decides it's alright to go apeshit.

"mm," You yawn. "I matched maid dresses with my friend group. I posted about it. Do you have insta?"

"No. I keep a low profile."

"So you don't have a private account?" You raise a brow.

"I do, but what makes you think we're close enough for it?" Tim mirrors your raise of brow.

You hold your hand to your mouth, pretending to be offended. "We're not close enough for it?"

"I'm kidding." He mumbles. "What's your handle? I'll follow you."

"You better not turn down my request." You reach for the green tea again, drinking it as you show him your account. He already knows your account. He figured he'd have to ask or else he'd be a hypocrite for calling you his stalker. Well, he's already a hypocrite.

"Ough!" You sit up straighter, reaching for your laptop. "Connor sent me these photos that the photographer caught of me and Red Robin" You swoon.

"You're into him?"

You blink at him. "Did I not tell you I run his stan account?"

"You do wHAT." He freezes. "Are you the girl who gets caught up on the news every other week because you accidentally fall while taking photos of him?"

"Yep." You grin. "He's my favorite Robin."

Tim was extremely conflicted at the discovery. In retrospect, he should have known from the way you seemed to climb all over him and pull him onto the balcony without second thought, but he's still embarrassed at the idea that you had fawned all over him. Yet he shakes his thoughts away as he peers over your shoulder to stare at the photos caught of the two of you — well, of you. You didn't know he was Red Robin.

There's a photo of you straddling him, feeling him up, and Tim's neck snaps to the side.

"Tim? You good? You don't need to look if you're uncomfortable, you know?" You remind.

"No," He swallows. "I wasn't expecting photos like this."

"Isn't the photographer good? I'd pay this guy to take photos of me at parties any day."

"Yeah?" Tim raises a brow as you show him the other two. One of him with his fingers on your collar, the other of his forehead pressed to yours, thumb between the two of you's lips. You explain to him in excitement that you would have kissed him had your friend not pulled you away because you needed to leave. Tim rests his back on your closet, nodding along slowly. He had homework to do. Yet he spent the rest of the afternoon in your room listening to you ramble about Red Robin, conspiracies reminding him of someone.

"So let me get this straight." Tim interrupts. "I'm on a time crunch. I have something for one of my compsci classes due soon and wanted to get the big picture."

"Oh. I'm sorry for—"

"Don't." He holds his hand out. "I stayed. You run the biggest Red Robin stan account on Twitter and you're planning on posting those photos like he's some kpop idol?"

"Yeah?" You tilt your head.

"Are the fans not going to get mad that he's making out with someone at a party?"

"No." You laugh. "His fans are used to him being in relationships. The most they'd do is figure out who that is, which is me, but that's it."

"You won't get death threats?"

"His fans aren't crazy."

"Yeah? You seem pretty mental to me."

You gasp. "Rude." You look to the side, sucking your cheeks in. "But not wrong."

"Yeah. If you denied it, I'd just pull up every single time you'd fallen while trying to get good photos of Red Robin."

You pout. "Shoo. You said you had something due soon."

"Last question."

"Shoot."

"You don't mind that he's never going to date you?"

"Timmers." You laugh. "He's a hero and I'm a fan. It's like asking me if I'm ever going to date a billionaire. It's impossible. Not written in the stars. It's a groundless dream."

"Yeah?" His own heart cracks a little when you mention a billionaire.

"Yeah." You smile. "Now do your work. You have a GPA to take care of."

"Got it."

Tim finds that nearing the end of the semester, you meet with him less and less, tutoring him on Zoom instead, apologizing, explaining that you had a ton of creative work due for your other classes. You had been planning on graduating early, he finds out. It was your freshman year, and you were trying to get your sophomore classes out of the way. He was bothered. It was incredible — the sheer amount of classes you took. It was more impressive that you had time to write your own creative works.

"So?"

"How did you score last time? I'm starting to think you have me tutor you still because you're into me." You joke.

"Ninety. All we have left is the stupid final."

"You're set then." You yawn. "Why still have me tutor you?"

Your mind wanders as you click on one of your assignments. "Oh, how about this, then? I have an interview I need to conduct for my journalism class, and you'd be the perfect candidate. I'm expected to record it in the building and it's due in three days."

"Three days?"

"I bet you have everything out of the way, huh?" You smile at him, batting your lashes. "Hm?"

Tim, does, in fact, have everything out of the way.

"And if I don't?" He likes teasing you.

"Then I'll ask one of my friends. The topic is the discussion of a topic you aren't familiar with. You're good with coding, something I can't do past basic HTML to edit how text looks." You hum. "I'm grappling at every excuse I can to hang out with you, if you can't tell."

"Oh, I definitely can."

"Great." You smile. "How does tomorrow at 8 in the morning sound?"

"So early?" Tim raises a brow.

"I'll bring us coffee. Give me your order."

"Sold."

Tim realizes at 3am that you never gave him a dress code. Should he show up in casual? Business casual? Semi-formal? Formal — no, formal attire seemed like too much. He grimaces as he's in the Batcave, irritation all over his face.

"Something wrong, Timmers?" Dick raises a brow.

"Yeah. What do you wear to an interview?"

"Depends what kind." Bruce answers, pulling the cowl from his head. "Who's the interviewer? Is it official?"

"A friend is interviewing me for a project."

"Final project or just a project?"

"Forgot to ask."

"You can't go wrong with semi-formal. Dress like old money." Dick hums. "Polo shirt and khakis. Throw in a sweater tied around your neck and you should be good to go."

"I agree." Bruce hums.

"Do you need to impress said friend?" Jason raises a brow from behind the two.

"Wh-what does that have to do with the interview?"

Jason smirks at the stutter. "Get Steph to dress you. She'd make you look good and dress for the occasion."

"I think I'll go with Dick's—"

"Half-buttoned dress shirt and dress pants." Steph cuts in, pausing. "No, that'll make you look desperate. Grey sweats, blazer, and a white tee. Dark colored blazer but NOT black."

"Why can't I just wear a polo shirt and just—"

"You want to look good, right? Roll the sleeves up to right before your elbows. Mess up your hair a little too."

Tim sighs. "It's winter."

"Drake. Do you want to look good for your crush?" Damian cuts in.

"She's not a crush-"

"Last time you said that you were still pining after your ex." Steph laughs. "If you really want to look casual just wear what you normally wear but add some perfume."

"She's interviewing me for my major." Tim finally gets to speak.

"Then just dress like you normally do." Dick pats him on the back with a laugh. "Hoodie and sweats. Wear a tee underneath if in case you get hot so you can pull it over your head and she can watch."

"Hey-"

"I agree with that." Steph smiles. "If you're lucky, your shirt will ride up a little and she'll get to see—"

"Got it!" Tim yells, groaning. "My usual clothing it is. I'll bring a blazer in case she does want me to dress semi formal."

"Attaboy." Bruce ruffles his hair as he makes his way up.

Tim groans. He's not going to get enough sleep for this.

You call him in the morning when the coffee shop you frequent isn't open.

"Mm?" Tim furrows his brows, morning voice evident.

"Coffee shop closed. You mind if I just make one at the convenience store for you?"

"Knock yourself out. You're early."

"I need to set up the equipment." You hum.

"What color should I wear?"

"Something not green. I'm in red. See you in an hour."

"See you." Tim mumbles back, ending the call. He sits up, bed hair evident, staring at himself in the mirror. The exhausted part of himself wants to go back to sleep, but the better part of him — the giddy, excited, coming-of-age-has-a-crush-on-someone part of him — has him sit up from sheer willpower. (something he finds he has a lot of when it comes to you) He gets out of bed, pulling for the clothes he prepped the night before, combing his hair for once. He'd like to look nice for the camera, for you, he thinks. It would be a little frustrating to see the stand-in CEO of WE dress so casually. He has some sort of reputation to hold up when he isn't a student. Though he supposes he's being interviewed as a student, so there's not much of a need to dress so well.

But he supposes he wants to impress you.

He arrives five minutes before 8, locking his car and knocking on the door to the room.

"Hey," You smile at him.

"You didn't lock the door." He locks it behind him. "In Gotham during winter?"

"I knew you'd be here early." You adjust the cameras. "Your coffee's on the table."

"Thank you," He takes off his coat, hanging it on the rack. "Can I know what questions you'll be asking me?"

"Next to your coffee." You yawn. "You're dressed nice."

"Is it too little?" He smiles at you apologetically.

"No. Not at all." You smile. "Not when I'm dressed like," You motion at yourself. "This."

"You look like a friend." He points.

"Honored." You laugh. "The cameras are set up. I rented the room until 11. Take your time with the coffee."

"You're asking about me?"

"Yeah." You laugh. "The goal is to gradually have you talk about why you chose your major so we can have a relatively deep conversation. It's an intro to interviewing course, but the professor's ultimate goal was to make sure we make at least one friend."

"Yeah?" Tim puts his coffee down, smile on his lips. "Am I that friend?"

"Yeah," You smile back at him. "You can ask me questions too. It's supposed to be a casual interview. I'll only ask you a question when we run out of things to talk about."

Tim discovers a symphony of information from you. You open your heart to him the same way he can to some extent, smile on his lips when he tells you about his days during high school and his earlier relationships, forgetting that this was an interview for your class and that you would probably have to go through hours of footage in response to this. The plush of the seat is warm underneath him, your voice is a melody to his ears, Tim nodding along as you tell him about the one time you snuck out of the house as a teenager and got your ass beat because you got caught. The smile on your lips is contagious, he finds. He hadn't fallen for someone this hard since his ex.

Tim took you to lunch that day, desperate to get to know more about you, desperate to know you. He would have called it a date if you had let him.

You had your laptop pulled up, sorting through the footage (the three hour long footage) of the two of you's conversation, nodding along and rambling casually, clicking through to cut more personal matters from the interview, only required to give your teacher a clip and the raw file's total length to prove that you two hadn't just staged a conversation. You take a fry from his plate, your sandwich finished on your plate, humming when you finish editing.

"Are you always this fast?"

"Depends on what context." You wink.

"You were pretty fast to upload those new Red Robin photos too." If he noticed the sexual connotation of your words, he didn't mention anything.

"Well, other than lighting, I don't really need to edit anything."

"Speaking of which, do you even pay tuition?"

"Martha Wayne Scholarship." You yawn. "Your dad is looaaaded."

You submit your assignment to Canva, yawning. "That was my last one."

"You finished all those writing assignments?"

"Writing comes to me like hacking does to you." You close your laptop, tucking it into your bag. "Thanks for lunch, by the way."

"Mhm." He smiles. "Glad you liked your sandwich."

"My favorite." You hum. "So? Any updates? New girl? New boy? Relationship? Your dad adopted a new sibling? What's new?"

"Siblings keep teasing me."

"Oh? For what? For me?" You press a hand to your chest, wiggling your brows at him. You burst into laughter when he turns red. "Yeah? Because of me?"

"I asked them what I should wear to an interview, and suddenly they were asking me if I had a girlfriend."

"Yeah? So what did you tell them?"

"Interview from a friend." His eyes meet yours, eerily sincere. "Why?"

(the use of friend leaves a pang in your chest)

"Curious." You shrug. "So? Going anywhere for vacation?"

"Just Christmas at the Wayne Manor. You know, the rich people gala?"

You shudder, laughing. "Good luck."

"I'll need it. God knows who else I have to network with that night."

"Well, my dorm's open if you want it." You shrug. "But I doubt Bruce would let you leave since you are the CEO."

"Stand-in." He corrects.

"CEO nonetheless." You hum. "Should I send you a Christmas present?"

"What would you even send me?"

"It would be a surprise."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Tim finds a gift from you under the Christmas tree, presumably placed there by Alfred. He had missed when you dropped it off, knocked out in the warmth of his bed without the pressure of an exam for once, letting himself ignore the cases he promised himself he'd solve. He promised you he'd get one day of proper sleep. Your texts are the only ones that cause his phone to vibrate during break. (He's down horrendously bad for you, Jason had whispered to Dick while Tim had responded to your message, lovesick grin on his face.)

Distance gives the soul time to think, and Tim thinks he's in love with you.

It comes as a revelation on Christmas morning, coffee mug warm in his hand as he watches his siblings open their Christmas gifts, laughing at certain ones and holding back his face from a smile breaking past his lips at others. He's third on the list to open his gifts, third son and all, and Tim finishes the last of his coffee, fingers reaching for his presents, all wrapped in a shade of red different from Jason's blood red. He thanks everyone for their gifts, raising a brow in amusement when he pulls out Damian's, a genuine smile breaking on his smile at Bruce's. Finally, he finds himself reaching for the gift you had gotten him, his fingers shaking as he breaks open the wrapping paper, smile on his face at the camera you got him. There's even an SD card and a battery charger part of the box you had prepped him.

"Oooh, Timmers is that from your girlfriend?"

"She's not my—"

The family breaks into teasing remarks as Tim groans, blush fresh on his skin, heart racing in his ears — that's when he realizes, the painful realization, a realization that breaks him into silence — he's in love with you.

Bruce has everyone move on as Steph sits down to open her gifts, and Tim's throat dries at the epiphany. He's in love with you — and that same lovesick smile breaks on his face as he wonders if you got his Christmas present. It was as if the two of you synced with the gift. Maybe he'd catch you taking photos of him with your camera. This time, he should stare back at you, flash you a smile, strike a pose, something, anything to fluster you. He was already looking forward to patrol that night. He picks up his mug, excusing himself quietly to get another cup of coffee, pulling his blanket with him as he clicks on his phone, placing his cup under the machine as he thanks you for the gift.

You respond immediately, video-calling him on accident, flustered state caught on camera, hair still a mess from waking up.

"I'm so sorry—"

Tim laughs. "It's fine. Are you home?"

"No. I slept over at a friend's place since my mom and I don't celebrate Christmas." You smile at him fondly. "I brought the gift you mailed to me, though. I haven't opened it yet."

"Let's say it's for your bird watching."

"You did not." You gasp, looking over your phone. "I'll have my friend record a video when we rip open our presents. Have fun on Christmas, Tim. Love you lots—"

Tim's face turns utterly red at the words, blinking wide-eyed at the now-ended call. You just... wow. He takes his mug of coffee, sitting back at his old seat where his siblings were, in a half-blissed-out state at your words. (He's told later on by your friend that you had sobbed into her chest when you realized you told him you loved him on accident.)

You text him sometime during the afternoon with the video of you opening your present, thanking him for his generous gift. You let him know that you'd send him your new photos with his present first, letting him see how good the quality of his camera could be. He texts you to sit on your dorm roof instead, and you ask if he was planning on kidnapping you. Maybe you'd let him take you for a swing. Instead, he tells you it's a present for your fanpage. You ask him if he's going to call Red Robin himself. He leaves you on read.

Bruce notices the way Tim's eerily giddy for a Christmas patrol, but he doesn't comment on it.

You exhale into the winter air, the cold piercing your lungs as you hold the camera between your gloved fingers, kicking your legs as you sit on the edge of the building, strap hung around your neck. You hum quietly as you watch the snow start, and a shadow looms over your shoulder.

"Hey." Tim smiles at you, Red Robin outfit on.

"Woah. He wasn't lying." You gasp. Your name spills past your lips, rambling about how you were his biggest fan. He stares at you through the whites of his domino mask, smile breaking onto his face.

"I've seen your Twitter."

"Yeah?" You exhale, eyes sparkling. "Honored. I hope you aren't going out of your way to visit me or anything. Gotham needs their vigilantes."

"And if I am?"

"Then you should go." Your cheeks flush from the winter warmth, and he steps close to you, forehead pressed to yours.

"You remember me from Halloween?"

"We have a thing with meeting on holidays, hm?" You laugh gently, eyes crinkling, Tim's expression softening.

"Yeah, we do." He hums, leaning in further. "May I?"

"Yeah." You exhale, lips finally pressed to his under the winter snow, his hands warm on your face as you lean in closer to him, chest pressed to his, lips parted to give him access to your mouth. Your head spins deliciously from the taste of his lips, his perfume reminding you of someone you know all too well, your mind muddled with the fact that you're actually making out with Red Robin, your celebrity crush. You whimper against his lips when he nips at your bottom one, his breath catching in his throat.

"Fuck, pretty girl. You can't just do that." He heaves, resting his forehead on yours again.

"Wow." You breathe, starstruck, eyes staring up at his.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You laugh melodiously, and Tim feels his heart grow full. "Can I get a photo?"

"For you? Anything."

You make a Christmas post on your Twitter, photo of Red Robin with a Santa hat and white beard staying pinned for the Holiday season. (Tim wasn't allowed to live it down from his family, but he had gotten to kiss you stupid, so he was more than willing to take the jabs.)

He invites you to his place for New Year's Eve, invitation tumbling past his lips and nearly getting drowned out by his panicked rambling, cheeks red beyond repair and stutter catching in his throat, only for you to tell him that you'd "love to" and that you were "honored." You asked him if there was a dress code, and he told you it was fine. Even if the Wayne gala was that night, he would just sneak to his room when you arrived. He could finish socializing with the rich in a couple of minutes. Hell, he'd flirt his way out of it like Bruce did if it meant he could see you early. He tells you to arrive in a nice dress anyway, asking for your measurements so he could send you something. (You didn't want to give it to him, but he insisted.)

You pull up to the gala perfectly on time, ignoring the paparazzi asking you who invited you and making a beeline to who you assumed was Alfred and asking him if you could be taken to Tim's room. The gala wasn't somewhere you wanted to be, and Alfred had been more than welcoming, leading you and leaving you in Tim's room, telling you to make yourself comfortable since you were Tim's guest. You spent twenty minutes looking through his photobooks before he stumbled into his room, a little sweaty since he had been running.

"Hey." He smiles at you dorkily, smiling like a nerd in love.

"Wow. You're dressed nice." You mumble, staring him up and down.

"You don't look too bad yourself," He hums, locking his door behind himself. "Did you get to eat anything?"

"I ate before I came and made a beeline for Alfred when I came. Too many cameras."

"Sorry." He exhales. "Looking at my photos?"

"They're nice."

"They're from years ago." He hums. "Before my parents passed."

You mumble something under your breath, eyes meeting his in something akin to sadness.

"It's fine, now." Tim presses his thumb to the space between your brows, your expression relaxing immediately.

"Ah, right." You slip out the SD card from your purse, blinking at him. "You have a card reader?"

"Yeah." Tim sits in his chair, opening his laptop through some series of codes, holding his hand out for your SD card.

You drop it in his palm, his fingers drumming against the table as he opens the files.

"I got photos of Red Robin." You grin. "He was there on my dorm roof. Did you send him?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Did you like the gift?"

"My Twitter loved it." You smile. You neglect to tell him that you had kissed Red Robin breathless. (Tim doesn't notice the way you get embarrassed, trying to fight off the red on his own cheeks when he remembers the way the two of you had made out on the roof.)

Tim pauses at the photo of him swinging away.

"Why didn't you post this one?"

"I was actually planning on posting it today." You hum. "The ones of him in action."

"You have multiple?"

You click into a folder, enter your password, showing him the photos.

"The camera's great, by the way. Red Robin may not have an ass as impressive as Nightwing, but he still has a nice ass." You laugh, clicking open the photos. Tim chokes on the air at the photos, and he laughs.

"Oh, yeah, Twitter would love this."

You shrug playfully. "What can I say? It pays."

Tim glances at the clock on the wall. Two minutes from midnight.

"How'd you spend the morning?"

"My friend came to pick me up so she could do my makeup." You laugh. "Then she brought me to the mall so we could get me some heels," You kick your legs to show him. "And then another friend, the one with a nice car, drove me here. My other friends insisted they watch me walk off to you. I forgot to tell them your last name after I asked for it, so they were quite surprised when they dropped me off her."

"Maybe I should thank your friends for helping you look so pretty."

"Yeah?" You smile, hopping to sit on his desk.

He stands up, pressing his forehead to yours, tucking your hair behind your ear, nose brushing yours.

"Yeah. What do they like?" Tim hums, your perfume flooding his senses again, his doing the same.

"Ever been told you share a perfume with Red Robin?" You whisper.

"No. You'd be the first."

"What's the brand?"

The brand falls onto silence as you press your lips to his, fireworks signaling the new year going off in the back. Tim's hands dig into your waist, eyes half-lidded, tongue pressing into yours with so much passion your knees might've gone weak had you not been already seated. Your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, pulling lightly when his hand finds itself on the zipper behind you. He pulls away for a moment, begging for your consent, asking if this was okay.

You had told him yes in a heartbeat.

Thus, Tim found himself enveloped with you, senses sent into overdrive, your skin pressed to his, sweat mixing with his, body tangled with his in his sheets — the same sheets he had thought about you so often in, the one where he had thought about you while he spilled into his hand, fingers pressed to your skin, mouth on your skin, sucking, biting, marking, doing whatever you would let him do to you. Your dress was long abandoned by his desk, his own suit leaving a trail toward the bed where he had you in his fingers.

He prayed this wouldn't be a foolish dream.

When he wakes in the morning, pulling you closer to his chest, your lashes fluttering against his skin, his heart warms. He should ask you to date him right now, he thinks. But his heart races in his chest, wondering if you would agree. Maybe the two of you had kissed in the heat of the moment, and you had let him have you because he had asked so nicely. He looks down at you as your eyes are completely open now, embarrassed smile on your face. He misses his chance.

"Good morning." He looks at you like you're his whole world.

"Good morning." You smile back at him like he's the universe.

The two of you fall back into the pace you had established the previous semester, this time without any classes together, only texting every now and then with updates. Tim hates this new life he lives. He misses seeing you during class and watching you play subway surfers on your phone or Bloons TD on your laptop. He opts for texting you during class instead, typing notes as he types responses to your messages. He wonders if you miss him the same way he misses you. He's too afraid to ask, still clinging onto the way your skin had felt on his during New Year's. It doesn't help that your department is halfway across the campus.

The next time he gets to see you, he's Red Robin, and he catches the familiar flash of your camera on the rooftop as he swerves into action. He finishes with the thugs easily, swinging back up to land next to you, your camera pressed to your chest, clicking capture as he raises a brow at you. You blink at him, smile on your lips. You don't look apologetic at all, almost cheekily. It was as if you knew he'd notice you.

"Hey."

"Hey." You beam at him. "Nice fight."

"Thank you. Care to tell me why you're out here during the February cold to get photos of me?"

"Because you're my favorite?" You blink at him, eyes wide.

"That's cute." He hums. "Shall I take you home?"

"Oh, if you could be so kind." You smile. "I had a friend drop me off nearby and I think he left already."

"Yeah?" Tim wraps an arm around your back, pressing you to him snugly, your arms wrapping around his neck. You close your eyes as the winter air hits your face, only for him to whisper into your ear. "Open your eyes."

Gotham looks breathless from wherever the hell Red Robin was in the air. Your breath catches in your throat, staring in awe as Tim swings from building to building, finally landing on the one where you dormed. You let go of him, cheeks warm from the air and the view, turning to look at him.

"Thank you. Thank you a lot." You smile at him, Tim mirroring your smile.

"Can I get a reward?" He had meant it as a joke, only for you to press your lips to his cheek, his eyes widening at the feeling.

"Is that good enough?"

"I was thinking something else, but that works too." He presses his lips to the corner of yours, smile on his face. "Stay safe."

"For you." You wave at him as he swings away from your building. You look through the photos you had gotten of him, going down the flight of stairs to the elevator. You had stuff to post for the rest of the month.

Tim finally bumps into you at the convenience store one fateful afternoon, reaching for your wrist before he could even register that he was scared you'd run off. He blinks at you as you blink back at him, tilting your head to offer him an awkward smile.

"Hey?"

"Hi. I'll pay, um, if you'll let me have a moment of your time."

"Yeah? Yeah." You nod dumbly. "That'd be fine. I don't have class right now."

"Yeah. I'll take your basket." He reaches for it naturally, swiping his card with ease. He hands you your stuff back, and you follow him, popping open your green tea.

"What'd you need me for?"

"Missed you."

"Yeah? I missed you too. It's weird not sharing a class anymore." You press the tea to your lips. "Missed me or the insanely good sex we had on New Year's—"

"You." Tim smiles. "Missed hearing your voice."

"Awh, what a cheeseball." You snicker, staring at the green start on the trees. "Cherry blossom season is approaching."

"Yeah. So are midterms." He shudders. "How's your classes?"

"You know, drowning in work in order to graduate early." You hum. "I'm writing something right now."

"For class?"

"Yeah. For fiction writing. The story has to be related to something you've experienced in college so far and I was wondering—" You inhale sharply through your teeth. "If I could write about us?"

"As your friend or as the guy you slept with on New Years?"

You open and close your mouth. "Both. Yeah. Both."

"May I read it after you finish?"

"I'll share the doc." You smile. "Thank you. I've been meaning to ask you."

"I'm honored that you'd write about me as a college experience."

"Yeah..." You trail off. "Oh, did you see my Twitter update? I got these super clear photos of Red Robin fighting thanks to the camera you gave me. Thank you, again."

"You're welcome." He hums. "Doing anything on Valentines?"

You puff out your cheeks. "Supposed to hang out with friends, but me and my other friend want to ditch so the two idiots would finally get to hang out without us third and fourth wheeling."

"So you're busy?"

"Not if you want to hang out." You tilt your head, capping your green tea.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah." You hum. "But you'd have to make it worth ditching for."

"Oh, then leave everything to me." He hums, fingers brushing yours. "I'll pick you up around nine in the morning."

"And what time will you have me back?" You tease, pressing yourself closer to him.

"What time do you want to be back?"

"Whatever time you want." You hum. "Please pick me up in a nice car your dad owns. I want to see the interior of one of them."

"Sure." Tim hums. "Any other requests?"

"How should I dress?"

"Casual." He hums. "Do you want to match?"

"We can color coordinate." You gasp. "What color do you own the most of?"

"Red." He hums.

"Owh! We can match red." You grin.

Tim walks you back to your dorm, staring as you enter the elevator and disappear from view. He thinks a little about where he should bring you, lips pulling up lightly when he remembers something you had mentioned off-handedly in your interview with him. He knew now.

Tim shows up at your door with roses, your friends peering from behind the door as you take the flowers with him with a light flush on your cheek. You're dressed completely casual, red sweatpants matching his red hoodie, grey hoodie matching his sweats. You smile at him sweetly as you take the flowers from him, and your friends pull you aside, staring him down. One of your friends, bless her, tells him to treat you properly. She jabs a finger into his chest, going off about how she didn't care if he was some rich dude — the same rules applied, especially when it was your first relationship. Tim's eyes widen at the fact, your eyes darting to the side, a little embarrassed. Your other friends drag her off of him.

"Why didn't you tell me I'm your first?" He whispers.

You pout. "Didn't want to come off as inexperienced."

"That's not something to be embarrassed about." He hums.

"You would've treated me differently if you knew."

Tim sucks in a breath. "Yeah. I would've."

"Point proven." You hum. "Thank you for the flowers. They're very pretty."

He opens your door for you, waving bye to your friends. You sit there, staring at him as he stares at you.

"Where are we going?"

"Remembered how you joked about being taken on a first date to Costco?"

"No." Your jaw drops.

"I have a membership." He pulls the card from his wallet, and you gasp.

"You spoil me."

"Save that for when you're actually inside."

You fake a swoon, smiling at him sweetly, lips curled upward and brows relaxed. Tim hums, pulling on his own seatbelt, handing you the aux to the car, and you put the flowers onto the backseat. You plug your phone in as he starts driving, and you blink at all the buttons on the car.

"What are these for?"

"One of them's for missiles."

"What." Your jaw drops.

"I'm kidding." He laughs. "Most of them are for defense. Bruce's very into cars."

"I can tell." You mumble. "What are we getting at Costco?"

"Your green tea," He stops at the light. "And whatever else intruiges you."

"Can I get a Costco hotdog?"

"Yeah." He laughs. "You want a slice of pizza too?"

"Maybe." You scrunch your nose. "Moreso a hotdog."

"We can get whatever you want." Tim hums.

"Wow, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to woo me." You laugh. (Tim hates the way he notices your eyes crinkle.)

"And if I am? It is Valentines."

"Woah." You mumble. "I didn't consider that."

"Yeah?" For someone so good at reading people, Tim sure struggled with reading you.

"I don't know." You frown. "Are you trying to swoon me? Or are you trying to get into my pants again?"

"Whichever one helps you sleep at night."

You laugh. "Using my own words?"

"You speak better than I do." He hums. "Do you want your hotdog first or later?"

"Later." You unlock your seatbelt, leaving the car. It looks awfully unassuming on the outside. Great for Gotham, you suppose.

"I'll push the cart." Tim holds his hand out for you and you take it, fingers wrapped in his. He lets go once he gets a cart, handing you his membership as you show the worker at the door. "Want a new iPad?"

"You know, I should make you buy Costco for me." You joke, patting his shoulder.

"Two hundred thirty two billion dollars? That's Bruce's money, not mine."

You snicker. "You have it memorized?"

"Stock trading for the company." He hums. "Stock is currently around five hundred dollars per stock."

"How the hell do you have time for schoolwork?"

"Coffee and an insane amount of self-discipline." He hums. "And revenge procrastination."

"At least you have some sort of weakness." You finally catch the drinks aisle, rushing in to find your green tea, Tim following behind you.

"I'll get it." He hums, reaching and pulling the green tea with ease, sliding it to the bottom of the cart. "Want anything else?"

"Can we browse?"

"Yeah."

You wander through the aisles, a comfortable silence washing over the two of you before you decide to speak up.

"Does Alfred need anything?"

"He's probably glad he has the house to himself for once." Tim hums. "Almost all of us are on a date."

You blink in surprise. "Even the youngest?"

"Except Damian." He hums. "Bruce is out too."

"Woah." You mumble. "The house must be quiet."

"Yeah." he hums.

"That did not answer my question." You pout.

"I texted. He sent a list." Tim mumbles, sharing the list. "You don't mind shopping for my family?"

"No." You smile. "I like grocery shopping with someone. It feels warm."

"Yeah? We're in the snacks aisle, so let's start there."

The two of you work your way through Costco, checking off Alfred's list of groceries, double-checking everything over when you finished. Tim grabs a rotisserie chicken for Alfred without it being on the list, and he grabs a tray of croissants, knowing Cass would probably want something sweet to snack on during the day. You text your friends to check if they want anything, and only one of them responds, telling you she's good. You have a feeling the other two are hooking up.

"Anything they want?"

"No." You smile.

"And you?"

"Just the green tea."

Tim raises a brow. "I'll feel bad if I only get stuff for my family while on a date with you."

"The tea is plenty." You beam. "I promise."

You help Tim unload the cart and then reload it, rocking on your feet as he swipes his card, not even checking the price twice, handing you the receipt as he pushes the cart out. The worker swipes the highlighter through the list, and Tim takes a right instead of a left.

"The car's—"

"Hotdog." He hums. "Can you get us two hotdogs? Card's in my wallet."

You take his card and get the hotdogs, tossing them into the cart as you hold the two paper cups.

"What do you want to drink?"

"What are you getting?"

"A little bit of everything."

"Then get me the same thing." He smiles.

You wonder if he's going to hate the flavor on his tongue. Though it's not your problem as you fill the cups, putting them in the holder as Tim pushes the cart back to his car, the two of you loading it into his trunk.

"We'll drop by my place first, and then we can drive to the next place I have planned." He takes the drink, straw in his lips. He blinks at the taste, eyes widening. "Wow. That's a flavor."

"Certainly is." You smile. "Like it?"

"Tastes like something Dick would have." He hums. "I'll push the cart. Get in the car."

You sit in the passenger's seat, opening your hot dog as Tim comes back.

"Ever had one before?" He opens his own, biting down.

"Yeah. My friends and I drop by pretty often." You hum. "Love the hotdogs."

"I should do that." He hums. "Alright. My house."

You chew on your hotdog as he heads toward his place, the music from your phone filling the car.

You wonder for a moment if Tim was actually into you. You have no doubt that you're important to him, but it was a little strange. You had slept with him before. What does that make you two? Friends with benefits? Friends who have slept together? Plain friends? A situationship? You chew on your bottom lip as he drives, mind elsewhere. Also, what were you with Red Robin? You can't call yourself a fan when you've had his tongue stuck down your throat before. There was too much to consider and ask. Maybe you should just ask Tim. (You don't, out of a fear of something. You're not too sure of what.)

When the two of you arrive, You help Tim sort the stuff into bags, carrying them to the front door as he unlocks it with ease, calling for Alfred and Damian to help with the groceries. Damian comes first, taking some of the bags from you, Alfred after him, showing you where the kitchen is.

"Thank you very much for running groceries for me, Master Tim." He nods. "You too, miss."

You smile. "No biggie. We were at Costco and I figured it'd be nice to do the groceries for you."

"It's very kind of you."

"Are you Drake's girlfriend?" Damian's next, eyeing you up and down, a scowl on his face.

"No?"

He frowns harder. "You deserve someone better."

"I really don't think—"

"Demon brat." Tim's voice comes out like a warning. "Don't tell my date to leave me."

"Is she not your girlfriend? I would have expected you to have already—"

"That's enough." Tim warns again, and Damian shuts up this time.

"Shall I prepare food for the two of you?"

"No need." Tim hums. "We have reservations."

"You made reservations? Do I need to change?" You follow after him, waving bye to Alfred and Damian.

"No. It's at the diner. It's Valentine's, which means there's twice as many couples there."

"Ohhh." You follow him into the car, sitting back down as he starts toward the diner again. "Is that all you had planned?"

"Also planned to take you home after this." He pauses. "My home. I was thinking we could use the movie room in the manor, granted none of my brothers get to it first. If that doesn't work, we can use the projector in my room."

"Are we gonna have sex?" You wiggle your brows playfully.

"If you want, I can have you screaming my name loud enough for Metropolis to hear."

You wince, looking to the side, embarrassed. "Holy shit."

"Expect the unexpected."

"I'm going to throw a milkshake at you for that."

"Cry about it."

The two of you get to the diner just in time for the reservation, your regular orders already memorized by the waiter. You're a little embarrassed, but you suppose it's not the worst thing ever. Tim finds the time asking if you enjoyed the day so far instead. You pull out your laptop as you wait for your order, continuing with the assignment due soon.

"Writing?"

"Yeah. Writing." You puff out your cheeks, fingers flying on the keyboard.

"What are you writing?"

You look up from your screen to stare at him. You don't say anything, but Tim gets the idea.

"Need a reference?"

"Actually," You lick your lips, scrolling up through the doc. "I'd like to meet Red Robin again."

"Your date's right here and you're talking about another man?"

"Writing fanfiction for him right now." You deadpan. "Need to know his kinks."

Tim coughs in embarrassment, forgetting how straightforward you could be.

"For a commission?"

"No. Out of curiosity." You pause. "I was curious to know what he would be into."

"Why not base him off of me?"

You raise a brow at Tim, swallowing thickly.

"Is this your way of telling me you don't want me writing fanfiction of other men?" You ask him one question, eyes asking another.

"Yeah." He smiles. "Yes to both questions."

You close your laptop when your milkshake and sandwich arrive, and Tim kicks you gently under the table.

"So what was the other question?" He raises a brow.

"I'll tell you in the car," You smile cheekily. Tim knows what the other question is. He just wanted to see if you were bold enough to ask him. The two of you continue with dinner, catching each other up with your friends' lives, smile on both of you's lips as the sun sets and the moon rises, Tim paying as he said he would. You take his hand into yours as the two of you walk to his car, and he opens the door for you, joining you on the other side.

"Before I ask," You lean over slightly, lips brushing his. "Can I have a kiss?"

"That's a question too, but I won't say no." He leans in for his lips to meet yours, hand moving to hold your face, tongue swiping on your bottom lip, darting into your mouth. You moan into the kiss as his other hand squeezes your waist, and you pull away from him suddenly, licking your lips for whatever taste of him was left. You grin at him cheekily, reaching to wipe the lipstick from around his lips, your voice lowering.

"The question I actually wanted to ask was if you were Red Robin." You grin, wiping the lipstick on a napkin leftover from Costco. "And I knew you'd read it off of me."

"How'd you guess?" He tilts his head at you, eyes still on your lips.

"First it was your perfume," You smile. "Then it was the way you kissed me." You pop the vanity mirror down, reaching into your hoodie for your lipstick. "Not to mention the way your forearms feel the same. Both of you have a specific way that you hold me when making out. I think that was the nail in the coffin."

You pucker your lips when you finish with the lipstick, tossing it back into your hoodie, closing the vanity mirror.

"So? Where are we headed now?"

"My place." He mumbles. "Have to have you."

"You could have me in the car."

"As much as I would like that," He exhales. "That would be very uncomfortable for you."

"Can I have you in the costume sometime later on?" You bat your lashes at him. "If you'd let me, of course."

"Yeah. Anything you want." His head thumps as he stops at the light.

There's a long, drawling silence before you speak up. You're scared, but you might as well ask.

"What are we, again?" You lean over slightly to stare at him. Tim notices you haven't put music on.

"If you'd let me," Tim licks his lips, "lovers."

"Then lovers we are."

The second time Tim gets to have you, he's so much gentler, fingers kneading the skin between them, curling them inside of you until you're a whimpering mess, worried that you'd wake someone in his family, his kisses assuring you that all of his brothers were out doing the same thing he was, wining and dining someone they loved, rooms also soundproof. Tim goes back to you after that, soaked fingers and sheets, licking your cum from his fingers, eyes locked with yours the entire time, pressing his lips to yours after he finishes. Your eyes roll back at how lewd he was being, but you suppose it's what the two of you deserve after flirting for so long.

Tim makes sure you're properly pampered in bed, your legs twitching after your third orgasm, begging for him to fuck you, tears in your eyes. How could he say no? Not when you looked so dazzling under him. He seems to understand something as he pushes into you this time, pausing to drink your form in, still as pretty as you had been before. This time, arguably prettier. You were so much prettier when you were crying about how you were his, cunt still oversensitive from your previous orgasms. Your face twists in pleasure, crying about how you were unable to take another release yet relenting as Tim drilled into you. You have no idea how he has the energy, and you're too tired to ask when he finishes.

You grimace as he peels you from the bed, setting you on the tile seat as he starts a shower for the two of you.

"I love you." You mumble. Not on accident or out of habit this time.

"How long?"

You exhale. "Don't remember."

"Approximation."

"Since I fell at your feet at orientation, maybe." You whisper into the mist as he helps you wash up.

"I love you too." Tim mumbles into your skin as he presses a kiss to where he had left hickeys.

"How long?" You repeat his question, staring at him as he stares down at you, moving the shower head to wash the bubbles from your skin.

"Since Christmas." He whispers back.

You smile at him.

"Since I told you I loved you on accident?"

"Yeah." He stops the water, wrapping you in a towel, drying you. You hum in satisfaction as he dries the two of you off, your fingers warm around his wrist when you grow tired.

"Can we sleep? I usually air dry my hair."

"Yeah." He presses a kiss to the crook of your neck, lifting you into his arms as he takes the two of you back to bed.

"What tag would you put on our story?"

"Idiots in love." You smile as you drift off, and Tim presses his lips to your forehead.

His tag would have been requited love.

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 5

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: E MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), alcohol, yearning masturbation, vegan slander, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 6.2k

a/n: Today feels like a really rough day in the US so I wanted to share this new chapter. Hopefully it'll take your mind off things. I've had a really really hard time writing this chapter. Really glad I stuck with it and struggled through. Could not have done this without input and beta from @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre. Thank you my little witches!

🐈‍⬛

With Margot’s reprieve, life with Ezra becomes the new normal. Weeks pass and he’s slotted into your day to day so easily. Grocery shopping, breakfast at the cafe down the street. He comes to work with you. Except now, instead of lounging on top of a dusty bookshelf, he helps man the cash register. 

Despite your aunt’s insistence that she would not under any circumstances be involved with this “conspiracy” (her word), she had pointed you in the direction of a vieling spell that would keep Ezra’s transformation under wraps. You and he cast the ward around town hoping it might buy some time but you’ll have to come clean eventually.

“By Yuletide, you’d better come up with a proper appeal,” Aunt Margot said. “People will ask questions if you’re absent and I’m not going to lie.”

There’s still time and so you choose to enjoy this secret, this new chapter with Ezra.

You’re smiling to yourself as you climb the stairs to the second floor of the Page with a book in your hands. It’s an antique school primer someone just brought in for Margot to appraise. Nothing special except that the little darling that once owned it filled the margins with dirty limericks and pencil sketchings of cock and balls. Some things never change, no matter what century it is. Ezra will get a kick out of it. He probably knows a few lewd poems himself. 

You hang back when you find him beside the front window. Soft morning light falls over the angular planes of his face. There’s a divot in the center of his throat just visible above the collar of his olive sweatshirt that always catches your eye. You still haven’t quite gotten used to the fact that your old pal Ezra is so damn handsome. Not that you’re attracted to him. He’s just attractive. You’ve reminded yourself of the distinction between that many times over the past few weeks. 

But it’s not the cast of the sun that has you hesitating. Ezra’s talking to a customer, his crooked smile revealing the dimple in his cheek, with a tarot deck in his hands.

“And it was the exact image I’d seen when I took ayahuasca,” she says. “The four of cups.”

“Well, cards are certainly prophetic,” he says, his voice edging on a tease. 

You know her— Zoe’s a regular. She moved into town after backpacking through South America, and waitresses at the diner. She comes in to buy crystals from time to time and she’s good for business. Ever since the diner got written up as one of the “hidden gems of the Catskills,” she sends more and more of her customers over to the Page. 

She’s been stopping in even more recently, the shop’s newest doe-eyed employee obviously her motivation. Twice a week you find her in conversation with Ezra. In fact, she’s given up the pretense that she’s actually shopping for anything anymore. 

“Have you ever had your aura photographed?” she asks. 

“No. A picture of me is a rare thing, indeed,” he says. 

Zoe’s the exact kind of mortal Ezra detests– always talking about “getting into wicca” as if magic is a hobby she can try on– but she’s beautiful. She has hazel eyes and razor sharp cheekbones. Her slim arms are tattooed with delicate talismen and her haircuts seamlessly straddle the border between chic and edgy. 

“I know a place down in Woodstock where you can get it done. Next time I’m going, maybe you can tag along,” she offers. 

There’s a sparkle in Ezra’s eye that makes your chest tight.

You retreat to the stairs before you hear his answer. The sensation building in you is a stab, a flare of something bitter and dark. You’re not sure why you’re jealous because you don’t have feelings for Ezra. Okay, maybe a little crush. But you’ve got that in check. You’re not going to fall for your best friend just because he woke up with the most handsome face you’ve ever seen.

And you’re definitely not intimidated by Zoe’s waif-like frame and heavily lidded eyes. Next to her, you look like an ogre. But why would you need to compare yourself to her? And why shouldn’t Ezra get to bang a goddess when he has a mouth that should be sculpted in marble?  

You realize how ridiculous this train of thought is becoming so you shove it down as tightly as you can, actually shaking your head as though this insanity might tumble out of your ear.

“You okay?” 

Zoe’s standing in front of you at the register, the tarot deck set on the counter between you.

“You’re buying something,” you say, though it’s more of a question than a statement.

“This deck has a really good vibe,” she tells you. “Ezra picked it out.”

Hearing her say his name, you’re like a cat with its hair standing on end. 

“He’s got the same name as your cat. Isn’t that funny,” she notes.

“I see how you look at him,” you say. It’s not meant to come out as an accusation but there’s a bite to your words you weren’t expecting. You’re being ridiculous so you decide to prove to yourself once and for all that your feelings are strictly platonic. The faster you see Ezra with someone, the quicker this little crush will die. 

Luckily, Zoe doesn’t notice it. “That obvious, huh?”

“You should take him for a drink. He’d like that,” you say. Something like relief comes over you. Obviously you’re not jealous. If you were, you wouldn’t have tried to set him up.

“You think so?” she asks, glancing back towards the stairs. “I tried to give him my number but he told me he doesn’t have a phone.”

You try to keep yourself from laughing at what a devastating rejection that would be if it weren't true.

“He actually doesn’t,” you say.

“Really?” 

You shrug.

She nods. “That’s smart. The EMF really messes with your brainwaves.”

“Hm,” you say with a noncommittal nod. “Well, I’ll have him send you a letter or something.”

–

Ezra used to trot down the stairs of the bookstore. Now he has to duck to keep his head from smacking into the shelf that hangs over the doorframe. 

It’s taken some time to get used to his body again but after these few weeks, he’s navigating the world with ease. Ezra hasn’t felt this happy in hundreds of years. He’s doing magic for the first time in a long time and he spends his days working in the bookstore. It’s oddly enjoyable even despite the fact that it’s dull and full of silly mortals. Best of all, there’s you. 

He still can’t comprehend how lucky he is to be given this gift. To be yours. Even if he isn’t anymore, not beholden by the fetters of a familiar, he’ll never stop thinking of himself as belonging to you. 

You’re smiling at him as he comes to the counter and he has to resist the urge to nuzzle his head into your shoulder as he used to greet you. If there’s one thing he misses about being a cat, it’s your scratching behind his ears.

“I got you a date with her,” you say.

“The vegan?” Ezra asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a laugh. “The vegan that you shamelessly flirt with.”

Ezra furrows his brow. He was once quite the charmer but he hasn’t intended to do anything more than amuse himself. Over and over, this woman batted her eyelashes at him and Ezra carefully demurred each time. She was pretty. Perhaps some time ago he would have liked to bed her but he has no designs on her now, not when he falls asleep swimming in the scent of your skin each night.

”You shouldn’t have done that,“ he says.

”Why not? She’s so into you,” you reply.

Ezra says nothing because his answer would give it all away. Instead he grabs a handful of bookmarks decorated with pressed flowers and busies himself putting them on a table on the other side of the room. 

“You’ve been celibate for how long?” you go on, following behind.

“No need for reminders.” 

“We need to get you laid!” you say so helpfully. ”Are you blushing?”

If Ezra’s red in the face, it’s only because he’s realizing what a fool he’s being. You’re ready to send him off to another while he’s madly in love with you. He shouldn’t be surprised. He couldn’t expect that you were going to suddenly leap into his arms with any of the enthusiasm Zoe’s shown him. Maybe he thought there was some chance, some faint hope that you could belong just as much to him. 

But this makes your feelings so clear. You’re not interested. You’re ready to pawn him off on some ridiculous mortal.

”What’s wrong? She too young for you or something?” you tease. 

Zoe is, no doubt, attractive and she’d made it clear that she’s ready to take him to bed, both facts that should have elated him. The problem was, she wasn’t you. And you were someone he’d never have. 

“I can manage my own matchmaking,“ he grumbles. He moves on to a stack of books, straightening their spines though they’re hardly askew. Anything to keep himself from looking at you, being reminded that you’re off limits.

“Ez, she’s been throwing herself at you.“ 

”I suppose in my time I’ve learned to savor the hunt.“ 

“Oh please. You used to eat out of my hand. You should be thanking me,” you say. 

Thanking you for pushing him into the arms of another. His despair calcifies into a rotten resentment. You don’t want him, you never will. 

“I’d much prefer it if you didn’t involve yourself,” he says. It’s nearly impossible to keep the venom out of his voice.

You scoff. In the corner of his eye, you’re frowning. ”Okay. If I’d known you were going to be such a dick about it, I wouldn’t have bothered,” you say, and then you turn around shaking your head and walk away.

He watches you stomp into the next room, regret flooding him. He shouldn’t be so mean, not to you, but the damage has been done. There’s hardly time to think about it because Margot is breezing in from the back door with Percy riding high on her shoulder, the sound of her bracelets filling the store with their music. Ezra sets his features in as neutral an expression he can manage.

“Oh, Ezra, dear. Just who I was looking for,” she says. “Come here a minute.”

She sets a wide box that’s tied with a grosgrain ribbon on the counter.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Open it.” 

He looks from her to her familiar before he pulls the dark ribbon and lifts the lid. Inside is something he hasn’t seen in a dog’s age. The memories it brings back makes his lips tick up in an absent smile. 

“Robes,” he says. “How did you—?”

“We found a description in Goody Cartwright’s diary in the basement,” Margot said. “Dusted off the old sewing machine.”

Percival scampers down her arm to climb into the box. He crawls beneath a sleeve and lifts the hem in his paws, standing on his hind legs.

“I hope they turned out,” Margot says.  

“Mine were nearly identical,” Ezra says as he wistfully inspects the fabric.

He still remembers the feel of the homespun linen against his skin. His robes always smelled of woodsmoke from the moon revels. They had been stained with wine and goat’s milk, the bottom edge besotted with moss and rainwater.

“It was Percy’s idea,” she says.

The mouse ducks his head bashfully when Ezra looks up at him. 

Ezra swallows down the lump in his throat. He’s moved, jaw gripped as he tries to stop from shedding tears. Another gift he’s not worthy of, compounded by the fact that he’s just upset you again. You were doing for him what you’ve always done– taking care of him, showing him that you loved him. If only he could accept it’s not the way he wants it.

He sets his hand out on the countertop. 

“Percival,” he says. 

After some hesitation, Percy steps into Ezra’s palm. Ezra brings the mouse up so that he sits at eye level. 

“I deserve a much starker retribution from you, friend,” Ezra says. “I hope you’ll forgive my misdeeds.”

Percy cocks his head to the side. 

“He says he’ll think about it,” Margot tells him. 

Ezra grins. He offers a finger which Percy takes in his paw and they shake hands. 

“You can wear them this weekend. Sunday’s your first full moon since you turned,” Margot says. 

Ezra had forgotten all about the phases of the moon. How could he be expected to keep track of such things when there were so many new things to experience?

”We’ll celebrate,” Margot insists.

He wants to protest. Right now he doesn't feel much like frivolity, can’t imagine you’ll want to join in with any festivities when he’s been such a complete and total ass. But he knows he ought to learn his lesson and accept.

“I look forward to it,” he says.

Percy squeaks happily and Margot claps her hands together.

“Come on, Percy! There’s much to be done!” she says before disappearing into the back room.

-

The rest of the day is tense between you and Ezra, with few words exchanged. He’s lived with you long enough that it’s not your very first squabble but, in the past, it was much easier to stay out from underfoot. The apartment feels so much smaller now that he’s human, its walls crushing when there’s silence between you. It’s at its worst when you announce you’re going to bed. It feels cold, lacking an invitation, and so Ezra waits in the kitchen for a long while wondering if you want him beside you at all. 

Some time after you’ve turned off the light, he slinks in nervously. He might as well be sneaking into the bed, though for all intents and purposes, it’s become just as much his as it is yours. He’s shared it with you from that very first night. Neither of you raised the notion of his sleeping elsewhere so it became a habit. He wonders now, more strongly than ever, if he’s overstayed his welcome. 

You lay facing the window but he knows your breathing well enough to see you’re not yet sleeping. He lays on the cold sheets hating himself for loving you, for taking advantage of you, for disappointing you.  

“I shouldn’t have accused you of meddling,” he says quietly.

Ezra has accepted the fact that he’ll have to take this mortal out despite having no interest in her. There’s no good reason not to, as you so aptly showed him, and if he doesn’t you’ll want to know why.

At some point in the late afternoon he decided that he would make the best of it. He would stop kidding himself and accept that you had no romantic feelings for him and try to keep an open mind with Zoe. At the very worst, he’d finally get a long overdue fuck. How could a man mope over that? 

But seeing the slope of your shoulder in the moonlight, your eyelashes fluttering as you turn your face up to the ceiling, makes him realize just how impossible is the task that lies ahead of him. 

You sigh and turn over, sheets rustling with your movement. There’s just enough light in the room to shine in your sweet eyes as you look at him and tuck a hand under your pillow. 

“Ez, it’s okay. I know why you got upset,” you say. 

His heart skips a beat. Of course you know. He’s been so obvious, how could you not see it? He swallows hard, unsure of what he’ll say when you call him out. It feels like an age passes as he waits for you to say the words. 

“You haven’t been with anybody for a long time. If you’re not ready, I get it,” you say and you put a gentle hand over his. 

A little laugh escapes him. How absurdly wrong he’d been. He sinks deeper into his self pity. How could he ever imagine a creature as kind and beautiful as you would want him? A reprobate, hundreds of years old. A fucking cat.

“Yes, well, I suppose if she’s as smitten as you believe I’ve nothing to worry about,” he says. 

A smile cracks across your lips and your gaze melts over his face. You brush your palm across his cheek and Ezra can’t help but close his eyes and lean into the touch of your warm skin. 

“How could she not be?” you say.

Your gaze lingers on him, your expression difficult to read. There’s nothing but the sound of your soft breaths and the whisper of dry leaves outside the window. His heart aches, wishing he could curl himself around you and say the words that live on the tip of his tongue. But the moment passes as you pull your hand back to your side of the mattress and the gulf between you feels wider than ever. He lays awake for what feels like hours wishing he was still a cat so he could sleep in your embrace.

-

You lay on the couch with a book spread open on your lap but you haven’t been able to read a single page. Ezra’s out with Zoe which is fine. Totally fine. You made it happen after all, even gave him some cash for drinks and coaching on the dating scene. 

“I’m newly human but I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m well acquainted with the customs and mores of modern courtship,” he protested. 

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” you asked. 

For a moment, you almost fooled yourself into thinking he wasn’t interested in her. He’d been so prickly when you brought it up. There have been times when you wonder. You’ll catch him looking at you in a way that makes your heart flutter. Or his touch will remain just a moment longer than it needs to, days when you wake up and question if his morning wood is actually for you and not just a fact of human biology. But of course not. And that’s fine.

It’s been a while since you’ve had the apartment to yourself— certainly not in the weeks since Ezra became human— and you’ve had little down time. There’s always some new adventure to take him on. Not that you’re complaining. It’s been the most thrilling time of your life. 

This whole date situation is good, actually, because you could really use a night alone. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine and lit some incense, cracked open the book. A good start. That’s about all you managed. You keep thinking about how it’s going with Ezra. What could they be talking about? Is he having fun? Maybe he’ll actually like her. Wouldn’t that be….something?

Things could never get romantic between the two of you anyway. You wouldn’t risk your friendship, so many years of trust and affection. It’s too precious to you. Besides, there must be something unethical about dating someone that’s been sworn to serve and protect you.

Not that you want to do that.

You snap the book shut and toss it on the coffee table, sitting up. You need to stop being weirdly obsessed with this date. Ezra is your friend, you remind yourself, and you’re excited for him. You just need something more engrossing. 

You put on a period piece. Nothing like a night in with ballgowns and wine. You put your feet up on the table and try to lose yourself in the movie. Ezra is such a pedant when it comes to historical dramas, always pointing out the inaccuracies, complaining about the costumes.

You wish he were here now groaning over the cut of a coat. You wish he was here instead of–

This isn’t working. You know what always clears your mind? A bath. 

The clawfoot tub is filled with oils and herbs, the little bathroom flickers in candle light. You slide deeper into the warm water, focus on the way your muscles unwind. You hadn’t even noticed you were so tense. This was a good call. There’s a knot in your shoulder you massage with your hand. Finally feeling serene, your wet fingers coming to slide across your chest. The water drips peacefully out of the faucet and your cheeks bloom with the alcohol and heat. Maybe Ezra should go on more dates, get the place to yourself more often.

You know what would really make you feel relaxed? Your fingers drift below the water, and skate down your belly and your eyes come to close. It’s been over a month since you got off– Connor (though most of the credit should really go to your passion elixir). It’s been impossible to rub one out with someone else in your bed. At least when Ezra was a cat, he spent a lot of time prowling the woods and being moody. Maybe he’d heard you back then, a thought that somehow equally horrifies and thrills you. 

You touch yourself with a slow, delicate hand and you’re lost in the idea of him watching you now. His chocolate eyes hungry but his body still, the only movement he allows is the rise and fall of his chest. How many times had he seen you, all of you, and not looked away? 

You shiver imagining him, urging you to show him how you take yourself apart. Studying, appreciating. Savoring. Throbbing at each twitch in your brow as you crest and your breath hitches. Even in the water you can feel yourself growing slick, a coil of need winding, and you bite down on your bottom lip. Your mind swirls, your body taught.

He’d be calling you dirty and pretty and good in his flowery prose, stroking your cheek with his knuckles and you unfurl a moan so loud because you don’t have to stay quiet, you’ve got the place to yourself.

Before you’ve even come down from your high, you're flooded with the sting of reality.

No matter how wrong or immoral or risky it is, there’s no denying it– your feelings for Ezra are anything but platonic. And he’s on a date with another woman.

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes with a groan. 

The thought of facing Ezra after this revelation makes your stomach turn. You can almost see him sauntering in, hair mussed, body slack from his sexual conquest. It burns a hole in your chest, a scream practically rising in your throat. And you’ll, what, go on living with him, smelling his musk on your sheets and not go completely insane?

You pull the plug from the drain. So much for the bath. It’s early yet but the only thing you can do to help yourself now is be unconscious. There’s no way you’re going to fall asleep with your thoughts racing so you brew up a sleeping draught in the kitchen. With any luck, you won’t have any dreams either.

-

Ezra’s side of the bed is empty and cold. Mid-morning sun glows on the walls of your bedroom and you’re just waking up, the effects of the potion still making your head groggy. But eventually it dawns on you. He’s not there. 

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Your eyes sting with tears, your gut sinking with the weight of it. You imagine Ezra curled up in bed with her. Morning sex. Breakfast. You want to puke. 

After a long while pulling yourself together, you realize it’s better this way. The last thing you need is to wake up next to Ezra smelling like sex and the patchouli notes of Zoe’s perfume. 

You can’t sulk. You need to get up, get over it.

When you step out of your bedroom, you stop short at the discovery that Ezra’s asleep on the couch. So he didn’t spend the night. It does little to soothe your aching heart. In fact, it somehow feels worse. He looks so perfect, long legs bare and brow smooth, mouth turned down in a pout. It’s not fair you have to survive around a man so perfect.

You go into the bathroom and close the door a little too loud a little on purpose. 

Maybe there’s a potion for falling out of love.

-

Ezra’s dragged himself up by the time you step back into the living room, woken by the slam of the door. He had the damndest time sleeping on that couch. Never realized how lucky he’s been to share the bed. 

You stop outside the bathroom door, arms akimbo, and your oversized sleep shirt rides up your thighs. 

“Well?” you ask. 

Ezra can’t help but smirk at your down to business attitude.

Well indeed. 

Zoe had been fine company. Not hard to look at even if the conversation left a little to be desired. His favorite part of the evening came when Zoe brought up the shop and, in turn, you. It was difficult not to let his words run away from him.

Despite his best efforts, knowing that he should give over and accept this, his mind kept slipping back to his little mage. What you would look like in the little frock Zoe had chosen, the jokes that only you would understand. You’d helped him pick out clothes for the evening, a soft woolen sweater you swore wasn't too tight. All night, he kept remembering the drag of your eyes over his arms before you said, “You look really good.” He wants you to look at him like that all the time.

”She’s not intolerable for a mortal,“ he says. 

“‘Not intolerable.’ Sounds like Ezra for bangable,” you say. “So?”

Perhaps in another universe, Ezra would have had a splendid time, would have debauched himself. He’d left after only two drinks, a look of disappointment on Zoe’s face that he wouldn’t soon forget. Had he been a better man, he would’ve felt worse about it but he couldn’t care about anything but you. As he walked briskly from the bar, he resolved to tell you everything, that he couldn’t stand even the suggestion that he sleep with someone else when you consume him. Good sense be damned. What was the point of being human if he had to live like this?

But he came home to find the apartment dark, your bedroom door shut. He listened there before opening it ajar to see you sleeping peacefully. Reality sunk in, fast and hard. A confession could ruin everything. His home, the only family he knew, the people he loved. He couldn’t risk losing you. 

If he woke you, he’d have you face the question you’d just asked so he’d curled up under the throw blanket on the couch, as he had so many times before.

“I won't make a braggart of myself,” he says, sidestepping the question.

You roll your eyes and head back to your bedroom in a hurry. 

Ezra’s shoulders sag with a deep sigh.

-

Sunday morning in the shop is slower than usual. It’s maddening, leaving you with too much time to meditate on your sorrows as you hide behind the cash register. Every time your eyes land on Ezra, you’re treated to fresh torment. For some reason you can’t stop picturing him fucking her doggy style with wild thrusts of his hips.

“Tea, dear?” Margot asks. Her rings tink against a spoon as she stirs honey into her tea cup. Mint and ginger fills your nostrils. 

You merely grunt in reply but hear her setting another cup out for you. There’s a clink of porcelain and Margot clicks her tongue.

“Your bad mood is sullying the energy in here,” she tuts.

You turn to find her wicking spilled tea off of her hand.

“I’m not in a bad mood,” you say too quickly. 

What kind of mood are you supposed to be in when you realize you’re in love with your best friend who was, until recently, a cat, and said friend spent the night with another woman? When there’s a chance that this was all for naught when the Elders find out and turn you into a newt?

Margot scoffs and lights a stick of palo santo, wafting its smoke in your direction. 

“You’d better not bring that energy into the full moon,” she says. “I don’t need to feel all mopey for the next fortnight.”

You cross your arms. 

“Are you still mad at me?” you ask. Margot’s been welcoming to Ezra but you still feel her ambivalence towards you. It hangs in the air the same as your sour aura. 

“Mad at you,” she repeats, pouring another cup of tea. “Why? Because you implicated me and Percy in a crime that I’m concealing from the Elders? I should be, shouldn’t I?” 

You sink deeper into your frown. Margot hands you the teacup. 

“But I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. Besides whatever bee is in your bonnet today,” she adds with an arched brow. “And that’s made me very happy.”

You look at her, your lip quivering. Margot’s been there for you longer than Ezra, taught you everything you know about magic and given you an unconditional love you can hardly fathom even in adulthood. You nearly spill your tea again, setting it aside so you can throw your arms around her.

She stumbles backwards with an “Oof” and chuckles into your ear. Her open palm warms your back.

“It’s all in the stars,” she says.

And, right now, you have to believe she’s right.

-

Through the long sleeves of your velvet dress, you feel the chill in the air. It’s much colder than the last time you were in these woods for the solstice. Of course, this is a much different kind of celebration. The fire is smaller, there’s less paraphernalia involved. It’s just the four of you— you and Ezra, Margot and Percy— but it feels more joyful. 

Margot leads you in a ritual to draw down the moon, then sets out an ornate jar of water to charge in its light. You and Ezra help her cast some spells. She swears the ones done under a full moon have the strongest effect. 

But mostly the night is for merry making. There’s wine and incense and apple cider caramels. Margot perches on a tree stump and plays a few songs on her concertina and Ezra insists that you dance with him.

You do, putting your hands into his and letting him spin you in circles. Margot’s words ring in your ears. You can be happy that he’s happy even if it makes your heart ache. At least now, safe from the rest of the world, hands clasped together, you can pretend. 

Ezra looks so handsome in his new robes, you almost wonder if there’s an enchantment on them. The white patch in his hair glows as if the moon came down and kissed him on the forehead. His cheeks are pink and he’s as breathless as you. 

You’re both laughing when the music ends and you let your hand stay in Ezra’s for a while, wanting the fantasy to last just a little bit longer. 

“Now I must insist on a dance with you,” he says to Margot. He holds out a hand to her but doesn’t let go of yours yet. 

“I’m playing the music!” she says. 

“There must be an incantation that will make that squeezebox play itself,” he says and he slips from your grip to pull her to her feet. 

Percy scrambles off of her lap and hops onto your knee as you flop down on the ground. 

“I’ll sing!” you say.

“Goodness no!” Margot says. 

You all laugh and Ezra releases her after a few twirls.

Since it’s his party, Ezra takes the liberty of sharing his favorite stories. He sits beside you on the ground, animatedly narrating his wildest adventures. You’re pretty sure half of them are pure fabrication but he’s having so much fun recounting them, you don’t question even the most outlandish of details. The fire warms your face. Though, considering how it’s dying down, it could just be his glow. Ezra loves being at the center of attention and you wonder the last time he had the chance to command so much of it. He hasn’t stopped smiling since the sun set, that gorgeous dimple growing deeper with each hour. You love seeing him like this, full of excitement and life. 

Eventually, the moon hangs full overhead and Percy curls up to sleep on Margot’s shoulder. The crackle of the fire slows and you throw your head back to look at the sky dotted with so many twinkling stars. For the first time since Ezra left for his date, you feel peaceful. He’s quiet now and you try to catch another glimpse of him in the dark only to find his dark eyes shining at you. He smiles tenderly, and your whole body warms with affection. You can almost believe it’s a look of longing.

Margot slaps her hands against her thighs and stands, breaking your gaze. 

“Well, I’d better go before I turn into a pumpkin,” she says. 

“Oh, come on. It’s early,” you say. 

“We’ll brew you something to wake you in the morning,” Ezra offers. 

“That’s alright. Enjoy,” she says. Before she heads back into the trees, she takes Ezra’s hand and gives it a squeeze and pats you on the shoulder. 

You’re quiet for a long time, watching the fire die down. It comes back to you, slowly at first, then a flood of emotion, the uncertainty of your future. This night has been a gift but, one way or another, you’re destined to lose Ezra. There’s a melancholy look on his face that hints he might be thinking about the same things. 

“Should we retire then?” he asks after a sigh. 

“Wait. I want to give you something,” you say. Margot arranged this whole evening and you feel like you’ve shown up to a party empty handed.

“You’ve given more than enough.”

“Well, apparently I’ve been putting off really bad vibes. So a protection spell.” You rise to your feet.

Ezra pulls himself up with your help and this time you don’t allow him to let go. You take both of his hands in yours, his rough fingers entwined in your own, and he watches you, with a fond curiosity on his face. He flusters you. His gaze is so intense, you have a hard time meeting his eye.

“Okay,” you say, shaking out your limbs. 

Magic tingles where your palms meet and you notice that his thumb traces yours gently. Having spent the night before without him seems to double the intimacy of the moment. He looks downright beautiful like this, the angles of his face outlined in fire and moonlight. It’s almost unbearable. 

“Ezra,” you start.

His lips part at the sound of his name.

“I protect you with my magic and my spirit,” you say.

He can surely feel it surrounding him like an embrace. It’s so intense, you can barely fill your lungs. His eyes are so soft, round and sweet. They glisten in the darkness. 

“And my heart,” you add, your voice breaking.

You put your palm against his cheek, the pad of your thumb tracing the hairline scar there, to seal the spell and he takes in a sharp little gasp at your touch. There’s a look in his eye, beseeching, and you feel the tug of his magic, drawing you in closer like a knot tightening between you. It’s a whisper, so faint you’re probably imagining it, but you follow it to him, to his lips. 

Before you even realize it, you’re kissing him. Tender and aching and it feels like relief to have his mouth on yours, to taste the wine on his tongue. His lips are soft and hesitant. Your body molds against him, it always does. You’ve been in his arms so many times before and yet it’s never felt more right than this very moment. 

Except that it’s wrong. There are all of those reasons why this can’t be, how awkward it will be when he stops you, when he goes back to sleeping on the couch. Suddenly you’re pulling away despite your body screaming for you to do anything else.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. “I shouldn’t have– Shit!” You swallow down a lump in your throat.

Ezra holds you firm by your elbows, pulling your hand away from your lips and shaking his head.

“Little mage, I have wanted nothing more for longer than you can know,” he says, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

You stare at him, wide eyed, mouth agape, trying to make sense of his words. Your heart flips and you let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

And then he kisses you again and again and again.

🐈‍⬛

Comments and reblogs appreciated! Asks always open! I'd love to hear from you!

[lloydskywalkers]

omg I just wanted to say that "Raising Hell" changed my brain chemistry when I first read it in... 2020-2021? I had always liked the kai-nya-lloyd dynamic as a kid and that fic really just solidified that for me. Easily in the top 5 fics i've ever read

ADGFDH thank you so much?? raising hell is very near and dear to my heart so it means a lot to hear that :'D it's definitely the longest fic i've ever written in my life (continuously) which says a lot about how much i love the RGB dynamic myself

[stellacartography]

Thanks to @lisbeth-kk for tagging me.

Fic Writer's Meme

How many works do you have on ao3?

I have 28! 18 in Sherlock, 6 in Star Trek: Voyager, and 4 Good Omens.

What’s your total word count?

182,614, a majority of which is Kinesis, but as a person who has always struggled with completing things, the 100,000+ words that aren't Kinesis are a real victory in my head.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Kinesis (Mystrade), The Interrogation of Anthony Crowley, Witch (Ineffable husbands co-written with @mevima), Avast Ye Merry Gentlemen (Johnlock Christmas), The Bold and the Bruised (Mystrade 360MG), Atonement (Janeway/Chakotay post-series reconciliation).

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

Absolutely! I love comments. If I haven't responded to a comment it's only because life has been eating my brain and I will get to it once I've recovered.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Probably All the Time it Takes to Wait, which is titled after a song I played obsessively at the time while I was dreaming up the scenario of Chakotay actually getting to have feelings about the whole Fair Haven disaster. Nothing is resolved but they have it out. The song is angsty and so is the fic.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

It's gotta be Kinesis. Not to overhype, but the ending is pretty satisfying and joyful.

Do you write crossovers?

I have the outline of a Sherlock/Star Trek crossover in my WIP pile.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, but I can't wait. Bring it on, internet. I love an argument. I love to analyze the fears and insecurities of people who start fights on the internet over free content lovingly created and bravely posted. I am unhinged and ruthless.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Hell yes. Smut has been an essential part of my recovery from religion, both the reading and writing of. Smut is so revealing of a character's motivations, their vulnerabilitites, their desires. I think it's a marvellous thing.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. If so, I'd rather not know.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, the aforementioned The Interrogation of Anthony Crowley, Witch was so much fun to write with @mevima. It was way outside my comfort zone, kinkier and darker than anything else I've written.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

Johnlock and Mystrade are forever duking it out in my head. I also love Ed and Stede's speedrun enemies-to-besties-to-lovers dynamic in OFMD.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Never say never, right? I have another long one that could be a Good Omens AU set in Toronto in the early 90s. Because it's last on my list of long fics, I don't know when I'm going to get to it. Also all the garbage behaviour of a certain writer/creator has really sapped my enthusiasm for writing in the fandom right now. I had a thought to turn it into an OFMD fic but I'm not sure if or when I'll get around to it.

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue is my friend. If I get stuck in a scene, I just make the characters talk and it helps me move on. Comes from a background in writing plays.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Endings! Spare me from having to finish anything. I get burnt out and distracted easily but I'm learning to manage it. I look forward to the times when the story really flows, but since most days are not like that, it's about finding ways to write the next 5, 10, 500 words.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Like so many things, I don't think there should be hard and fast rules about what writers can and cannot do. For me, I'd be inclined to check with a native speaker if I can find one, but keeping in mind that this is not a professional venture, I think foreign dialogue in fic is a "do your best and be forgiving" venture.

That said, if a writer chooses not to get a native speaker to weigh in on their usage and they get comments like "Hey you bum. Don't use google translate for this!" we have to be willing to take our lumps and seize the opportunity: "My hero! Will you look at the rest of my dialogue for me?" Fandom is about connection building.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

My first creative writing project in first grade was an origin story for a talking boot puppet in a horrifying Canadian children's program called Readalong. But I had no idea what a fanfic was at the time.

My first intentional fanfic might have been an unpublished Sailor Moon or Mulder/Scully fic that may live on in a hard drive somewhere.

First fic on AO3 is actually poetry called Not a Romance about what Kathryn Janeway was thinking after the episode Resolutions.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

Our Flag Means Death. Probably Ed/Stede but there are so many great characters, it might be hard to choose.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

Kinesis. It's the fic I've always wanted to write. It has some of my favourite vibes. And I derived great joy from firing Mycroft Holmes.

Tagging @hubblegleeflower @may-shepard @the-toad-in-your-piano @copperplatebeech @blogstandbygo @fearlessdiva930 @cirquedereve @antheiasilva if you feel like answering and haven't already been tagged. I tag anyone who sees this and wants to answer (please @ me in your response and I will reblog).

If you see this and you're more of a reader, tag your favourite writers in a reblog or the notes. Seriously, this goes for anything. If you tag me on your original posts, I will gladly reblog and hype your content.

[thekristen999]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

@dangerpronebuddie also asked me to share. Thank you to both :)

I've been in fandom for a long time, so I'll pick my top 5 for my current obsession. All Buddie. This list changes often. lol

.

We Found Each Other (Over There) 

A combat medic and a G.I. meet during one of the world’s greatest battles. A WWII European Theater based AU.

Trying Hard to Remember, Trying Hard To Forget 

Eddie doesn’t remember the shooting and Buck is haunted by it. As they struggle with their feelings for each other, Eddie and Buck grapple with the realities of trauma recovery and the understanding that everyone heals at their own pace. Coda to 4.14.

bro·ken 

adjective 1. having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order. 2. having given up all hope; despairing.

Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU.

Alone In The Dark With You 

Buck couldn’t remain here alone with all his racing thoughts. Catastrophizing. That’s what his therapist called it. He had to move. He continued trying to dig his way with his good hand, but the way the rocks had fallen, if he removed one, another took its place. It was like he was inside an hourglass.

But he wouldn’t give up.

There. Was he hearing things? A scraping sound.

His adrenaline spiked. He pawed at the rocks again, because noise meant movement and movement meant—

“Buck?”

“Eddie?” Buck rasped.

 He was alive! Eddie was alive.

(Or Buck and Eddie get trapped in a cave-in and things go from bad to worse.)

Cutting The Ties That Bind

Evan Buckley was a businessman, he had meetings and deadlines like everyone else. Sometimes he used intimation. While using the very same tactics he was trying to end while converting his family business into legitimate operations was a little hypocritical, it was the results that mattered.

Occasionally, he got threatened, but it was usually all hot air and ego. That all changed the day his breaks were tampered with. Enter Eddie Diaz, security specialist, who was not easily impressed by Buck’s expensive suits or financial conquests. That was okay. Buck enjoyed a challenge.

(The Mafia AU)

A little of everything :)

[coffins-and-marbles]

Hurt!Wilson Fanfic Masterlist (Part 1)

My favourite Hurt!Wilson fanfic, organised by category in no particular order, with summary and comments from me. Some comments are vague but only because I read most of these a while ago and my memory is poor! My own fanfic features because I worked hard on it okay! (NOTE: Mind the tags on these!)

Autistic!Wilson:

picked the scabs and picked the bleeding by OneLastTime : James Wilson is gay, autistic, traumatised and highly repressed about all of the above. (A fabulous gift I was extremely happy to recieve! This fanfic has everything I've ever wanted in Hurt!Wilson, so it gets top of the list, although it fits into many other categories)

5 times wilson was overstimulated and 1 time he wasnt by m0thteeth : Just as the title says, five times Wilson was overstimulated, and one time he wasn't. (One of my favourite Autistic!Wilson fics out there!)

sensory issues by m0thteeth : Wilson's clothes set off his sensory issues, House comes in and forces him to change. Out of love. (Trust me, all of the Autistic!Wilson fanfic that m0thteeth has written is worth reading!)

it's okay to be different by m0thteeth : The ducklings are talking about Wilson and aren't very kind about it. Wilson overhears and House comforts him. (This makes me insanely emotional!)

Commedia Dell'Arte by IreneSpring : Even the most ornate masks eventually crumble. Wilson's lasted over thirty years, which would be impressive, if it weren't for the devastating ramifications. (Amazing! I love the way IreneSpring writes so much!)

Don't Touch Me by OneLastTime : James Wilson hates physical contact. It makes his skin itch, his teeth vibrate, and he needs to shake his hands out to remove the residue from the touch. People keep touching him and he wants to scream. (Brilliant! Reread countless times)

Loud. by JamesWilson07 : James Wilson gets overstimulated and House isn't an asshole about it. (Perfect, what I want to see in Autistic!Wilson fanfic)

Normal by tornyourdress : James Wilson just wants to be normal.

Just a Jerk by Loonyloveslovegood : Wilsons thought process during s3 e4 Lines in the sand, he decided to do some reseach on autism and is very much in denial. (A gift I was very lucky to receive!)

Wilson's Bad Day by coffins_and_marbles : Wilson has a very bad day and it ends in a meltdown. (A gift I wrote for starry-scarl3tt here on Tumblr!)

THE UNSUBTLE ART OF CHANGING WHO YOU ARE by  coffins_and_marbles : 5 times Wilson was shamed for stimming and one time House showed him that it was okay. (A gift I wrote for OneLastTime)

Wilson is abused by a partner:

Forever and ever by Ducks_eat_peas : Wilson gets into a bad relationship, House is there for him throughout it all and afterwards as well. (This fanfic is a gift, checks all my boxes regarding Hurt!Wilson)

Fragmented by wingsofhcpe : House finds out Julie has been hitting Wilson. (I enjoyed this immensely! Hands down one of my favourite headcanons)

and for the first time, what's past is past by lorelaigilmorecoffee : A face from Wilsons past returns to haunt him. (Cut the summary!)

There Were Expectations by IreneSpring : Wilson needs to get House the perfect Valentine's Day gift. He always knew what to get his previous partners, but dating House is different. Or is it not different enough? What if the path of close friends to lovers is going to backfire like it always does for him? What if this just another thing he is destined to mess up. (A gift I was honoured to receive!)

What We Do by brage : Wilson is raped and House is there through the recovery (Amazing!)

Wilson was abused as a child:

Slipcovers by Nightdog_Barks : A six-year-old James Wilson looks at his family and spends time with his older brother. (Easily in my top 3 favourite fanfic of all time)

A Not So Miserable Holiday by JammiesDodger : Wilsons parents threw his toys away. (The summary for this is quite long so I shortened it! I love this concept and it's written wonderfully)

The Past Will Not Let Me Go by Spaceytrash : Wilson's parents plan to visit him, but he isn't excited at the prospect. After some digging from House, he reveals a part from his childhood he would rather forget.

thumb, index, palm by PaintedVanilla : Wilson takes his mood levelers. He takes his antidepressants. He has has good days and he has great days and fine days and okay days. He has bad days. He has abhorrent days. Some days he’d like to curl up in House’s arms and be talked off the edge. But he can’t ask for that. He has no reason to be on the edge in the first place. (So, so well written and BPD!Wilson is something I enjoyed so much!)

i keep so quiet (it's hard to tell i'm alive) by itooaminthisepisode (silasthylacine) : A face from Wilson's past returns to haunt him. (I adore this and recommend checking out all of itooaminthisepisode's Whumptober 2024 !)

your slightest look easily will unclose me by tornyourdress : Wilson has an unusual response to hearing about a patient of House's trying to 'cure' himself of being gay, and both House and Sam realize something's up. (Love love love! Perfect!)

Someone safe by Graves84 : Wilson breaks a plate, feelings insue. I really don't have a better summery. It's a lot of sugary sweetness and some sadness but mostly the former. (Perfect! This fanfic and plot is my favourite thing to read!)

Sense and senseless by Anonymous : House accidentally stumbles into something Wilson’s tried to keep hidden with a snide, off hand comment. (Wilson being sexually abused as a child is a no1 headcanon of mine and I loved this so much!)

Lemon Water, Chicken Water by littleguypi : All about Wilson being sick and childhood trauma (Cut the summary! Loved this, super well written!)

He/Him/His by coffins_and_marbles : Wilson has a complicated relationship with Him, he knows that they were a real couple, He said so Himself, but nobody else sees it that way and even in adulthood the aftermath is devastating. (My own fic)

Self-Harming!Wilson:

won't you show me how you bleed? by itooaminthisepisode (silasthylacine) : Wilson is hurting himself. House finds out. (Again part of itooaminthisepisode's Whumptober 2024)

A Burning Passion by trevorishealing : Wilson copes poorly with Amber's death. House, with his own grief, helps him get through it. (Cut the summary! 10/10)

Familiar Pain by Whizzer_goin_down : Wilson cuts himself. That's it, that's the whole fic. (Love fics like this, this one rules)

stuck with these thoughts by bugtype703 : Wilson was stuck in an old familiar place. House tries to help him out of it. (Enjoyed this A lot!)

so very sorry that you have to have a body. by violetbruise : Basically, what if house wasn’t the only self-destructive one in the relationship? (Loveeee!)

Control by coffins_and_marbles : Wilson gets home and cuts himself all over. (My own fic)

Always Needing by coffins_and_marbles : Wilson needs to cut but gets carried away and House needs him to be okay again. And it's Christmas. (A gift I wrote for OneLastTime!)

Wilson has a Panic Attack:

Here and Now by hoppa12345 : Wilson has a panic attack. His trigger: losing people. (I love this, Wilson panic attacks are everything to me)

Wilson had an Eating Disorder:

Illusions to Live By by willywonka3435 : Wilson kills himself slowly. No one notices. (I just really enjoyed this!)

I want to be free (but at what cost) by I want to be free (but at what cost) : Wilson didn't know how it got to this, he just wanted to lose a couple kilos, become a better doctor. He just wanted to be better. Now? Now he's slowly killing himself but he don't want to stop it anymore. (Amazing!)

spiral by fireworkrainouts : In true James Wilson fashion, it's when everything is finally looking up for everyone that he starts to spiral down. (Best fanfic where Wilson has an ED that I've ever read, then reread, I'm so emotional about this you don't understand)

time is no healer (lonely fever) by junoesqueset : House goes to prison and Wilson tries to pick up the pieces. (Brilliant!!!)

There's a monster inside me by There's a monster inside me : Wilson is spiraling, Wilson is suffering, Wilson is dying. A one shot into Wilson slowly destroying himself. (10/10!!!)

Depressed!Wilson:

but does anyone notice theres a corpse in this bed? by m0thteeth : Wilson was without antidepressants. (it's m0thteeth of course it's amazing!)

Depresso Expresso  by Sparklesinthewater : Wilson is struggling more than he lets on. House cares about Wilson more than he lets on. (One of those fanfic you remember)

Misdiagnoses by sesamie : When Wilson is kicked out by his wife and crashes at House's place, he falls into a depressive episode and can't get out of his own head. House, of course, picks up on the fact that Something's Wrong, but skips depression on the way to assume more serious diagnostic causes. (Love House assuming the worst, good read!)

depression by eating_custardinbed : wilson hasn’t been at work for three days. cuddy just says he’s ill. this is an anomaly. house hates anomalies (Good ol' depressed Wilson and comfort in House fashion!)

pills & drinks don't mix by cafewrites : What the title says! (Cut the summary! Short but very good! I always enjoy when people actually talk about side affects of antidepressants!)

Hypothesis by IreneSpring : At the beginning of the month, James Wilson decides to break out of his depressive spiral by having an affair with the first woman who is not needy. By the end of the month, he is facing an existential crisis decades in the making. (Loved! Ticks many boxes for angst!)

Wilson Never Faltered by naviculae_animarum : Wilson is always there. Always picking House up off the ground, always putting others before himself. He's just...always the steady, healthy, stable presence. Until he isn't. (So good!)

wave the day goodbye by kapuccion : Character study featuring james wilson, depression, and grief for something you haven’t yet lost. (Wonderful!)

I think my heart is ready to die (Broken) by JamesWilson07 : He just seemed to ruin everything he touched, didn't he? Luckily for Wilson, House was already broken. (Wilson has a lot of struggles in addition to depression here, highly recommended!)

Continued in Part 2!

[nerdywriter36]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

Thank you @brendadaaedestler for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3?

30 as it stands!

What's your total AO3 word count?

591,986

Your top 5 stories by kudos:

Sticky Notes and Serendipity // collab with @brendadaaedestler // Erik/Christine long-fic // 224 kudos

Say You'll Share With Me // oneshot collection, mostly Erik/Christine // 143 kudos

Our Little Home // oneshot // Erik/Christine // 139 kudos

Starting Fresh // twoshot // Erik/Christine // 99 kudos

my heart is home when my hand is in yours // oneshot collection, collab with @brendadaaedestler // mostly Erik/Christine // 83 kudos

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always do! I love seeing readers interacting with my fics and sharing what they enjoyed about them, and I always want to show my appreciation for those comments. The only reason I wouldn't is if I missed it somehow or if my frequent co-author has beaten me to the punch and replied already.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

It's probably Sleep So Long Awaited, which is a play on the end of LND where Erik dies instead of Christine. It's sad, it's got sad Gustave, a moment of peace between Erik and Raoul, and...well, Erik dies. It's not a happy story.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I would definitely say Sticky Notes and Serendipity! The epilogue hasn't gone up yet, but it's super fluffy and sweet, and the entire fic just came to such a happy, wonderful ending. You'll see what I mean on Saturday 😉

Do you write crossovers?

I don't, no. I might write fics inspired by another piece of media, but I wouldn't think I would ever write a proper crossover.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not direct hate? I once received some criticism that was DM'd to me that was definitely not asked for and unnecessary, so that sucked. It was really a big blow to me, and I considered taking down that fic after receiving that comment because it made me super insecure about the entire format of the fic. It came from a person who had been very supportive of my stories for a long time, which made it even worse. Thankfully, my best friend convinced me not to take the fic down, and my critic has now been exposed for not being a good person, so it all worked out in the end.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write it and I won't be writing it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep, I have had my fics scraped and posted on other websites at least twice, either by bots or by another user.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not! Someone offered to translate Like Father, Like Son, but my coauthor on that story was not keen on the idea. It's something I would have to consider because I think I would worry too much about my style and plans for the story being lost in translation and I wouldn't be able to really tell. I wouldn't totally write it off, though!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Ohhhh yes! Like Father, Like Son was my first collaboration, and I write probably about half of my fics these days with my best friend @brendadaaedestler. We have something in the works for NaNoWriMo as we speak!

What's your all-time favourite ship?

Definitely Erik/Christine, I love writing with them and reading about them so very much.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

It's not one that I don't think I will ever finish, but I think it will be a while before No Need For Goodbyes ever gets finished. I would love to go back to it, but I've been away from that cast of characters for so long that it can be hard to slip back in. My coauthor also no longer has the time to work on it with me, and it is a very time-consuming project, so I'm not sure when I will get back to it.

What are your writing strengths?

I think that dialogue is definitely my strength. It comes very easily to me and it's something that I always enjoy getting to write.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Getting lost in the dialogue! Sometimes I get so caught up in what the characters are saying and the emotions that they're expressing that the writing can get dialogue-heavy. I always have to make a conscious effort to include scene descriptions, settings, and descriptions of the character's bodies and expressions.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

This is an interesting question that I honestly don't think about a ton lol? I've always been pretty content writing Phantom fic and don't really have the inspiration to jump into other fandoms. Shipwise, I've only written sporadic Meg/Erik fic and only a long time ago, so that one could be fun to explore. There is angst there.

What's your favourite fic that you've written?

It was Like Father, Like Son for the longest time because it was my first Phantom of the Opera fic, my first long fic, I loved the characters, etc. I'm still super proud of that story, but I think Sticky Notes and Serendipity takes the cake. It's my first true multi-chapter fic since LFLS, and I can just see how much my style has changed, how much my writing has improved, and it makes me feel really good about myself. I am in love with the versions of the characters that we wrote, and getting to work so much with Erik's anxiety and making it feel so authentic was a crowning achievement for me. Also, seeing all of the love for the story that Chloe and I have written together makes me feel so amazing. Sticky Notes is my favourite for so many reasons.

Tagging: @starlitexpress @intothemertensverse @sloanedestler @ablatheringblatherskite @shinyfire-0 @paperandsong @jennyfair7 and anyone else who wants to play!

[aeoneskova]

Fanfic Author Interview Tag!

Thanks for the tag @pretentiouswreckingball <3

How many works do you have on AO3?

Eight so far! Working on another :)

What's your total A03 word count?

623,855 words... that is bonkers to me

Your top 5 stories by kudos:

Honey Honey - Marlene McKinnon PoV, post-first war, she becomes a muggle primary teacher and raises Harry. I'm hoping to fully edit this fic so you might want to hold off if you're planning to read it.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Percy Weasley x Oliver Wood, 1st-7th year slowburn, the epitome of "they were roommates."

The Funny Tricks of Time - a companion fic to Honey Honey

Seven Dials (Pointing At You) - wolfstar one-shot based on something that actually happened to me during a trip to London.

Just In Case - the first fic I ever posted, a one-shot about Halloween night 1981. I think my later halloween one-shots are much better than this one to be honest.

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I read every single comment and reply to as many as I can. The only time I might not is if you've left multiple comments over many chapters - then I might just respond to them all in one on the latest comment.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Hmm... pretty much all my fics in the Halloween Archive one-shot collection are equally as angsty and depressing so I can't really choose one over the other

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't so far, however I do have some fic ideas that are inspired by other stories but not necessarily crossovers. Like I have a wolfstar astronaut au planned, inspired by the Martian, but you don't need to know anything about the Martian to read it.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I've had some hate on Honey Honey. As much as I have my own issues with the fic, I wrote that as a child. Which I know might be surprising considering its content and length, but I wrote that whole thing as a minor and those comments could've easily dissuaded me from writing altogether. Don't leave hate on fan work!

Do you write smut?

Not so far. Like I said, I wrote a lot of fics while I was still a minor so I didn't feel comfortable with it. I will likely start to expand on intimate scenes now, though I doubt it would be full smut.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not...

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of - I've received a lot of foreign language comments before which makes me wonder if someone has? If so, I'd appreciate them letting me know, at least then I could link the translations to the original.

Have you ever co-written a fic?

No, and as much as I like the idea of collaborating, I think I'd be too stressed about it :/

What's your favourite all-time ship?

I have to say wolfstar, my beloveds. But I do also enjoy drarry.

What's a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Oh god... I have a LOT of wips that I do want to finish, but realistically? I'll go with the wolfstar astronaut au I mentioned, it's called A Hopeless Romantic's Guide to Life on Mars. As much as I love that fic idea, I think it'll be a while before I can get round to prioritising it. But you never know - if you asked me that a few years ago, i'd have said Honey Honey and GOFLB, but look at them now!

What are your writing strengths?

Descriptions maybe? Or my characters. I like to think I put a lot of work into making my characters complex and building their relationships, but idk

What are your writing weaknesses?

Procrastinating. God do I procrastinate. And I make things way more complicated than they need to be. Realistically, Honey Honey could have been half the lengths it is, but I draw it out too much and that's why I think I need to go back and give it a good edit. But I need to stop procrastinating first.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? For me personally, I wouldn't do it because I'm not fluent in any other language. If I had to, I'd write the dialogue in English but tag it as "she said in French/spanish/etc." I can understand other people using it but I also find it difficult sometimes to scroll up and down between translations in the notes. But that's just me

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

Stranger Things, probably, I love steddie fics. I also recently finished All for the Game and have been binging andreil fics but idk if I'd ever write my own. As for other ships, I have a drarry idea in the works which I hope to get to eventually :)

What's your favourite fic you've written? For fics I've posted on Ao3, I'm torn. I love the writing in both Seven Dials and Another Bloody Mary the most, so I'm most proud of them quality-wise. The wip I'm currently working on (a wolfstar pirate au which I've written half of) will probably be my favourite once its finished <3

Open tags for any other fic writers!

[dayseternal-blog]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Bunny-senpai!!! 💕

I answered an ask similar to this one last year in March and I don't think my answers have changed...

I rewrote each blurb haha, so it's not an exact copy-paste from before.

1 “It’s No Secret” - Rated M, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata returns to Konoha after 5 years studying abroad in the Moon Kingdom. She just wants to enjoy her last year of high school as a normal girl, but blossoming love forces her to confront her future. - My top fave. Back then, I wrote this like I was possessed. This story consumed my mind, and I was posting chapters every 1 or 2 weeks. I'm amazed at myself from back then. No, it's not my technically best writing, but I was having so much fun thinking up all kinds of scenes!!! Oh, to be a fanfic writing newbie all over again. Major love to everyone who's read this flirty teenage shenanigans mess and enjoyed it!!! One day I will write part two 🥺

2 “Nightdreams” - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata find comfort in each other after the war. - This fic idea came to me sometime after I read agitosgirl's "A Special Friend," and I wanted Moooooore!!! I wanted more of this hurt/comfort dynamic between NaruHina!!!! So bam, the fic almost wrote itself, it flowed so easily (except for when it didn't). I'm so happy that people reread this fic, and then tell me that they're rereading it :D. Once in awhile I reread it, too, and think, oh, I should fix that sentence, or whatever loll, but I don't. I kind of think it's nice to leave it as it is, imperfect in little ways to bother me. Please read this fic and recognize that I was copying Katarinahime's writing techniques throughout.

3 “Awkward Jocks” - Rated G, 1990s High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. She knows that if he were to ever ask her out, she would accept in a heartbeat. After all, he’s the star quarterback and basketball player. Plus, she’s liked him since…forever. But when her home phone rings, and he’s on the other line, she hangs up. - It's interesting to me that even after all the fics I've written over the years, it's a few of my oldest fics that take the top 3. I guess I really have been trying to write for myself since the start. This one is based off of my ex-coworker's love story. Even though I don't work with her anymore, I still think of her as my role model for good leadership. When you read this, I hope you can feel how much I love her!

4 “About You” - Rated G, 1970s High School AU, One-shot. A summer job at the Dole pineapple cannery, graveyard shift 10 PM to 6 AM. A long bus ride into and out of town. Two teens, shy beside each other. - This is my most personal fanfic. Based on stories my parents told me and stories I found online from people of their generation, I tried to dive into their time using NaruHina. Ever since I was inspired to write after reading emmykay's "Torch Song," I had wanted to write a fic with Japanese-Hawaiian pidgin dialogue. This fic is close to my heart, but it's not higher on the list because there are inaccurate details that bother me 😅. I'm thinking of writing a fic about my great grandparents' generation one day, I've done a ton of research for it! Anyway, I'm so happy that others love this fanfic, too.

5 “Matcha” from “Shared Vows” - Rated T, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. Naruto calls Hiashi “father” for the first time. - According to my previous blurb, I picked this one because I loved how I structured it, I thought I wrote it really well. I also loved the notion of Naruto finding his own family. On deeper reflection, I think I also picked this one over "Finally Home" because I have a not-so-secret agenda for reconciliation between Hinata and Hiashi, fed by my own family's dynamic with my dad.

If I were to recommend any one of these for someone to read, I'd say they should start with Nightdreams or Matcha as an intro to some of my work since canon universe fanfic is always easier to digest.

[angeart]

fic writer interview!

thank u ben for dragging me into this 💕

---<0>---

How many works do you have on AO3?

11 right now, one of those being a huge ongoing multichapter fic.

What's your total AO3 word count?

343,418 words... and yes, 250k+ of those are just hmtb

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Help me to breathe (HC | 1,776)

don’t be afraid, little bird (there are no cages around you now) (HC | 455)

flowers in your hair and air in your lungs (HC | 341)

Elegy (HC | 225)

these flowers will wither (like you and me), but they're not dead yet (Life Series | 139)

^ that 3rd place genuinely surprised me. huh. (it's the fic i keep forgetting exists)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i want to! i just really, really, really suck at it for some reason. i think a part of it is that i get so hyped whenever i get a comment notification that i run to read it on my phone no matter how busy i'm at the moment, but i don't like responding on my phone. except if i don't do it right away, it falls into the rabbithole of all my other tasks that i struggle to juggle and stay on top of, and...

i kind of got into a habit of answering the chaptered fic's comments, at least, when i'm about to post a new chapter. but since my uploads have slowed down so much, i worry that it doesn't feel engaging or rewarding enough to people who commented? 🥺👉👈

i really want to do better. i'll keep trying. i love you guys <3

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

i've sat here pondering this question for far too long. i don't write outright angsty endings, which is wild considering angst is my staple. thinking about my fics, i've come to realise a lot of my endings are simply... hopeful.

i think if i'd have to pick, two come to mind for this question.

Elegy > simply because there's so much fear and grief in there, and by the end of it, the consequences are still very much present. and despite the hope of them somehow managing to push through and move forward, it's not all that simple. nothing is resolved. they made it through Day One of the aftermath, and all of it is really still in front of them. the wounds won't easily let go. the tangled mess will have its consequences, no matter what. (think of grian's fears renewed. think of mumbo trauma. think of impulse.) (so much is still in shambles. so much is still at stake.)

even if it hurts (and even if it isn't a dream) you can have a home here > or the sleep demon grian fic. because, once again, there's no easy answer to the hurt and fear that's just been wrought. he's held safe, but it's not going to protect him outside of this singular moment. he's stuck in a reality that's cruel and unwelcoming, and even with gentle hands around him (for the moment, for now), he's still going to be afraid.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

once again we run into my problem of hopeful but not really happy endings, although... maybe this one has an easier answer.

these flowers will wither (like you and me), but they're not dead yet > or the third life dancing fic. it's got its share of Complicated Feelings(TM) but a lot of it is just about dancing and feeling alive and being in love. experiencing things together, even when they're destined to end in blood and death.

Do you write crossovers?

nope, I don't! although i let ben sometimes drag me into a crossover au idea from time to time, and we yap and ramble about it in our DMs :3c

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

i haven't received any hate. a negative comment or two that kind of stuck, but nothing that i would call hate.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

ahaha. ahahaha.

right now the only smut i write is a part of private hhau rps with link. and those are a little bit ✨deranged✨

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

no, never.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

there have been attempts! and plans! they were always split by POV or into parts. but none worked out so far. (there was the priate au fic idea, the secret life "5+1 times..." kind of fic idea (grian angst!)... and the ribbon incident for the hhau mimic arc - which might hopefully still happen one day! but. we'll see.)

i do write RPs all the time though (link and plantie <333 love u for indulging me) and the coauthored fic on AO3—will i find my home, my home, my home in you?—is basically just a published piece of RP. on top of that, me and link have plenty of rambles that we work on together, and i do meddle with help ben with aus all the time... so that's something! it's always a lot of fun. but a full fledged fic is a little bit trickier. maybe someday.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

this one isn't going to be shocking at all. if you know me, you know the answer.

(yep, it's scarian.)

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

i have many wips, and i want to finish all of them! ... there might be some that are getting dusty, but shhh. shhhhhhh. i do not want to admit these things. let me live in denial. all my wips are (eventually, one day!!!) getting finished. mhm. yep. definitely. <3

(although i might have to give up on most of the coauthor ones—)

What are your writing strengths?

i'm mostly going off what people said to me but... well, clearly, gutwrenching angst is the simple answer everyone agrees on. and i love that so much, because angst is such a big part of my writing. (i do not say it lightly when i claim i can angst anything—)

i tend to dive into character's headspace and poke and prod at the emotions until they spill everywhere. so you could say that scenes with emotional spirals and anything with emotional impact are my natural habitat. it's my playground, and i tend to use all kinds of visuals and descriptions as my little building blocks.

from time to time i also get a comment on writing characters' voices right! which always makes me happy to hear. <3

What are your writing weaknesses?

one thing i definitely struggle with a lot is group scenes. whenever there's multiple characters around, it's difficult for me to keep track and keep everyone engaged. it's hard to carve out enough space for everyone's reactions. i think this sort of goes with the above point, of me liking to prod at emotions, and that becomes harder to cleanly do with more people on the scene. (my favourite scenes to write are the ones where there's just two people.)

transitions can also give me a hard time. moving between scenes or ideas or conversation topics (esp if in a group) (hello hmtb sleepover i wonder why i'm stuck on writing u for so long—), wrapping up things. stuff like that.

and... you know what, i'll throw it in here. mumbo. mumbo, when he's an active participant in a life series, is the bane of my existence. i can never write him when that's going on, and it's a problem because he's somehow always in all of my wip scenes when it happens. (head in my hands)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

if it makes sense for the setting and the characters, and you know the language, then sure, go for it. i have personally never done it or even really thought about it. it just doesn't come up for me as it's not relevant to the stuff i write.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

wow this brought back some embarrassing memories.

anyway i think the first one might've been naruto? i actually ended up writing a long multichapter fic for it (unfinished. i just dug up the file to check and i've invested 134k words and 49 chapters into this story. this was years and years ago.)

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

oh, i don't think there's any right now. i'm very cozy in my little desert. i like right where i am.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

there's always one singular fic that comes to mind at this kind of question, and that's the cursed forest au fic - even with death haunting your footsteps, your flowers will bloom again. i think it's something about the way it's written, sprinkled through with pretty words. melancholy wrapped up in flowers and rot... mm.

i do have to say though, i had lots of fun writing and absolutely love the whole boatem circus series so far, and ofc hmtb is very dear to me too <3

---<0>---

tagging time. i don't tend to tag people in these kind of things, so take this with zero obligation, but @funkyplantguy & @mochiwrites & @wren-kitchens if you think you'd have fun with this, give it a shot! <3 and of course anyone else who wants to do it!!

[suddencolds]

Purely Instinctive | Ki//ller Pet//er

Extremely competent assassin who handles every difficult situation inventively and with ease? What if he fell ill... 😭 (4.2k words)

This is a little different from what I usually write, but I've been reading Ki//ller Pe//ter on Webt//oon (link), and... um, this fic practically wrote itself. This might be the most self-indulgent thing I've written this year. Let's not talk about it 😭

For the sake of the fic, all characters are in their early twenties (aside from Peter, who is obviously a lot older). If you haven't read the series, they're all assassins who work for an organization called the Gl//ory Club. That's pretty much all you need to know :)

—

Here's Peter (under his current identity, Sun-Gu Kim) and Yuna:

—

The drive to the warehouse is unusually quiet.

The mission is simple—find an international spy, currently en route to escape via a ship which departs from the harbor at 6am, holding onto highly classified documents which he’s not supposed to have. The moment he steps foot off of Korean land, he will become much more difficult to apprehend—the ship the target is planning to take is a large cargo ship, its whereabouts easily tracked, but the Glory Club bounty has specified that the target will most likely part ways from the cargo ship on a small rowboat. There’s no telling at what point he’ll split off from the cargo ship, or where he’ll be headed next, which means:

They have only two hours to apprehend the subject before he becomes substantially harder to track down.

Yuna reaches up with a hand to rub her eyes. Of course, serving as part of Glory is no 9-5 job—she hadn’t expected volunteer missions to always take place at predictable times. But they’d gotten assigned to this particular mission on short notice, which meant that she’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, tops, before having to drag herself out of bed for this.

They’d been whisked out on Sun-Gu’s motorcycle—the St. Petrus V4, she recalls. Somehow, Sun-Gu had known exactly where to head. How he’d known, with the entire city laid out in front of him, Yuna isn’t entirely sure. But he’d explained that the target’s trajectory would probably not be a straight line to the harbor—that would be too easy to intercept, and Sun-Gu had assured the target would be aware there would be someone on his trail. He’d probably avoid main roads, then, where there would be a higher chance of getting stopped by the police. Then, out of all the remaining routes from his last tracked location, it would only be feasible to get to the dock on time through six of them.

The rest had been intuition. Sun-Gu’s familiarity with the city is impressive. He barely glances at the street signs as he drives, the night warm and stagnant, his motorcycle dialed to silent, and not for the first time, Yuna wonders how he seems to know all of this.

Speaking of Sun-Gu—

Something is different about him tonight. Yuna probably would not have noticed, had she not spent the entirety of the motorcycle ride sitting behind him. He’s incredibly subtle about it. But it’s there, nonetheless—a slight change to his demeanor. Something nearly imperceptible, something she can’t quite pin down.

Had Yuna not known better, she might have attributed it to tiredness. But in the couple months she’s known Sun-Gu, she’s never seen him tired. He sleeps, like the rest of them, of course—he is only human—but for him, the transition between sleep and wakefulness seems like more of a formality. That is to say, he wakes up immediately alert, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him tired.

It makes her wonder, a little, if there’s a reason to it. If there was ever anything in his life which mandated being a light sleeper, that required him to be up at a moment’s notice. Either way, it’s not the reason why he’s—off isn’t the right word. Different is more suitable. Typically, he’s in better spirits. But Yuna has seen him pissed off, and this isn’t it, either.

Sun-Gu parks the motorcycle just outside of the warehouse, unclips his helmet in one swift motion, and—after Yuna gets off—takes her helmet from her and stashes them both under the motorcycle seat, which Glory has designed to be self-locking. Then, without waiting to see if they’ll follow, he makes a lap around the periphery of the warehouse.

The Dokgo brothers have tagged along too—they’re being quiet, now, which perhaps is mercy enough. Probably Sun-Gu had given them a challenge to shut up, and they’ve taken it in good faith. Now, even when they have something to comment, they keep their voices to a whisper.

“What do you think he’s off doing?” Biggie says.

Junior shrugs. “Maybe taking a walk, to relieve some stress.”

“He’s looking for signs of entry,” Yuna tells them. Then, because she can’t help it, and because she’ll be a little pissed off if they’re the ones who end up jeopardizing the mission—“Remember what he said about being quiet?”

“Ah, shit,” Biggie says. “I am quiet. Maybe you should be quiet. Have you considered that?”

She ignores the both of them and heads over to the spot where Sun-Gu stands, now, his eyebrows furrowed. A slat that’s out of place. He pushes it, and it budges.

Underground, the ground rumbles underneath them, and then settles to reveal a trap door. 

Sun-Gu beckons for them to follow him, but he doesn’t wait up for them. Yuna quickens her pace to keep up. The trap door leads them down, down. The air underground is much cooler—Yuna finds herself wishing that she’d brought a thicker jacket.

Ahead of her, Sun-Gu—

Takes in a sharp breath. But no, it’s not just a breath. As she watches him, he lifts a hand, pinches it to the bridge of his nose. His shoulders jerk forward, though only slightly; his back muscles tense. All in all, the entire display is soundless.

Yuna’s feels her eyebrows creep up. 

This is certainly… new for him. But she doesn’t have time to think on it right now.

When they get to the bottom of the steps, the stairway opens out into a deserted hallway: cement walls, cement floors. It’s dark, and cavernous. This whole place feels empty. It’s a little creepy, really. Why Sun-Gu suspects that their target is hiding out here, Yuna isn’t sure. It seems counterproductive to hide out somewhere like this when, according to their intel, the subject has limited time already to make it out to the harbor.

That is, unless Sun-Gu suspects the intel that they were given might be wrong.

Sun-Gu switches on a flashlight he’s carrying and heads deeper in. It’s not until he stops, looking down the hallway to survey his surroundings that he hesitates, only for a moment. He lifts the collar of his shirt over his face, his shoulders tensing.

“Hh’—nKTtt-!”

The sneeze is practically soundless. That makes two times in one night. Something is definitely up, then. Yuna looks around. Perhaps the underground space is dusty, or perhaps it’s not well-ventilated and it’s grown mold, and he’s allergic. Except, the air down here feels remarkably dry—not the sort of environment mold would thrive under—and the floors look suspiciously well-maintained. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be something else, either—some other universal irritant. Sun-Gu is the only one here who’s sneezing. 

Yuna isn’t sure she’s ever heard him sneeze before, out of the months that she’s known him. Could it be some existing condition, then—not a product of their environment, but something from earlier?

“Man,” Junior mouths, from somewhere. “How much longer are we going to have to head down these hallways? They all look the same.”

Yuna turns to glare at him, puts her finger to her lips. “Longer if you aren’t quiet about it.”

“I don’t like this,” Biggie mutters. “When can we get to the fighting? All the lead-up is boring. It feels like we’re in some kind of horror movie.” Yuna squeezes her eyes shut, prays that they’re far enough from Sun-Gu—and, by extension, the target—that they can’t be heard. 

Sun-Gu stops, abruptly. He holds a hand up behind him, as if to say, stay back.

Yuna doesn’t know what he’s noticed, at first. But a moment later, she hears it—the click of a latch being undone, somewhere overhead.

Above them, a small trap door opens, and then pulls shut. A cylinder drops from the ceiling, leeching violet plumes of smoke. On instinct, Yuna pulls her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth.

Tear gas, she realizes—or something chemically similar. It’s some sort of aerosolized compound, meant to render them both less capable of seeing and—partly by extension—less capable of fighting. Her eyes tear up almost immediately, so much that she can barely keep them open. Her lungs burn in protest as she takes in a breath.

They’re in a long corridor. There’s a finite amount of smoke coming from the canister—if they wait it out, it will inevitably thin out. So this was more just a distraction, then. A flashy entry. Just enough time for whoever they’re up against to—

It takes her a few seconds to spot the figure through the smoke. 

She thinks back to the files on the subject. Medium, reddish brown hair, pale blue eyes. 182 cm. Trained in combat. The stranger in the hallway has their face obscured by a gas mask, their hair hidden under a hood, but she can tell by the musculature of their exposed arms that they appear to be well-trained. In their right hand, they are carrying a long, slender weapon. From one end—attached to a metal chain—is a sphere, lined with spikes, each of them carved down to a sharp point.

It must weigh half a ton, from the way it drags the chain down, but the figure wields it easily, as if it weighs absolutely nothing.

“That’s our guy!” Junior yells, at the same time as Biggie shouts, “Stop right there!”

Both of them charge forwards. It all happens in a split second. The figure adjusts their grip on the weapon to turn the wooden handle of it outwards. Then, before either of the brothers have a chance to react, they’re swung outwards by the sheer momentum of the rod. Biggie hits the ceiling with enough force that the concrete above them rumbles, the impact spiderwebbing the ceiling above them. Slabs of concrete rain down from the point of contact. The figure drives Junior straight into one of the walls at an awkward angle which renders him almost immediately unconscious.

Yuna can feel her own heart pounding in her ears. She slinks back into the darkness, pressing herself to the ground so that hopefully, the stranger will forget that she is there—or that she is even a threat to begin with. Seeing what they’re capable of, she isn’t sure she could do much in this situation to begin with.

How long has it been since the last time the path split off into multiple routes? When Yuna turns to look, the hallway before them and after them seems to stretch on and on. An endless concrete tunnel, with the white, sterile lighting of a laboratory space. Nothing to shield themselves with, and nowhere to hide. It’s a strange location to pick a fight in. What exactly was this place built for? 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the figure says to Sun-Gu, grinning. Half of their teeth have been replaced with gold tooth crowns. When they grin, the gold catches the light, winking. “Thirty seconds, huh? Your teammates couldn’t even hold their own for that long? It’s a damn shame. I didn’t even get to use the weapon as it’s intended to be used.” They tilt their head, staring down at Sun-Gu with a look of contempt. “I guess you could thank me for being merciful. But if I’m honest…”

Their smile darkens into something sharper, something hungry. “I just didn’t want to stain a flail of this quality with anyone’s blood but yours.”

Was this entire mission a setup, to get Sun-Gu into one place? Is the subject really in possession of any classified documents at all?

Sun-Gu twists away—not to evade, or not in preparation to attack. His shoulders hunch forward, his expression twisting. He coughs, roughly, down towards the ground. It’s the kind of cough that suggests that he’s been coughing like this for some time now—harsh and throat-scraping. 

That’s when it registers for Yuna.

He’s ill. It seems painfully obvious, in hindsight, now that she’s realized it. 

During the motorcycle ride here, he’d been careful not to touch her, Yuna realizes. Sun-Gu is always careful with his own space—he has an awareness of it, even outside of combat, that she thinks would be unusual for most. Even with small things—the ways he gestures, the way he holds himself—she gets the feeling that none of it is accidental. 

When she looks at him now, she notices—a slight, near-imperceptible flush to his features. He’s breathing a little more heavily than normal. Instincts he can hide. Instincts he can cover for. But there are some things which no amount of physical awareness can hide.

He has a fever, then. That’s probably why he hadn’t wanted her to touch him. He’d known that if she’d made contact with his skin, she would’ve felt it, and she thinks he probably hadn’t wanted to raise any concern.

Sun-Gu is here, on a mission, fighting a well-trained stranger on his own, equipped with nothing but a pocket knife, with no armor and no with no reinforcements. On any normal occasion, Yuna might trust him to be able to hold his own—she’s seen what he’s done, alone against a crowd of hundreds—but this time, it’s different, because Sun-Gu is unwell.

The figure looks surprised, at this. “Ah,” they say. Yuna can’t help but think they look like a predator, honing in on their prey, only to find that said prey is already bloodied and limping. Like someone surprised—but pleased—to find their job already done for them. “Don’t tell me you’re already not in tip-top shape? That’s a shame.”

Sun-Gu coughs, again, his chest shaking. Yuna feels a pang of worry in her chest. He really does look unwell—and he hasn’t said as much of a word to deny it, which is telling. She looks around for anything to help him with— If she were to call for reinforcements, she thinks it would take too long for them to find them all here, underground, in the elaborate array of tunnels.

The weapon they’re holding is heavy, which affects its maneuverability, and to some degree, its speed. But Sun-Gu’s knife is much more of a close-range weapon, which means that while Sun-Gu will have to get up close to them to even make a mark, the stranger would be theoretically able to fatally wound him while standing a meter away.

The figure presses forward. With the swing of one hand, the metal ball and the chain arc outwards neatly, directly towards Sun-Gu. For such a heavy weapon, Yuna is surprised to find that this person wields it with impressive speed. It’s nearly too fast for her eyes to track. Sun-Gu evades, easily, but the figure swings again, and again, and again. At this speed, it almost looks as though they’re slicing the air into shreds.

If Sun-Gu were to be hit, his body would stop all of the momentum at once, and the spikes would easily puncture skin, drive themselves into tissue and skin and bone. Worse, Yuna realizes, if the weapon makes it to Sun-Gu’s body—even if it’s lodged in a relatively nonfatal area—the figure will easily be able to drive it directly into a vital organ. That means that if Sun-Gu fails to dodge cleanly on just one occasion, this fight will be over.

That’s another thing, too. Sun-Gu’s radius of attack is limited by the length of his own arm. But the figure can stand in one place and swing the weapon anywhere that the length of their arm, the long rod, the chain, all put together, can reach.

“If I had a little more patience, I might even have waited for you to get back to full health, so that this could be a more memorable fight,” the figure says.

Sun-Gu’s breath hitches. His opponent is not kind enough to pretend not to notice. They drive forward, intending to use the moment of temporary weakness to their benefit, just as Sun-Gu jerks forward with a forceful, “hHh’EEZschHH-uH!”

Sun-Gu evades, but only barely. How he is able to predict the trajectory of the metal ball, even distracted, even with his eyes closed, Yuna isn’t sure. But it’s clear that he isn’t done, and by the time his eyes are already falling shut for another. He’s afforded a sharp, desperate breath, before his shoulders jerk forward again. “hH’nGKt-! Hh… hh-IIIH’DZSshH!”

He coughs, after, as if the sneezes have somehow irritated his throat further.  

The stranger grins. “...But I suppose having your head as a prize would be consolation enough.”

They sweep the chain in a wide arc, directly for Sun-Gu’s neck. Sun-Gu crouches for a moment, then takes a running leap up into the air, righting his trajectory with one foot to the wall to land behind them. He’s put his knife away, Yuna realizes. But there is nothing here—no props, no furniture—for him to repurpose into a weapon.

“Sorry,” Sun-Gu says. The expression on his face is not one of remorse. It’s one of clear, bitter irritation. He’s annoyed, she realizes. “You’re right. I’m not feeling my best today.”

It’s an admission, loud and clear, but the way he says it, it doesn’t sound like an admission of weakness. Up until now, he has been observing, Yuna realizes, as he’s done before—passively taking in the stranger’s fighting style, their handling of their weapon, their habits, their tells. 

“So,” Sun-Gu says, flatly. When the stranger swings again, Sun-Gu snags hold of the chain while it’s in mid-air, and—as if it’s weightless—yanks the stranger towards him. He takes hold of the chain with his other hand, testing its weight. The smile on his face is utterly cold. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

—

Afterwards, when they leave the warehouse, the sun is starting to rise. Yuna finds a text from Glory Club on her phone from an hour ago, presumably from the chairman. It’s curt: Do not proceed. We have reason to doubt the motives of the group which supplied the intel. Ironically, there was not enough reception underground for their warning to reach them in time, but she thinks that Sun-Gu must’ve realized much earlier. 

Biggie and Junior are a little worse for the wear, but other than that, neither of them is concerningly injured. Biggie claims that he doesn’t have a concussion, but he doesn’t put up too much of a fight when Yuna insists that when they get back, their first stop will be to the medical ward to get fixed up. 

Speaking of Sun-Gu: he is quiet, which is not unusual. Sun-Gu has never been the most talkative person, but Yuna suspects that today, there’s more to it. 

“I can take us back,” Yuna says, trying not to make it sound pointed. It’s usually Sun-Gu who steers, but Yuna has enough experience with the St. Petrus V4 to handle a forty minute trip on paved roads, and enough experience too to know how to speed just enough to stay in control of it.

“It’s fine,” Sun-Gu says, flashing her a distracted smile. “It will be faster if I drive, because I won’t have to navigate.” He retrieves his own helmet from the seat compartment. Yuna spends a moment to watch him. He isn’t injured, nor does he look any less alert—he’d gotten out of the battle without so much as a scratch to show for.

But there are little hints, here and there, to exhaustion. The way he clears his throat before speaking, so quietly she can’t tell except for the slight bob of his throat, the slight furrow of his eyebrows. The way he pauses to clip his helmet, shielding his face with one hand from the gleam of the rising sun, as if his head is already hurting. The way he looks relieved to be sitting down, the way his hand lingers, a little shaky, on the motorcycle handles before he steadies it, looking faintly annoyed. 

Of course, for someone like Sun-Gu, where—on the battlefield—any sort of slight miscalculation could be the difference between life and death, where trusting his body to function exactly as he’s used to is crucial for his success, Yuna isn’t surprised that any sort of bodily inefficiency would be an annoyance, even more so for Sun-Gu than for most.

At the same time, as she stares at him, she has to wonder—just how long has he been unwell? Had she not been awake during the battle—had she been unconscious, then, like the other two—would she even have noticed? How many times in his life has he been ill and just proceeded? Yuna doesn’t know what his relationship to Peter is—whether he’s a long lost cousin, or someone who trained under him before, or something else. But she knows, from the way he fights, that he must’ve had years of combat experience even before he joined Glory. No one is born with that amount of expertise, that level of near-inhuman intuition.

In the past, when Sun-Gu found himself in life-or-death situations, had he proceeded like he is now—as though everything were normal? As though any affliction he was suffering through privately was not even worth the attention of his own team? It makes sense, she thinks—that he wouldn’t broadcast any weakness openly, especially for any potential adversaries to listen in on. But if he’d been so careful to hide it from all of them, how would he take it if she acknowledged it out loud?

“Is something wrong?” Sun-Gu asks, watching her now. 

“No, nothing at all!” Yuna says, quickly. Think, she tells herself. She returns his smile, a little sheepishly. “I was just thinking… I’m a little hungry. Do you think we could stop at a convenience store on the way back?”

Sun-Gu blinks, a little surprised. But then he nods. “Of course,” he says. 

She fiddles with her own helmet until it’s securely on. Then she gets onto the motorcycle, behind him, and waits for him to take off.

—

True to his word, Sun-Gu stops at a 24/7 convenience store on the way back. But when Yuna asks him if he wants anything to eat, he waves her off with another smile. “Not enough time has passed after that fight,” he says. “I’m still too worked up to eat something.”

Bullshit, she thinks, but she steps inside the store nonetheless. Inside, it’s heavily air-conditioned, pleasantly cool. She picks out a sandwich from the fridge for herself, and one for Sun-Gu, while Biggie and Dokgo—who have followed them here on their scooters—load up on containers of cup ramen and ready-made hot fried chicken. Yuna snags a bottle of water from the fridge. Then she’s sure no one is looking, she takes a blister pack of aspirin off the shelves, along with a travel pack of tissues, and pays for it through the self-checkout station.

Biggie and Junior are still inside by the time she’s done shopping, so she heads outside, the plastic bag in hand.

She finds him still seated on the motorcycle, his helmet still on. He’s sitting ramrod-straight, his shoulders stiff, his head ducked slightly to avoid the sun. To anyone else, he might look alert—perhaps even nervous—but Yuna knows better. It looks as if he is doing everything in his power not to fall asleep.

His breath hitches. He gasps, his body jerking forward with a loud, “hHHD’TSHhh-Uh!”, which seems ridiculously unrelieving for how loud it is, and sighs, tenderly massaging the bridge of his temples. So the headache from earlier hasn’t gotten any better, then. 

She watches him for a moment longer—watches him duck forward into his arm with another ticklish sneeze, and emerge with a liquid sniffle—and wonders when this had all started to feel like second nature.

Caring about him, that is.

When he hears her coming, he looks up to her. “Done with breakfast already?” 

“Not yet,” she says. “But I got you a sandwich.

“Ah, thanks,” he says. “Though, didn’t I say—”

“You’re not hungry right now, I recall,” Yuna says. “You can save it for later. But I have something else for you too.” 

She hands him the aspirin and the bottle of water. Sun-Gu stares down at them for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I am not injured,” he says, at last.

“I know,” Yuna says, casually. “The aspirin is for your headache. That’s been bothering you all morning, right? It might help with your fever, too, but I think the best antidote for that would be some proper bedrest.”

For a moment, Sun-Gu just stares at her, his eyes a little wide. Then he laughs. “You really don’t let anything past you, do you, Yuna?”

“That’s right,” she says, crossing her arms. “So you were trying to hide it.”

“Not exactly,” Sun-Gu says. “I just didn’t deem it worth mentioning.”

“Three to five days of bedrest, and lots of warm fluids!” Yuna says, jabbing a finger into his chest, accusingly. “That’s what people recommend for illnesses like this. Not a killer mission first thing in the morning!”

“You are very prudent,” Sun-Gu says, looking mildly amused.

“You don’t think it might’ve helped to mention your illness to someone you trust? The chairman, or even me?”

“I fail to see how that would’ve made any difference. It’s not as though the mission could have waited.”

“Fine, then.” Yuna says. “You might not agree to take it easy. But I’ll keep noticing as long as you keep being irresponsible.” She means it as a threat—that in the future, if he ever dares to be so reckless, she’ll be the first to notice. And if Yuna thinks he should be resting, instead of on a mission, she’s not going to keep her mouth shut about it. 

But when she looks over at Sun-Gu, he is smiling. 

[da-rulah]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💜

Ahhhh Jen thank you for thinking of me 😭 Oh god, what do I choose?! Okay I'm gonna go in order of my top 5 personal favourites based on their storylines and how fun they were to write, so here goes...

Confessional ~ Copia x F Reader [3 Parts]

As a sister of sin, it was your duty to confess at least once a month, to have your sins praised by a higher up member of the clergy. But you only ever chose Thursday nights, when you knew he was on duty. And tonight, you were working up the courage to confess your darkest sin - the dreams you had been having...

Rituale Septem ~ Terzo x F Reader [8 Parts]

Your faith is shaking; 16 years at the Ministry, and what did you have to show for it? You'd never even heard the Dark One's voice like your Siblings... But what could you do? Well, you could ask the advice of the one person chosen to guide his flock through adversity; Papa Emeritus III. And he has an idea that might work...

The Mayor's Daughter ~ Mary Goore x F Reader [5 Parts, Ongoing]

Mary knew the entire town hated him; the metalhead with the freaky make up and fake blood dripping down his face. He was the local menace, the town vandal, the cliché trouble maker. He played up to that image, enjoyed the havoc and the chaos, revelled in it. He loved pissing people off. And so, what better revenge to get on his beloved town, than to fuck around with the Mayor's daughter…

In Cold Blood ~ Terzo x F Reader [One shot]

Solitude had always appealed. Perhaps that’s why you took on this project… The thought of transforming a dilapidated old Victorian farmhouse into a sanctuary of your own, to live in peace and the romanticisms of a gothic home you fell in love with. After the structural integrity of the house is replenished, you fill your days with DIY and decorating, bringing to life a house that had been frozen in time and left to rot for decades. You could enjoy the solitude of the land already, a few miles outside of a town plagued by disappearances and a fear of the dark. But you couldn’t escape the news of more missing people, nor the strange occurrences happening around your new home. Were you imagining things? Or was there indeed a shadow haunting your sanctuary?

Come Home to Me ~ Secondo x F Reader [One shot]

No one ever thought to question why Papa Emeritus II was such a bitter man. People assumed it was a product of his upbringing, of the pressures being an Emeritus brought him. But they had no idea that years ago, he was a completely different man. A man that you so easily fell in love with... 

It was so hard to choose my favourites, everything I write is so special to me but these one just have the edge...

If you'd like to see what else I've written, I have a masterlist here! 💕

[2myl0ver]

🫧 darling, you're my lover! 🫧

💭 SYNOPSIS. spending time with your boyfriend of five years, murata fuma, planning out your future together. describing what your house would look like, and possibly what your kids would look like, how you would never loose connection with him and how you'd always love him.

💭 WORD COUNT. 667

💭 GENRE & CONTAINING. fluff & crack, you live together, reader is the same age as fuma, most of this is just talking, but no warnings, just you and fuma in front of the fireplace <3

💭 AUTHOR'S NOTE. this work belongs to the Lover! series (2/9). this is my first fuma fic in a whilee since my hiatus!!🥹 hope you enjoy this. ♡︎

♡ and ↻ are very much appreciated ! © 2myl0ver Copyright 2023. Do not copy, repost, or translate without my permission.

You walked up to fuma, who was sitting on the small sofa that he had just now dragged in front of the fireplace for the both of you.

You sat down next to him, handing him a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows while you drank yours. It was times like these in winter that you felt bad for him, he got cold easily, even just from air conditioning. Right now, he was sitting beside you, trying to get as warm as possible, layered in a bunch of clothes and a robe.

You reach out your free hand and start petting his hair. "I know you're cold right now, but I really love the decorations we put up this year."

He smiled, turning his head to you. "Me too. I think this is the best and most we've ever decorated after 5 years."

"We can leave the the christmas lights up 'til january. I really like them." you say.

"That's fine. There's no written rule that we can't do that. This is our place, we make rules. "

"I always imagine what it would be like if we had kids and a bigger home; imagine decorating with them for christmas! I would absolutely love to." you say, in an attempt to get him to think of something else aside from the temperature.

He smiles, glad that you see a future with him. "I imagine that too! Imagine how our kids would look like."

"Oh, they would look great. With me and you as their mix? The only way they'd look bad is if you cheat on me."

"Woah! what a way to turn this around." he laughs.

"I'm kidding. But seriously, I see the rest of my life with you." you say, genuinely; feeling and meaning every word.

"Glad you do; I've kinda planned my whole future with you." he confesses. "Good. I didn't really have anything else pictured in my mind."

He moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while the other holds his hot chocolate. "I love spending time with you like this."

"Me too." you say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

"How do you picture our wedding?" you ask out of curiosity.

"Why?"

"Because, I need to know if we're picturing the same thing here. I don't want you thinking I'd have a wedding with neon orange as the color."

"I don't know what you're picturing, but I'm definitely not picturing that. I'm thinking of a natural light green, don't you think?"

"That sounds nice.. either way, my dress is gonna be white."

"I think white looks great on you."

"Everything looks great on me."

"You're right, sorry."

"I always am." you say before you both laugh lightly.

"But seriously, I think white looks great on you, it compliments your features." you listen to him say before looking up at him. "Really?"

"Yea," he shrugs. "You know that one white top you always wear? You look beautiful in it. Well, you always do, but white really suits you, like it was made for you or something. So, I think you should wear white.

"Wow, so much planning mr. murata, you haven't even proposed yet."

"Hey I'm working on it! I don't wanna propose with a random ring. Just you wait, I'm gonna get you the ring you've been on about for 5 years now."

"You don't have to, you know. I'd be glad with a paper ring as long as it's from you."

"I know that, you don't ask for much but.. I wanna give you what you deserve. The past 5 years with you, you've made my life feel like a movie and you've always been there for me." he looks away as he finishes his sentence, too shy to look directly at you.

You kiss his cheek, making him jerk his head back to your direction, you take advantage of this and kiss his lips. "I'll always be here for you, okay? I love you." you look him straight into his eyes. "I love you too."

[frankenjoly]

fanfic writer interview!

tagged by @anticidic & @aurorahrt tyy <3

How many works do you have on AO3?

so far it's 123, and the number is going up always lkdjf. to be fair, i've been on ao3 for araoun 7 years, and a lot of stuff is drabbles.

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Connecting the dots. arcane/lol, genfic + baby timebomb.

people yearn(ed) for fluff after arcane, and so do (and did) i. family shenanigans ft. baby powder's puppy crush.

Between the pages: part 2. bsd, misc of ships.

2nd batch of bsd drabbles (and damn, the collection has grown A LOT).

Misread. genshin, jealuc.

jealuc from barbara's pov, relationship reveal kinda since she gets full confirmation there.

Remnants. arcane/lol, jinx-centric timebomb.

post-s1 bit of a character study vs pinning and regrets. it's not unrequited, we know now more than ever that it's not, but it kiiinda looks like it from her pov.

Por el amor de este presidente... bsd, fukumori & (vs) fukufufku.

the bsd Crack Fic so far, mori and fukuchi team up to crash any dates fukuzawa has with other people (since both want him back) but are also rivaling each other (since both want him back), pm members & hd try to avoid overwork.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

always! i need to give my thanks lskjdfl.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

remnants maybe? and it's not full-on angst. neither are, tho, i'm a pussy.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

here i cannot choose, most are pretty happy lksjf.

Do you write crossovers?

oh, yeah. i even have a whole-ass series dedicated to that (aka the dnd-ish au, and i'm very proud of it.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not straight up hate, but i've had someone coming to my fic tagged with 2 ships involving the same character (gojohime and shokohime) to say one is canon and the other are "just friends gal pals etc" lkjsf. my sibling in christ, none are canon.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i've dabbled in smut in rp (not super explicit tho), but i don't think i could go past suggestive/pre-smut making out on fic lkjf. it's like, more ppl are gonna see it there.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

save from that one page who reposted everyone and their mom's fics some time ago, not really.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, but if it happens, @rashomune is my #1.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

this is a terrible question for someone as indecissive as i am lksj. i do tend to have a fav ship tm from all of my favs in each fandom (for example, if i had to choose just one bsd ship it'd be sskk), but choosing just one at all from every fandom? i can't.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

rather than a started wip, it's a concept that could be sooo good but scares me (but also haunts me). aka: the sskk call of the sea au.

What are your writing strengths?

i'm confident in what i do in general, i can improvise easily (i think rp influences this), and i've been told i'm good at characterization + showing which character it is by their speech.

What are your writing weaknesses?

english nerfs me. like, i don't think i do bad per se, but i'm even better in spanish.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i'm used to mixing english and spanish for dialogues in rp, but i don't really do that in fic. i do add some words here and there, and use the honorifics for japanese characters and so on.

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

mhmm... a ton lksjfl. a very specific example is yelan/emilie (genshin), aka very rare rarepair i got into just bcs they have the same jp voices as shokohime.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

again, i can't choose lksjdf.

tagging: @ashenaura @littencloud9(no pressure ofc)

[shipper47]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

Thanks @lucigoo for tagging me in this!

How many works do you have on AO3?

56!

What's your total AO3 word count?

1,534,036 and counting!

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

A Rather Expected Journey (Bagginshield)

Clarity (Sterek)

Utter Chaos (Sterek)

Drifting Untethered (Anchored in You) (Sterek)

Tossing Hearts (Bagginshield)

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! If the fic is a oneshot I will respond as soon as I have time. However! If the fic is a chaptered story then I reply as soon as I begin working on the next chapter! So if you see a reply to a comment then you should expect the next chapter coming soon!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I don't end stories in angst. But the one I suppose that has the most angst in it would be Heart-Wrenched.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Ah! All my stories have happy endings! I can't choose just one! But if I had to pick which story has the funniest ending it would be Tossing Hearts. Oh, Pippin.

Do you write crossovers?

I have not. But I never say never.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not true hate! I had someone who disliked that I rewrote a fic from ten years ago and did things a little differently. But oh well! I'm the author.

Do you write smut?

Yep.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. Back in the glory days of Fanfiction.net. They stole one of my Shugo Chara stories and didn't do a very good job of changing it just enough to not be noticed.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I'm not sure. I think I might have one in Spanish somewhere...

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Truly co-written? No. I've had someone ask me if I would and then basically just expected me to rewrite their ideas only better and I'm not here for that.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

I have a lot of ships that I absolutely adore but only a few that I write for. But if we're talking all-time favorite, it is a tie between Sterek and Bagginshield. Though Obikin is quickly climbing the ranks.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I do not leave stories unfinished so none of them? It might take me a while to get to the end but I will get there.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm really good at writing humor. Like, I think my fics are often funny. If I'm the only one then that's good enough for me.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Maybe angst? I can't seem to write it and when I do it doesn't last long. I enjoy happy endings far too much.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

As long as you have the translation somewhere easily accessible go off.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I keep thinking about writing for the Witcher but I want to finish some of my current fanfics before I delve into that fandom.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

Oh, man! Picking favorites out of my fics?? I don't know if I can do that. All of them hold a special place in my heart. Gun to head, I'd still cheat and name a series or something. I have so many that I've recently started that I have big plans for. I think they are all my favorites while I'm working on them.

I know, I know, a cop-out.

Thank you so much for reading through this! I would love to tag @starwalkertales @midnightstar789 @batatori and @amethystviolist if you haven't done it already I'd like to see your answers!

And as always!

Thanks for reading!

[menlove]

thank you @therealsaintscully for tagging me !! i always love writing tag games asjdfajsdf

how many works do you have on ao3?

on naturechild, i have 8. on my older, multi-fandom account (jamestkirk) i have 13. thennnn i have 2 orphaned ones in the star wars fandom & then on an ancient one i abandoned in 2014 i have 21. and i know i orphaned at LEAST 3 others at some point. so that's... like 44?

what’s your total word count?

141,179 on naturechild, 139,838 on jamestkirk, and then i have no idea what the password for my old one is so idk there. but at least 281,017. even though i had 21 on that super old one, they were all really short, and the orphaned ones i have are only a few thousand each. so probably around like the 290-300k mark.

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

and oh, my heart was flawed (aziraphale/crowley)

is it a great or little thing we fought? (han/luke)

i'm not trying to write a love song (steve/bucky)

and all i ever knew (only you) (aziraphale/crowley)

the star to every wandering bark (aziraphale/crowley) (abandoned)

do you respond to comments? why/why not?

i try to !! i certainly read them all. i tend to get overwhelmed easily by responding to people, like just in general, so like any inbox i have (email, text, tumblr, discord, etc) i have a ton i haven't replied to. but i try for the first few weeks after a fic drops at least fjsdfjasdf

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

oh hm. well, i need you (never leave me alone) ends on an angsty note but there's the third installment planned where john survives getting shot and they wind up fine, so while the fic ends sad their arc isn't. so with that excluded, your midas touch (quentin/eliot) is probably the winner. it's just really angsty sex where they aren't together but they know they want to be together but eliot turned quentin down (like in canon for those of u who were wise enough to not watch the magicians) so it's just. smut and sadness.

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

uuuuh hm i tend to write a lot of like mid-canon fics i guess or angst or like fics that finish off with a Hopeful tone but not happy or sad but i guess the one that i'd say is the happiest ending is probably i'm not trying to write a love song. it's a stucky fix-it fic bc i was so mad about endgame that i had to make myself not mad by writing this, but it's essentially just. 5 times bucky "jokingly" asked steve to marry him and one time steve actually asked him. i'm gonna be so real i do not remember the plot of this at all beyond that.

do you write crossovers?

not anymore, no! i wrote some waaay back in the day on deviantart- most notably i was kicking around a star trek/beatles crossover as a kid where spock, bones, kirk, and uhura swapped places w the beatles. i don't remember where i was going with it at all, but i wrote it in a notebook at summer camp lol

have you ever received hate on a fic?

yeah lmfao most recently i had someone tell me i was ableist for not tagging a 7k fic "slow-burn" bc they didn't get to anal sex right away. mind you, they were still fucking, there just wasn't anal. and this meant i was ableist. absolutely insane comment i still think about it like weekly.

do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yeahhhhh most of my fics on naturechild are explicit. and idk i'd say usually just Porn With Feelings like i love using smut as a way to explore characters and relationships rather than just straight up being hot. which is maybe my downfall but hey i'm having fun

have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of!

have you ever had a fic translated?

i don't think so? i think i've been asked a few times but no

have you ever co-written a fic before?

yeah! i co-wrote a beatles fic w a friend in middle school, i co-wrote the star to every wandering bark w my ex, and i'm writing i want you, need you, i love you with @forthlin. there's ALSO in the works a thing i'm co-writing w @dykebeatles at some point that exists in our minds and is very beautiful such a beautiful world

what's your all-time favorite ship?

i truly couldn't answer this w a gun to my head this changes frequently. but my ones that keep returning are: kirk/spock(/bones), (redacted star wars ship u could all figure out w the slightest sleuthing), charles/erik, and john/paul. and then i'm also huge into mulder/scully, twelve/clara, and doctor/master, but i don't tend to read or write fics for those i just witness them on my screen and go crazy.

what's a wip that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

the star to every wandering bark will never get finished bc we broke up and then we were Planning on finishing it and he didn't get back to me lmaoooo. but also the universe for is it a great or little thing we fought? i thought was very neat and wanted to finish and then never got around to. given that it's literally 8 years old at this point i don't think i'm ever going to but i loved that little world!

what are your writing strengths?

i've been told i'm good at dialogue and i think i'm good at painting emotional pictures honestly !!

what are your writing weaknesses?

i get really bogged down sometimes and it's hard for me to know what to cut to make the action flow so it's not just chunks of rambling that take too long to move from one action/scene to the next. i'm trying to Actively work on this and get better though so ! i'm also not the strongest at smut bc again, i use it as a character study more than anything. trying to improve on that as well!

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

like prev said, depends on how well it's done. i've seen it done really well and really poorly. regardless i definitely think you should probably try and find someone who speaks that language and not just use google translate bc oh boy.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

fasdfasdf kim possible when i was 9...... first time i started taking fanfiction SERIOUSLY though was the beatles when i was 11

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

ohhhh hm. i really wanna write a mcharrison fic but they're so bittersweet to me and idk if i could do them justice. i've also only ever written one cherik fic and that's criminal, i'd love to write another one

what's your favorite fic you've written?

okay i know it's recency bias but it's between cut to chord: subliminal flash of love-making like i don't think i've ever been as proud of a fic as that one, and then i want you (every time that you're near) was just so fun to write and so adfasdf i love them

tagging: yall don't have to do this but tagging some ppl i know have published fics and may not have been tagged ! @forthlin @wronglennon @dykebeatles @sgtpeppers and anyone else that would like to do this can say i tagged them <3