#i was setting up the fic as a draft and accidentally posted it and was like f it I'm not remaking it

[tippenfunkaport]

Blooming into the Change

"What time are you getting out?" Bow asked, no doubt feeling the same impatience she was.  "Unfortunately, the board hasn’t even arrived yet, so probably not until 7."  She watched as Bow typed, probably composing the same message over and over because there were only so many ways to say, "Sorry, babe. Capitalism sucks." Even if she didn't have her meeting, he taught a late lab that rarely got out until after 6 anyway. Plus the forty-five minutes for him to get to her place, her hour commute home…  Glimmer sighed. This all would be so much easier if they'd had their shit together and gotten together when they were younger. At least they could have a late dinner and still get a little time to catch up before they had to do it all over again tomorrow. Such were the perils of a mature relationship. 

(1,772 words, fluff)

Read on AO3

for the @glimbowweek prompt Regrets and Apologies

This fanfic 100% inspired by this tweet:

[fallingforyouforeverr]

𝐍𝐚𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢

summary: Oscar misses a team meeting, but when Lando goes to look for him, he gets a surprise

author's note: i finally published my first f1 fic!! sorry it's so short, but I have a bunch of other drafts I'm working on rn that will hopefully be finished soon. also, i literally wrote this at midnight inspired by a picture i saw on Pinterest so it's kinda bad but oh well

warnings: none, just fluff (600+ words)

• f1 masterlist • youtubers masterlist •

It was no secret to anyone that Oscar was a clingy boyfriend. The other drivers loved to compare him to a koala because of how often he would wrap himself around you, pulling you close to him and resting his head on top of yours. Although he often annoyed others by getting distracted by you, they couldn't even blame you for it and even Zak had to admit his clingyness was actually quite cute.

Today however, it was annoying – especially to Lando who had spent the last 20 minutes searching for his teammate after he failed to show up to the team meeting. He had already checked everywhere he could think of and was beginning to contemplate calling the police and reporting the younger boy missing when he heard a faint snore coming from a small room on his left. Slowly pushing open the door, Lando was met with the sight of you and Oscar sleeping on a sofa, your limbs so tightly wrapped around each other that it was hard to tell where you ended and he began.

As quietly as he could, Lando took out his phone and snapped a picture of the two of you and posted it on his story. He slid it back in his pocket, wondering how to wake his teammate without disturbing you, when Oscar stirred, stretching out his long limbs and opening his bleary eyes.

"Wakey wakey sleepyhead," Lando teased, causing the other boy to groan.

Oscar wriggled his arm out from under you, bringing it up to rub his eyes. "What time is it?" He asked.

"It's almost 2"

"WHAT!" Oscar shot up, accidentally waking you in the process, "shit I missed the meeting didn't I."

"Oz? What's wrong?" You spoke as you sat up, voice still slightly scratchy from sleep.

He froze, looking at you with wide eyes and a guilty expression. "Um... I forgot to set an alarm and I kinda slept through the team meeting."

"Oscar!" You scolded with a laugh, " Zak is gonna be so mad!"

Lando chuckled, making you jump as you hadn't realised he was there. "Oh yeah, he's pissed by the way."

Dragging a hand down his face with a sigh, your boyfriend reluctantly pulled himself out of your arms and stood up. "I'm gonna go catch up with the team," he announced, raking a hand through his hair as he rushed out to the garage.

"Oh I can't wait to see what Zak is gonna say about this" Lando began, a grinning cheekily at you. Narrowing your eyes at him in response, he held up his hands in surrender. "Ok, alright, I'm going!"

Smiling wryly at his childish antics, you began packing away your stuff, knowing that Oscar would be finished soon as he tended to become antisocial when tired. Just as you finished putting the last item in your bag, the Australian appeared in the doorway, affection laced with exhaustion in his eyes as he observed you. When you had finished, he held out his hand for you to grab as he led you through the McLaren hospitality. You had almost reached the exit when a familiar voice rang out behind you.

"Ah, Oscar, there you are!"

You both turned around guiltily to come face to face with a less than pleased Zak Brown. "We missed you in the meeting earlier, mate. I hope that nap was worth it."

"Oh yeah sorry I was um-" Oscar paused, a frown overtaking his features as he realised what the older man had said. "Wait how do you know about that?"

Zak chuckled, calling over his shoulder as he walked away, "Let's just say a certain someone isn't very good at keeping secrets."

"Lando, that absolute muppet!"

[minhosbitterriver]

──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 50 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Say hello to my very first long-fic! It took me an eternity to get this done, but I'm actually very proud of how it turned out! Also, my very rough draft for this was accidentally posted a few days ago, so if you saw that...no you didn't! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, use of they-them pronouns for Y/N, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

When Jeongin stepped through the door he had once shared with you, a sense of dread already coiled tightly around his heart, squeezing with every breath. He knew you'd kept your promise to move out by the end of the week, but the reality of it hit harder than he could have imagined. The front hallway, once cluttered with a chaotic jumble of shoes that you always left haphazardly by the entrance, now stood painfully bare, save for his own neatly aligned row of frequently worn sneakers. The absence of your presence echoed louder than any argument ever had, and suddenly he found himself longing for those moments of trivial annoyance—wishing, with a deep, aching desire, that he could quarrel with you about it just once more.

He kicked off his sneakers, setting them carefully amongst the rest of his now lonely footwear. For a moment, he stood there, hesitant, almost willing to call out your name, hoping against hope that you might answer from the bedroom or kitchen, your voice cutting through the oppressive silence that now smothered the apartment. But he knew better. He moved forward with heavy steps, not even bothering to put on his house slippers. The silence that greeted him as he wandered further inside was a deafening reminder of what he had lost. You were gone, and with you, the vibrant energy that had once filled these walls had vanished too.

The living room—once a collage of your combined tastes—was now stripped of the personal touches that made it home. The furniture remained, the couch where you both had laughed and argued, the coffee table marked with rings from careless mugs of tea during lazy mornings. Yet, all the little decorations, the framed art you insisted on hanging, the plants you’d tried so hard to keep alive—they had all disappeared with you. The emptiness was jarring, like a canvas half-painted and abruptly abandoned, leaving every wall and surface barren, the once warm and cozy atmosphere now reduced to a cold, unfamiliar space.

By the time Jeongin reached the bedroom, the last thread of his fragile composure snapped. The bed—where countless memories had been woven—was stripped down to its bare mattress, the sheets gone. The framed photographs of the two of you were turned face down on the bedside table, as if you couldn’t bear to look at them one last time. His eyes moved to the corner where your ridiculously large collection of stuffed animals had once spilled over, crowding half of the bed. That too was empty now. An overwhelming wave of loss washed over him, dragging him to his knees. 

Jeongin's breath came out in shaky gasps as he looked around the hollow shell of what had been your shared sanctuary. You were truly gone. Though he had been the one to end things between you, a decision made in a moment of confusion and pride, he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with you. The realization of his own foolishness crashed over him with unbearable weight, suffocating him in the silence that was once filled with your laughter, your presence, and your love.

Jeongin couldn’t summon a shred of resentment toward you, even if he tried. He understood, all too painfully, that everything that had unraveled between you over the past year was nothing but a sorrowful consequence of your grief. You had once been a soul overflowing with light, always searching for the silver lining amidst the clouds, a spirit who could find a glimmer of hope even in the darkest of times. You, who would often conspire with his mischievous best friend, Seungmin, forming a relentless duo to tease him until he’d feign a pout, forcing you to shower him with kisses until he laughed again. You, who came home every evening brimming with stories about the children you counseled at the school, your eyes alight with passion and care for each of them. All that Jeongin had loved so deeply about you seemed to have been buried alongside your sister, Nari, and this loss was a truth he still grappled with, even now.

As he crawled onto the empty, cold bed that had once been a warm sanctuary for both of you, Jeongin curled into himself, his body folding inward as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. His sobs came in ragged waves, tearing through him so violently that he trembled, his breath hitching with each shaky inhale. He missed you more than words could convey—he missed everything about you. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, its tones shifting with your moods: soft and lyrical when merely amused, and loud, unrestrained when joy truly overwhelmed you. He missed those sounds, the ones that used to fill this now desolate space with life and love.

He missed the lazy afternoons you'd spend together, brainstorming new exercises for his music therapy sessions. Those moments would often devolve into impromptu concerts, filled with your carefree, barefoot dancing across the living room floor and his voice following your lead, blending into a harmony of shared happiness. It was in those moments that everything felt right in the world, where nothing existed but the two of you, lost in your own little universe of melodies and movements. He missed those afternoons like one misses the warmth of the sun after too many days of rain.

He missed teasing you in those quiet moments when you were deeply focused, often catching you sticking your tongue out ever so slightly—a quirk of concentration that never failed to endear him. He’d gently pinch it between his fingers, earning himself a mildly exasperated huff as you’d swat his hand away. But he knew that a smile would inevitably creep up on your lips, and you’d turn away to hide it, cheeks flushing with a mix of amusement and affection. It was the kind of simple, tender moment that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond, a bond that now felt irreparably severed.

Every corner of this home whispered memories of you, and he was haunted by them all—the good, the bad, the ones that made him laugh, and especially those that made him cry. Your absence left a void that nothing could fill, a hollow silence where there had once been laughter and love. And even though he knew it was your grief that had driven a wedge between you, he couldn’t help but wish he could find a way back to you, to the person you used to be, and to the love that once made him feel whole.

The night that shattered your world was meant to be a day of celebration: your younger sister Nari’s high school graduation. Jeongin could still see you in his mind's eye that morning, almost vibrating with pure, uncontainable joy. Your eyes were bright, brimming with excitement, and your smile—so wide and beautiful—tugged at his heart each time it graced your lips. Nari was the center of your universe, your pride, your joy, your true soulmate in a world that often felt uncertain and cold. You had been more than just a sister to her; you had been her guardian, her comforter, her everything. You were the one who took on the weight of raising her through the chaotic turmoil of your parents' messy divorce, providing stability where there was none. 

Jeongin could recall countless times Nari would recount how you shielded her from the constant, venomous arguments that echoed through your childhood home. Despite your own young age, you found ways to distract her, to pull her out of the chaos—whether it was with whispered jokes or made-up games that filled her mind with something brighter than the screaming. To Nari, you were a star, someone who had hung the moon just for her. She often spoke with a mix of awe and adoration about the afternoons you both spent sneaking into the little ice cream shop on the way home from school, spending hours laughing over melting cones until you were sure your mother had left for work. 

Jeongin also remembered the quiet, tender moments he would witness after you had graduated and moved out. Nights when Nari would sleep over, curled up beside you, as if you were her very own safe haven in a world that could be so unforgiving. There was a beauty in how you held her close, how you seemed to provide her with an anchor when everything else felt adrift. Yet, no relationship, no matter how deeply cherished, is without its storms. For as vividly as Jeongin could remember the soft, loving moments, he could just as clearly recall the bitter weeks leading up to Nari's graduation—weeks marked by harsh words and heated arguments.

You and Nari shared many things—your fierce loyalty, your protective instincts—but perhaps most notably, the sharp edge of your words. When tempers flared, both of you possessed a mercilessly cutting tongue that could lash out with a force that left deep, stinging wounds. Jeongin hated those fights, hated the cruel things you would shout at each other in the heat of the moment, words that cut so deeply and yet meant nothing once the anger faded. The conflict had started when Nari began dating an older guy who had already graduated. Neither you nor Jeongin liked him, sensing the danger in his recklessness, his penchant for illegal activities that threatened to drag your sister down a path she wasn't prepared for. But Nari, stubborn and convinced she had found the love of her life, refused to listen. The tension between you both grew unbearable, each argument driving another wedge between you and your beloved sister, and Jeongin could do nothing but stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as she slowly pushed you away.

The real fracture came on what should have been a night of celebration. Nari was supposed to have dinner with you and Jeongin to celebrate her graduation. She promised to meet you both, to share in the joy of her achievement, but instead, she turned off her phone and ran off with her boyfriend to a party that everyone knew would be dangerous. For hours, you and Jeongin called and texted, reaching out to everyone who might have known where she was, each unanswered ring heightening the tension, every minute stretching into a painful eternity. 

And then, the call came—the one that brought your entire world crashing down. Nari had been found dead inside her boyfriend’s car. Both were intoxicated when he decided to drive, his recklessness steering them straight into a tree. The impact killed them both instantly. 

Jeongin would never forget the sound that tore through you in that moment, a wail of agony so deep and raw it seemed to shatter the very air around you. It was a sound that would forever echo in his heart, a haunting melody of a love lost too soon and a pain that could never be soothed.

The piercing sound of Jeongin's phone ringing in his back pocket cut through the thick, oppressive fog of memories that had been drowning him ever since he stepped into the cold, empty apartment that was once alive with the warmth of your shared moments. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his own heartbreak, his face still wet with a cascade of tears that seemed endless. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, letting it fade away into the void of everything else that felt lost to him. But something compelled him to move, to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. The screen flashed with a name: Chan. 

Jeongin’s first instinct was to let it ring out. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, pity-laden concern he knew he would hear in Chan’s voice. The idea of facing someone else’s worry, of being forced to articulate the emptiness clawing at his chest, felt like too much. But he also knew that Chan wasn’t just calling for the sake of it—he was worried. Maybe that thought, the notion that someone still cared enough to reach out, was what finally convinced Jeongin to answer. With a shaky breath, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” His voice came out rough and broken, as if he’d swallowed shards of glass, a hoarse rasp that even he barely recognized. On the other end, there was a sharp intake of breath, a small hitch that spoke volumes, followed by the sound of Chan clearing his throat in that awkward, nervous way he had when he didn’t know how to approach a delicate subject.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Chan’s voice was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that anything more might cause Jeongin to shatter completely. The simple question, so innocuous yet loaded with care, brought fresh tears to Jeongin’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, not wanting to add more weight to Chan’s worry.

“As well as I can be...everything is gone.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, sinking like stones into the silence that followed. There was a sigh on the other end, deep and empathetic, filled with an understanding that was both comforting and unbearable.

“I’ll stop by later, yeah?” Chan’s offer came with a note of encouragement, trying to lift the heavy blanket of despair. “I can bring Minho so he can cook you some food, and we can figure out what comes next.” There was kindness in his words, an attempt to pull Jeongin from the pit he’d found himself in, but the weight pressing on Jeongin’s chest didn’t budge, didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Maybe another time, Channie, thank you,” Jeongin murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been running a losing race against his own emotions. “I think I just need a few days alone.” The silence that stretched between them after was telling, thick with Chan’s unspoken disapproval. Jeongin could almost see the frown on his friend’s face, the way he’d be chewing on his lip, holding back what he really wanted to say.

Eventually, Chan spoke again, his tone carefully measured, almost as if he were walking on eggshells. “Right. Um, hey...Felix wanted to pay Y/N a visit to make sure everything’s alright and to help with the moving. The problem is, none of us really know where they moved, and we thought that maybe they might’ve told you or something?”

The mention of your name was like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of the knife that had already been embedded in his heart. Jeongin’s breath caught, and he could feel his throat tightening, the sting of tears threatening to spill over once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed, to not break apart all over again.

“No,” he sighed after a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the empty, featureless ceiling that seemed to stretch on like an abyss. “I thought you guys would’ve known... but maybe Y/N needs some time alone for a while too. I’m sure they’ll call when they’re ready.”

The words felt hollow, a brittle hope that tasted more like ash on his tongue, but it was all he could offer. And in the silence that followed, Jeongin could only listen to the faint sound of Chan’s breathing, the weight of their shared helplessness settling in like a cold, unwelcome presence in the room.

Jeongin had clung to a fragile hope that, in time, you would reach out to the circle of friends who had once been your shared lifeline. He never imagined that you would confide in him directly—he knew all too well that the pain of his departure still festered like an open wound. You had made it painfully clear how much you resented him for breaking things off when you needed him most. He could still hear your voice, raw with anger and hurt, echoing in his mind as you stormed out of the apartment for the last time.

But never in his darkest nightmares had he expected you to vanish completely, as if swallowed by the earth itself. There wasn't even a whisper of your whereabouts, not the faintest trace left behind to hint at where you might have gone. It was as if you had been erased from existence. When you left, you didn't just walk out of Jeongin's life—you walked away from everything that had tied you to this place. You resigned from your job as a school counselor, the one located just a short distance from Jeongin’s apartment where you had once found solace in guiding young lives through their own turmoil. Your phone number had changed, your social media accounts lay abandoned and untouched, gathering digital dust like forgotten relics of a past life.

For what felt like an eternity, each member of your once tightly-knit group of friends wore the weight of worry like a second skin, tirelessly searching for any sign of you, some confirmation that you were still out there, somewhere, still breathing. Nights were spent in hushed conversations and whispered theories, each one more desperate than the last, wondering if you were even alive. The silence you left in your wake was deafening, a void that consumed every bit of hope they tried to hold onto.

Yet, as the months dragged on and there was still no word—no signal, no letter, not even a single fleeting message—Jeongin and the others were forced to confront a harsh new reality. The absence of your presence became a palpable thing, a hollow emptiness that settled in their chests. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to understand that they might never see you again. And in that painful understanding, they had no choice but to piece together their broken hearts and try, however feebly, to move forward. 

But even as they moved on, a part of Jeongin remained anchored in that lingering silence, waiting for the day it would finally break.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Eight months had passed since you vanished without a word, leaving behind a void that swallowed everything and everyone you once knew. Jeongin found himself seated on a low stool in the center of his sunlit office, a space designed to cradle broken spirits. The room was filled with warmth, the soft, earth-toned walls bathed in a gentle, golden glow that made it feel like a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Around him, cushions were scattered like islands of comfort, and the soft hum of a guitar rested against his body, its strings vibrating gently with each subtle shift of his calloused fingers.

In front of him, a small group sat in a circle, each person a vessel of silent sorrow. Some had their eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, while others stared ahead, their gazes distant, lost in the labyrinth of their own pain. Today’s session was centered around grief—a familiar theme that Jeongin had come to understand all too well. His eyes swept over the group, his expression soft and understanding, a silent invitation for them to share their burdens. Directly across from him, a young woman who had recently lost her mother sat rigid, her shoulders taut as bowstrings, her fingers anxiously picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, an elderly man kept his gaze fixed on his wrinkled hands, folded so tightly in his lap it seemed as if he was afraid he might fall apart if he let go.

Jeongin's fingers began to dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a few gentle notes that floated through the room like a soft breeze on a warm day. The melody was simple, almost like a lullaby—tender and soothing, a soft hand reaching out in the enveloping darkness. It was a song he had crafted with your help, your voice whispering in his mind, guiding the melody with your mesmerizing ideas and gentle critiques. He tried not to think of you now, of the countless hours you'd spent together creating this very piece, but the memory lingered like a ghost.

“Let’s take a deep breath,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that barely rose above the delicate strumming. “Breathe in... and out. Feel the music as it moves through you.” His voice was smooth and warm as he began to sing, threading through the air like a comforting embrace. The lyrics were a balm for weary souls, speaking of finding peace amid the storm, of a quiet place where one could lay down their burdens. He watched the room with quiet intent, observing as the music began to weave its subtle magic.

The young woman’s shoulders, once so tense, began to loosen ever so slightly, her breath easing into a more natural rhythm. The elderly man’s grip on his hands softened, his fingers unclenching as if the melody had given him permission to let go, if only for a moment. Jeongin’s heart ached as he shifted the melody into a new key, a hint of melancholy now woven into the notes. His voice leaned into the emotion, allowing it to crack and falter in just the right places, like a mirror reflecting the fractures of a breaking heart.

He knew the power of those small imperfections—the way a slight fracture in the music could resonate with the cracks in a person’s soul, giving them the courage to confront their own pain. The room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, yet somehow lighter, too, as if each note was drawing out a little of the darkness from within. And as he continued to sing, Jeongin allowed himself to feel the weight of his own grief, letting it pour into the song, knowing that sometimes, in the quiet beauty of shared pain, there was a kind of healing.

Moments later, a soft sob broke the fragile silence. The young woman's face crumpled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets that caught the light. Jeongin’s heart ached for her, a deep, familiar pain unfurling in his chest. His mind flashed back to countless moments where he had seen that same expression etched across your own face—the anguish, the vulnerability. But he didn’t stop playing. Instead, he allowed the melody to swell, his fingers coaxing the guitar strings through the dark waters of sorrow and guiding them back toward a glimmer of hope, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Let it out,” he murmured, his voice a soft, comforting undertone to the music. “There’s no need to hold back here.” His words were a gentle invitation, a permission to release the emotions that had been held back for far too long. And as if on cue, the room filled with the raw sounds of grief—soft, stifled sobs, muffled cries, the quiet sniffles of those who had long forgotten how to weep openly. Jeongin continued to play, his music becoming a vessel for their pain, a safe harbor where tears could flow without shame or judgment. 

Across the circle, he caught a glimpse of the elderly man, his head bowed low, his lips quivering as he mouthed the words of the song. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to ward off a memory too painful to face. Jeongin’s gaze softened, and he let the melody shift, his fingers moving with practiced ease into something softer, gentler—like a lull after the fury of a storm. Each note was deliberate, a quiet caress to soothe the raw edges of the room's collective sorrow. He watched as the weight of grief began to lift, ever so slightly, and the room took a deep breath, exhaling the heaviness that had clung to them like a shadow.

When the final note faded into the stillness, Jeongin let the silence settle, heavy but not suffocating. He set his guitar down gently, his eyes meeting each person’s in turn, offering a silent acknowledgment of their pain. “Thank you for sharing this space with me,” he said, his voice a soft balm even as his own heart bore the scars of past regrets. Too often did Jeongin lose sleep over how he, despite his profession, had failed to help you through your own grief. “Grief is heavy, but together, we can carry it, even if just for a moment.”

The young woman wiped at her tears, her face still etched with the rawness of her emotions, but in her eyes, there was a faint spark—a glimmer of relief, as if, for the first time in a long while, she felt a little less alone. The elderly man’s shoulders sagged, a heavy breath escaping his lips, as though a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment. Jeongin offered a small, gentle smile, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke of understanding and quiet encouragement. He picked up his guitar again, fingers brushing against the strings with a familiar, comforting touch.

“How about we end with something light?” he suggested, strumming a few upbeat chords, his eyes brightening with a hint of mischief. “Maybe a song that reminds us of hope. Even when it’s hard to see, it’s always there… waiting for us.” His words hung in the air like a promise, a tender reminder that there was light even in the darkest of places.

And so, with his voice soft but steady, Jeongin led them into another song—one that spoke of healing, of finding strength in the most shattered places, and of a quiet, enduring joy that could bloom even in the darkest seasons of life. This was a song Jeongin had written and composed in the wake of your absence, in the silence that followed your sudden departure. It was a song born of hope, crafted in those long months of not knowing, a song he had always dreamed of sharing with you. And as he sang, he let that hope fill the room, weaving through the notes, a quiet, resilient thread that held the promise of brighter days.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the group therapy session had officially ended, but Jeongin's office was still filled with the quiet shuffling of his patients gradually making their way out. This wasn't unusual; some of them often lingered, seeking a few more moments to connect or share their thoughts, and Jeongin never minded. He found these moments invaluable—an opportunity to touch base, to offer a final bit of encouragement or reassurance. 

As Jeongin turned to watch the last patient leave, he was surprised to find his friend Changbin leaning against the doorframe. Changbin’s muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and it only grew wider when Jeongin’s gaze finally met his. "Bin," Jeongin greeted with a slight bow, his dimples appearing as he returned his friend's smile. He moved toward his desk on the opposite end of the room, a space that served as both his office and a therapy room within the clinic.

Without waiting for an invitation, Changbin followed him, settling himself comfortably into the leather chair meant for Jeongin. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Jeongin let out a small huff of amusement at his friend's antics. He took a seat in one of the smaller chairs intended for his patients, his gaze fixed on Changbin. "What are you doing here?" Jeongin finally asked, watching his friend lounging back in the chair, hands interlocked casually behind his head.

Changbin's playful demeanor slowly shifted, his eyes losing their mischievous spark as they settled into something more serious. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Jeongin's desk, the sudden shift in atmosphere making Jeongin's heart pick up a little in pace. He tried to keep his expression soft, maintaining a small smile even as he braced himself for whatever Changbin had come to say.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence as Changbin seemed to struggle with his words, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know how Yongbok and Hannie wanted to have a joint celebration for their birthdays this Friday, right?" Jeongin's brows knit together in confusion; he hadn’t expected such a mundane topic. Still, he nodded, waiting for the real reason behind Changbin's visit.

"Well, everything will be pretty much the same... but we wanted to tell you this before you showed up." Changbin paused, his worried eyes meeting Jeongin's increasingly anxious gaze. After a deep breath, he continued, "Y/N moved back here a little over a week ago and reached out to us almost immediately. We helped them settle back down, and we've been spending some time with them, catching up on everything. Yongbok and Hannie wanted them to be included in their birthday celebration, but we also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're okay with that first."

Jeongin felt his entire world tilt on its axis, Changbin's words crashing into him like a wave he hadn’t braced for. A million questions stormed through his mind, so fast and furious that he couldn’t quite grasp a single one. "Wait." His hand shot up, signaling his need for a pause as he shifted forward, perching on the edge of his chair. His voice, tinged with betrayal and hurt, spilled out in a rushed breath, "What do you mean Y/N moved back here a week ago? Why am I just learning about this now?"

A look of guilt shadowed Changbin's face, his expression softening with regret. "Y/N asked us not to tell you for a little bit because they weren't ready to handle it yet... but now that everything's settled, they have a new job and everything—Y/N is ready to meet with you if you'd like." He hesitated, and a flicker of panic widened his eyes as he quickly added, "But you didn't hear that last part from me. Y/N wanted to be the one to reach out at some point today or tomorrow."

The silence that followed was heavy, all-consuming, wrapping around Jeongin like a thick fog. He struggled to wrap his mind around the news of your return, the idea of seeing you again so unexpectedly unsettling. The weight of your absence, the questions left unanswered, all resurfaced in that single moment, leaving him adrift in a sea of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Jeongin didn't quite know how to feel about you moving back into town after leaving him without so much as a goodbye. The news of your return stirred a storm of emotions within him, each one more complicated than the last. On one hand, he understood your reasons for leaving—the desperate need to escape from everything that reminded you of your younger sister, Nari, and the weight of your relationship with him, which had grown heavy with grief and unresolved pain. He could see why you had to flee, to distance yourself from the memories that clung to every corner of the town like shadows that wouldn't let you breathe. 

But understanding didn't erase the sting of abandonment. Jeongin couldn't ignore the countless sleepless nights he’d endured, his mind spiraling into an abyss of what-ifs and could-have-beens. He thought back to the moments when your relationship had still felt beautiful and safe, long before it had quietly begun to crumble beneath the weight of tragedy. In truth, he realized, the love between you had started to fray the very moment you received the devastating news of Nari’s fatal accident. It had unraveled slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what once was. By the time he officially ended things, the love you shared had already been gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

For months after you left, Jeongin had nearly driven himself to madness, caught in a vicious cycle of regret and self-blame. Every waking moment was spent agonizing over all the different ways he might have pulled you out of your grief. Could he have said something different, done something more? Could he have been more patient, more understanding? He had replayed these thoughts over and over, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. There was a time when he couldn’t even look at his own reflection without being reminded of his failure—his inability to be the anchor you needed in the storm of your sorrow. He blamed himself for your sudden departure, believing that if he had fought for you a little harder, if he had held on just a bit longer, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Slowly, though, Jeongin had begun to emerge from the shadows of his own grief. He had started to come to terms with the loss—not just of Nari, whom he had loved deeply through you, but also the loss of the future he had imagined with you by his side. He’d begun to accept that his own heartbreak, mixed with the suffocating weight of guilt, was something he needed to release in order to move forward. Jeongin had finally allowed himself to realize that in the grand scheme of things, staying by your side would have meant losing himself in the process, trying to bring back a version of you that had vanished the day Nari did. He’d come to understand that you were never going to be the same person again, and neither was he.

And now, just when he was starting to find a semblance of peace, you chose this moment to step back into his life. It felt like the ground he had just managed to steady himself on was beginning to shake once more. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he was ready to face you again, to reopen wounds that were only just beginning to scar over. Yet, there was also a flicker of something else—a hope, perhaps, or maybe just curiosity—about what this new chapter could bring. But whatever it was, it left him feeling unsettled, standing on the precipice of a past he had tried so hard to leave behind.

As his mind continued to swirl with a torrent of thoughts, Jeongin was startled by the bitterness that began to simmer beneath the surface of his heart. The resentment was unexpected, an emotion so potent that it almost frightened him. It clawed at him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he usually carried. But as his gaze lifted, his eyes locked with Changbin's, and he saw the concern etched in his friend's face. The anxiety in Changbin's sincere eyes was unmistakable, quietly tracking the cascade of emotions that flickered across Jeongin's vulnerable features like a storm passing through. 

Despite the sharp sting of betrayal—the feeling of being kept in the dark by his closest friends, who had not only hidden your return from him but also lied to him so they could spend time with you—Jeongin found a small measure of solace in Changbin’s quiet empathy. It was as if Changbin's presence anchored him, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t navigating these turbulent waters alone. In that brief moment, Jeongin’s chaotic thoughts cleared enough for him to take a deep, steadying breath. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, suddenly feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, heavy with the burden of emotions he could no longer ignore.

"I don’t know if I’ll be ready to meet with Y/N before the party," Jeongin confessed in a low murmur meant only for Changbin’s ears. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable, a raw and tender ache that clung to every word. He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts that seemed to scatter like leaves in the wind. "But I’m not going to stand in the way of Y/N joining the birthday party—especially since it’s not my place to decide that. I’ll still be there, and I want to be as civil as possible. So, please, don’t let anyone make it more awkward than it needs to be, or I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it."

His voice trembled by the end, his courage wavering as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Changbin's once more. There was a flicker of something fragile there, something almost hopeful, despite the tangled mess of his emotions. Changbin nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips, a small gesture of gratitude and understanding. He stood up, moving closer to lay a firm, reassuring hand on Jeongin’s shoulder—a rare show of affection, knowing how Jeongin tended to shy away from touch, especially when his emotions were laid bare like this.

"I’ll talk to the boys," Changbin promised, his voice steady, grounding. It was the most he could offer in that moment, aware of how delicate the situation was. 

With that, Changbin turned and quietly exited Jeongin's office, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, heavy with the weight of everything he was yet to fully comprehend. Jeongin remained seated, lost in the labyrinth of his own complicated emotions—anger, sadness, regret, and something else, something almost like a glimmer of hope—all swirling together in a chaotic dance that he had no idea how to untangle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

In the three days leading up to the eagerly awaited joint birthday party on Friday—an event hosted by Chan for Felix and Jisung—Jeongin found himself ensnared in a relentless spiral of anxiety and anticipation. The looming prospect of encountering you after nearly a year of absence gnawed at him with a persistence that bordered on torment. He grappled with a thousand imagined scenarios, each one an intricate tapestry of potential outcomes and emotional landmines. The uncertainty was a constant, unsettling presence in his life.

Jeongin’s small apartment, once shared with you, had become a labyrinth of memories and regrets. He often wandered its confines, the soft thud of his footsteps a mournful echo of the unease that had taken residence in his chest. The apartment seemed to sigh with each step he took, as if mourning the lost echoes of a time when you had been there. Despite his efforts to bury himself in work, the thought of you lingered like an unwelcome shadow, a constant undercurrent that refused to be ignored. He would catch himself staring at his phone, repeatedly re-reading the message you had sent him just hours after Changbin’s visit—a message that had become both a lifeline and a tormentor.

Your text, which read: 

Hey, Jeongin. It’s been a while. I know I left without much of an explanation and cut off contact... I’m sorry for how I handled things. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. But I wasn’t in the best place back then, and I needed time to figure things out on my own. I’m back in town now, and I’d like to talk sometime if you’re open to it. No pressure—I just feel like there are a lot of things that were left unsaid between us. Take care!

Every time Jeongin read these words, a storm of emotions would churn within him. The initial formality of your greeting felt like a cold draft from a distant past, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once existed between you. The passage of time loomed large, a reminder of the endless stretch of days that had passed since your sudden disappearance. He was struck by a poignant blend of nostalgia and pain, the abruptness of your departure a constant reminder of how unfinished your story had been.

Your apology, though a balm of sorts, stirred a complicated mix of relief and frustration within him. On one hand, it acknowledged the hurt you had caused, but on the other, it left a multitude of unresolved questions hanging in the air. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did you sever all contact? Jeongin understood that you were not in a good place and needed space, but that understanding did little to soothe the sting of abandonment he felt. The sense of being left in the dark, coupled with a profound sadness over his inability to help you, left him grappling with a blend of guilt and anger.

The mention of wanting to talk now jolted him, a surge of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. He was torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of reopening old wounds. The prospect of addressing the myriad of things left unsaid between you brought with it a flood of memories—regrets, unresolved issues, and a yearning for closure. Each re-reading of your message plunged him deeper into a whirlpool of complicated thoughts and emotions, the turbulence of his feelings both paralyzing and consuming.

Ultimately, Jeongin found himself unable to craft a suitable response, and so he chose silence. His decision not to reply was one shrouded in uncertainty, a choice that left him questioning whether it was the right one. The silence that followed was both a refuge and a torment, a delicate balance between preserving his own peace and the unresolved echo of your return.

The night of the party arrived under a canopy of crisp, clear sky, the stars shimmering with an almost mocking brilliance. Jeongin drifted through the evening like a specter, his senses overwhelmed by a world that seemed too bright, too noisy, and far too indifferent to his turmoil. His apartment, once a sanctuary, had become a chaotic jumble of discarded outfits—each one cast aside with a frustrated sigh and a sense of resignation. The fabric of his clothes lay strewn about like the remnants of a battle fought and lost against his own anxiety. Nothing felt right, and the more he tried, the more he was convinced that nothing ever would.

Eventually, he settled on a modest ensemble—simple, unobtrusive, and devoid of any hint of personal flair. As he dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw was a stranger staring back—an image of confusion and trepidation. He attempted a smile, one that was supposed to be confident and reassuring, but it fell flat, a mere shadow of what he hoped to project. By the time he arrived at Chan's place, his nerves were a live wire, sparking and fizzing with every heartbeat.

The apartment, already abuzz with the lively hum of music and the warm murmur of laughter, was suffused with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast. Jeongin took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping into the vibrant chaos. Felix, ever the beacon of warmth, was the first to greet him. His smile was a radiant crescent, eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a galaxy etched upon his cheeks and nose. Felix enveloped Jeongin in a tight, enthusiastic hug, and Jeongin could almost gauge the number of drinks Felix had indulged in by the exuberance of the embrace. As he disentangled himself from the fervent welcome, he was met with a slew of half-hidden concern and reassuring smiles that nearly suffocated him with their well-meaning pity.

He made his way to the kitchen, where the counter was a tableau of gifts—boxes and bags for Felix and Han piled high in cheerful disarray. Jeongin added his own contribution to the heap and then sought refuge in the cool solace of the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to soothe his parched throat. But then, as if fate itself had conspired to make this night even more unbearable, you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You had been laughing lightly, a melodic sound that seemed to dance on the air, but upon spotting Jeongin, you froze mid-step. The sight of you was like a flash of brilliance in an otherwise dim landscape. You looked as radiant as ever, with a glimmer of the light that had once illuminated your eyes returning to them—a light Jeongin had once lost himself in with reckless abandon. At that moment, the gravity of his own emotions hit him with a brutal clarity. Despite having ended the relationship, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still desperately, achingly in love with you. Even after nearly a year of separation, the feelings remain undiminished.

You slowly composed yourself, though your body remained taut with the remnants of surprise. The smile you gave him was both disarming and electrifying, sending a shiver through him. With a polite bow, you greeted him, your voice soft and warm as you said, “I’m really glad to see you again, Jeongin.” The way you spoke his name made his knees feel weak, the sheer depth of his longing crystallizing in that single, familiar sound. He had not fully grasped how much he had yearned to hear his name on your lips again until that very moment.

Unable to find words, Jeongin merely bowed in return, his smile shy and tremulous. He watched you turn and leave the kitchen with a hurried pace, your earlier purpose forgotten. The realization dawned on him that he might need more than just water to navigate the emotional maelstrom of the evening.

Chan's party was a sanctuary of familiarity, a gathering of a close-knit circle of friends who had weathered years together. The night had unfolded in a haze of laughter and lively banter, and now, as Jeongin found himself pleasantly intoxicated from the endless rounds of drinking games, he couldn't help but revel in the camaraderie that had once again enveloped the room. It felt undeniably comforting to have everyone gathered under one roof again, especially you.

The past year had cast a shadow over the group's dynamic, your absence an unspoken void that lingered between them, palpable despite the silence. Yet now, with your return, the room seemed to breathe with a renewed vitality. It was as though the very air had shifted, carrying with it a sense of ease that had been sorely missed. Jeongin observed you from a distance, his gaze drawn to you as you reengaged with the group. He noted with quiet awe how you moved through conversations with an effortless grace, the same grace that had once been your hallmark.

It was apparent that you had emerged from the clutches of your grief, a revelation that stirred a profound admiration within Jeongin. The way you laughed, genuinely and freely, was a testament to your resilience. Though you had left without a word, seeking solace far away, you had returned with a newfound lightness. The laughter that now danced from your lips was a melody Jeongin had missed, a balm for the aching absence that had haunted him throughout the past year.

Jeongin watched with a bittersweet smile as you engaged with everyone—how your eyes crinkled at the corners when joy sparked within you, how they would occasionally meet his gaze with a fleeting, shy acknowledgment before darting away, leaving behind a gentle blush. Each moment was a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of your reunion, painting a picture of someone who had found a way to heal and reconnect.

The sight of you dancing playfully with Han to a song you both claimed had been crafted just for you was particularly poignant. Your movements were a symphony of carefree delight, a stark contrast to the somber image Jeongin had harbored of you. In these shared, joyful moments, as you reintegrated into the tapestry of old friendships, Jeongin felt his heart tugged with an intensity that defied explanation.

Though the effects of alcohol swirled around him, amplifying emotions and blurring the edges of reality, Jeongin knew that the depth of his feelings for you transcended any inebriation. The love he harbored was as real and potent as ever, a force that no amount of alcohol could replicate or diminish. He was falling for you once more, each glance and shared laugh reaffirming the connection that had never truly faded, only waiting for the right moment to reawaken.

Despite the undeniable truth of his lingering affection for you, Jeongin remained uncertain of how to navigate these turbulent emotions. For now, he chose to keep his feelings veiled in silence, retreating into the solitude of his thoughts. The haze of confusion was abruptly dispelled by the firm, reassuring weight of Minho’s hand settling on his shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

Minho, his eyes glazed with the soft blur of alcohol—though not nearly as intoxicated as Felix and Han—clapped his hands together, a signal for attention. His voice, amplified by cupped hands, cut through the ambient noise of music and conversation. "Guys! Guys!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the increasingly inebriated crowd. The room fell into a collective hush, eager eyes fixed on Minho as he continued with a grin that spoke of mischief. "As per Yongbok’s request, we’re about to kick off a game of UNO! But there’s a twist: every time someone lands a Plus Four card, we all take a shot. And the loser—well, they get a revolting concoction of mixed alcohols and juices!"

The announcement ignited a burst of enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy crackling with anticipation. Laughter and playful shoves accompanied the clumsy shuffle to the circular coffee table at the heart of the living room. Jeongin, with a flicker of hope in his heart, watched as you navigated the sea of friends. His wish to have you beside him was met with a hint of disappointment as you chose a seat directly across from him, nestled between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

The seating arrangement became a familiar circle of camaraderie and chaos: You directly across from Jeongin, Seungmin to your right, Chan to Seungmin’s right, Felix to Chan’s right, Jeongin to Felix’s right, Minho to Jeongin’s right, Han to Minho’s right, Changbin to Hyunjin’s right, and Hyunjin bridging the gap between you and Changbin. The table soon overflowed with the raucous sound of drunken laughter, mischievous plotting, and playful bickering.

Jeongin found himself in an unexpected streak of triumph, his luck seemingly endless as he conquered each round of UNO. The others began to whisper suspicions of cheating, their playful accusations accompanied by slurred speech and tipsy frustration. Chan’s voice, tinged with exasperation, rose above the din. "How is it even possible that you’ve been winning non-stop?" he demanded, his words distorted by a chorus of drinks and Seungmin’s relentless strategy.

Jeongin rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become almost automatic in the face of such claims. Han, who had just suffered the fate of the foul concoction, gagged dramatically as he placed the empty cup down with a groan. The room’s attention shifted to you as you slammed your palm onto the table, a spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. The gesture was a beacon of playful challenge, and it made Jeongin’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Stand up then, if you’re not cheating," you teased, your voice laced with both suspicion and amusement. The room buzzed with agreement, and Jeongin could not suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he rose to his feet. He had sobered somewhat since the game began, the action feeling less consequential for him than for the others.

Throughout the night, the games were interspersed with moments of easy banter between you and Jeongin, a reminder of the lighthearted days before the heartache had set in. Each playful remark, every shared glance, and the way you laughed at his jokes tugged at him, rekindling memories of warmth and affection. The realization of how deeply he missed the feeling of being in love with you clenched his heart painfully.

As Jeongin turned around slowly to prove his hands were empty, he couldn’t resist a smirk. "You didn’t empty out your pockets," you persisted, your stubbornness both charming and exasperating.

He met your gaze with a playful smirk of his own, the words slipping out before he could fully process their impact. "Come on, baby, don’t be like that," he said, his tone teasing.

The room fell silent in stunned unison, the playful atmosphere abruptly shifting to one of surprise and second-hand embarrassment. The weight of Jeongin’s unintended endearment hung in the air, leaving everyone, including him, to grapple with the sudden shift in the night’s delicate balance.

Jeongin’s heart sank as he watched the color drain from your face, a pallor of shock and disbelief that spoke volumes in the charged silence that followed. The name he had unintentionally let slip—a relic of a time when you were together—seemed to strike a chord deep within you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes revealed a heartache that cut through the pretense of composure you so desperately tried to maintain. The expression of hurt was almost palpable, like a silent scream against the fabric of the night.

You managed to reassemble yourself with a stubborn facade of mischief, your smile a delicate mask that barely concealed the storm within. Your words, though laced with playful banter, seemed to cut through the tension with a sharp edge. "I just think it's unnatural how many times you’ve won," you remarked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jeongin’s slip-up hung in the air, a tangible weight that seemed to sour the atmosphere of the gathering. Despite your attempt to downplay the incident with a light-hearted quip, the sting of the old nickname echoed like a ghost of past intimacy, making the room feel suddenly foreign and strained. The previously buoyant mood had shifted, leaving behind an undercurrent of unease that neither the laughter nor the playful jabs could dispel.

Jeongin could feel the churning turmoil within him, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. The game continued around him, but he found himself withdrawing, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Each stolen glance, each forced smile, was a reminder of the painful reminder of how things had changed. The night, which had started with such promise, now felt heavy and laden with unresolved emotions.

As the hour grew late and the laughter waned, the group, sensing the shift in energy, collectively decided it was time to call it a night. The revelry that had marked the evening dissolved into a subdued murmur as everyone prepared to leave. For Jeongin, the end of the night came as a relief, though it was tinged with a sense of lingering regret and an unspoken wish for things to be different.

As Jeongin made his way through the dimly lit apartment, exchanging farewells with the departing guests, he caught a fleeting glimpse of you darting out of the building. His heart, already heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions, quickened its pace as he instinctively sought to follow. With an urgency driven by both concern and an aching need to make things right, Jeongin scrambled to retrieve his jacket and pull on his shoes, the night air already beginning to bite at his skin as he hurried after you.

He managed to intercept you just as you stepped out onto the cold street. Your name slipped from his lips before he could catch it, a desperate utterance that hung in the frosty air between you. You paused, your breath visible in the night’s chill, and both of you stood there for a moment, hearts racing in unison. Jeongin's breath came in ragged bursts as he caught up with you, the weight of his impulsive actions settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Let me walk you home,” Jeongin implored, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anxiety and hope. The words, simple yet laden with his longing, seemed to hang in the air, as though the night itself held its breath in anticipation of your response. Your eyes softened, reflecting a tempest of emotions as they met his, and your lips parted slightly as if struggling to find the right words.

Instead of speaking, you turned and began walking forward, your steps deliberate yet hesitant. Jeongin, interpreting your silence as tacit consent, fell into step beside you. The street stretched out before you, unfamiliar and shadowed, and the air between you was charged with unspoken sentiments and lingering regrets. Walking side by side felt oddly reminiscent of days gone by, a bittersweet echo of times shared with friends, now tinged with the ache of what had been lost.

In the week since Jeongin learned of your return, he had been trapped in a cycle of conflicting emotions. The pangs of missing you, of realizing the depth of his feelings that still burned despite everything, battled with the frustration of your unexplained departure. Each time anger threatened to overwhelm him, guilt swiftly followed, a reminder of the suffering you must have endured. His internal struggle was a storm of longing and resentment, a turbulent sea he had yet to navigate.

As he stole glances at your profile in the dim streetlight, the familiar contours of your face brought an unexpected rush of grief. Memories of your younger sister, Nari, flooded his mind—her laughter, a joyful sound that once filled the air, her enthusiastic embraces that had always greeted him with warmth. Your eyes, once so bright with shared mirth, now seemed dimmed by her absence.

The realization that Nari would never again tackle him in playful greeting, that her laughter would never again ring out, was a heavy burden. It pressed down on Jeongin’s heart, a reminder of the irreplaceable void left behind. The twinkle that once danced in your eyes when you laughed at Nari's jokes was now a distant memory, a reminder of how deeply her loss had affected both of you. As you walked together through the unfamiliar streets, the weight of these lost joys seemed to bear down on Jeongin, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Engulfed in the whirlpool of his own somber reflections, Jeongin barely noticed when you came to a halt before an old, weathered apartment building. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, he continued forward for a few steps, his mind adrift in a sea of regret and longing. It was only when the melodic sound of your giggle reached his ears, a playful echo that cut through the fog of his melancholy, that he realized he was walking alone. With a start, he turned, his face flushing with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand before you.

You were standing there, your knuckles clenched tightly around the strap of your bag, a telltale sign of the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. Your lips were caught between your teeth, a nervous habit that Jeongin had come to know all too well. The sight of your distress mirrored his own internal turmoil, causing his foot to tap restlessly on the pavement as he waited for you to speak. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy shroud that seemed to settle between you.

After a few moments of strained silence, you released a shaky breath and offered him a small, timid smile. "It was good to see you again," you said softly, the words tinged with a trace of the anxiety that laced your voice. It was the same sentiment you had voiced earlier in the night, when you had first reappeared in Chan's kitchen after an eight-month absence.

This time, Jeongin’s response came with a gravity that reflected the depth of your absence. "I’m glad you came back," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the months spent apart, yet softened by a flicker of genuine contentment.

Your smile, though hesitant, shone brightly against the backdrop of the night. It was a beacon that pierced through the haze of Jeongin’s heartache, and despite the unresolved tension, he couldn’t help but return it with a warm, albeit uncertain, smile of his own. The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a delicate balance between the urge to bridge the gap and the inability to articulate the depth of your emotions.

As you cast an awkward glance back at the entrance of your apartment, Jeongin understood that you were grappling with the same indecision that plagued him. "This is me," you said, your voice betraying a trace of nervousness as you cleared your throat. "My place is a bit of a distance from our—sorry, your apartment. If you’re comfortable, I can offer you my couch for the night."

Despite the initial reluctance that had gripped him, the prospect of spending more time with you, however fleeting, was too inviting to resist. Jeongin found himself smiling softly, a gesture of acceptance that was both hesitant and heartfelt. Your genuine, wide smile in response seemed to illuminate the night, lifting the veil of uncertainty that had surrounded him. With a renewed sense of hope and a lingering trace of longing, Jeongin followed you inside, each step towards your apartment a tentative step towards mending the fragile thread that connected your hearts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your new apartment, though modest in size, exudes a quiet charm, nestled in a serene part of town far removed from the familiar streets you once traversed with Jeongin. The moment he crosses the threshold, he is enveloped by a dissonance of emotions—a strange fusion of comfort and estrangement. The space is distinctly different from the apartment you once shared, yet your presence lingers in every corner, making Jeongin feel both intimately connected and like an outsider peering into a world that has shifted just out of reach.

The living room, modestly furnished, reflects a minimalist elegance. A soft, neutral-colored couch rests against the wall, draped with a knitted throw blanket that adds a touch of warmth. This room is a far cry from the eclectic mix of your past home—a space once filled with a vibrant blend of your belongings and his—but it still bears the subtle imprint of your personality. A small shelf brims with books, many titles familiar from your old collection, but new ones have also appeared, whispering of the changes and growth you’ve experienced in your absence. The windowsill cradles a few houseplants, their greenery a delicate contrast to the sprawling flora that once filled your old living space. They are smaller, more contained, reflecting a more subdued chapter of your life.

Jeongin’s gaze drifts to the walls, bare and unadorned, stark in their emptiness. Gone are the framed photos and art prints that once animated every corner of your shared apartment. The absence of pictures—particularly those of the two of you—leaves an unexpected sting, a painful reminder of what has been left behind. Instead, there is a single framed photograph of your younger sister on a side table by the window, surrounded by a cluster of candles. It stands as a quiet tribute, a poignant memorial that tugs at Jeongin’s heartstrings, reminding him of the grief that ultimately drove a wedge between you both.

The apartment is imbued with a subdued quietness, a stark contrast to the lively energy of your former home, where laughter and soft music once intertwined to create a vibrant ambiance. Here, the atmosphere is more solitary, introspective, as if the space has been intentionally crafted as a sanctuary for healing—a refuge from the chaos of the past. A small kitchen table, cluttered with a few empty glasses and a half-read book, suggests many solitary evenings spent with your thoughts, lost in the pages or gazing into the distance, ensnared by memories.

The kitchen itself bears no evidence of the late-night culinary adventures you used to drag him into, those joyous moments of laughter and flour-covered countertops. As Jeongin takes in the scene, he is overwhelmed by a complex weave of emotions—nostalgia for what was, sorrow for what has been lost, and a poignant ache for the version of you who now stands before him. The differences are striking, revealing a careful, deliberate solitude you’ve constructed around yourself in this new space. It feels as though you’ve created a bubble of tranquility, a place where you can breathe freely from the weight of the past, and he wonders if there is still a place for him within it or if you have moved on to a new chapter without him.

The emptiness of your new apartment weighs heavily on him. It’s not merely the physical void but the absence of the vibrant, unfiltered you that he used to know. Standing there, a guest in what might have been his world, Jeongin is acutely aware of how much has changed and how deeply he still yearns for the comfort of what once was, now replaced by the stark reality of what is.

As Jeongin steps into your new apartment, he takes in its subtle details with a blend of curiosity and nostalgia. You move about with a quiet, almost anxious energy, as if the mere act of tidying is a way to manage the fluttering tension between you. Your hands, unsure of their purpose, engage in small, inconsequential tasks: smoothing the corner of the knitted blanket draped over the couch, adjusting the book that rests on the kitchen table, and shifting a houseplant slightly to the left. It is evident that you are aware of his gaze, but you strive to give him space to absorb his surroundings.

The silence stretches until you break it, your voice soft yet resolute. "It's not much, but... it's mine." There’s a delicate balance in your tone, a mixture of pride laced with vulnerability. You glance at him, seeking to gauge his reaction, your eyes reflecting a world of untold emotions. As you move towards the small kitchen area, you open a cabinet and retrieve two glasses. "Do you want some water? Tea? I think I have some wine if you'd prefer that." Your words tumble out in a gentle stream, an attempt to fill the quiet with something tangible, yet they carry an earnestness that reveals your underlying uncertainty about where you both stand.

Jeongin watches you, his gaze softening as he observes the careful grace of your movements—each gesture imbued with a quiet protectiveness, as if you're safeguarding something tender within yourself. The silence deepens for a moment before he responds, his voice subdued and tentative. "Water's fine." It is clear that he is navigating this new terrain with caution, his tone reflective of the delicate balance between past familiarity and present distance. You nod and move towards the fridge, your back turned to him as you pour the water.

Jeongin’s eyes wander around the apartment once more, deliberately avoiding the back of your head as you focus on the task at hand. When you hand him the glass, your fingers brush against his, sending a shiver through him. It’s a sensation he’s not quite accustomed to after all this time apart. He accepts the glass with a quiet "thanks," savoring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat. 

"Let’s sit," you suggest, motioning towards the couch. There is a steadiness in your voice that carries a quiet confidence, reminiscent of the times you had managed to ground him amidst the chaos. Jeongin follows you and settles beside you on the couch. The cushions feel foreign and different from those he remembers, amplifying his sense of longing for the comfort of the home you once shared. 

For a brief moment, Jeongin is at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the tangled emotions in his chest. He is unsure where to begin, but you gently ease the tension. "How’s work been?" you inquire, your voice a soothing balm to the heaviness in the room. "Are you still at the same clinic?" 

Grateful for the opening, Jeongin nods. "Yeah, still there. We started a new program recently... working with kids who've been through some really tough stuff. It’s been challenging, but rewarding." He watches as your eyes soften, a sign of the empathy and kindness he’s always admired in you. The sight of your genuine smile, the one he’s missed so dearly, is like a balm on a wound that has long ached. 

"That sounds so nice. You've always been so good with children." Your compliment is heartfelt, and Jeongin feels a pang of longing.

He responds with a light-hearted joke, "That’s more your area of expertise," referring to your work as a school counselor. You chuckle softly, taking a sip of water, and Jeongin senses there’s more you wish to share.

"And... what about everything else? How have you been holding up?" Your question is gentle but probing, and Jeongin’s grip tightens around his glass.

"It’s been... different," he admits. "The apartment feels empty without you there. Like something’s missing."

Jeongin hadn't intended for his words to emerge with such raw intensity, but they tumble out before he can rein them in. He watches as they land upon you, the way your gaze falls and a shadow of sorrow flits across your face. "I'm sorry," you murmur, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room. "For leaving like that. I didn’t know what else to do."

Your apology strikes a chord deep within him, a resonance of shared pain and regret. "I know," he replies softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I don’t really blame you. We both had to figure things out." The atmosphere between you shifts, the earlier tension giving way to something more tender—like an old wound beginning to mend. 

Jeongin sits beside you on the couch, his nerves stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken words. His hands are clenched in his lap, a desperate attempt to hold himself together as the silence stretches, thick and heavy. His gaze is drawn to you, to the way you hold your glass of water—fingers wrapped around it as if it were a lifeline, anchoring you to some semblance of normalcy. 

He recognizes that look in your eyes—the one that signals you are about to reveal something profound, something that has been weighing on you. "When I left," you start, your voice so faint it nearly dissolves into the air. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat. He had no clear expectations for the evening, but he can feel that whatever is coming will be laced with pain.

"I didn’t really have a plan," you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I just... needed to get away." He watches as your eyes drift to the water in your glass, your reflection shimmering and distorted. The impulse to reach out and offer comfort is almost overwhelming, but he remains still, his focus entirely on you.

"I ended up halfway across the country," you say, your voice gaining a faint thread of strength. "I reached out to Lily. You remember her, right? From college?" Jeongin nods, a wistful smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. He recalls Lily’s vivacious spirit, her constant care for you, and feels a pang of gratitude that she was there for you in a way he couldn't be.

"She didn’t ask questions; she just told me to come," you add. Jeongin’s heart clenches at the image of you in a strange, distant place, the weight of your grief looming like an oppressive storm. He loathes the thought of you feeling so alone and adrift, needing to travel so far for solace.

"She lives in this tiny coastal town," you continue, your voice lightening slightly as you recall the memory. "For a while, I thought maybe that was what I needed—being somewhere far away from everything." Jeongin can almost visualize it—a serene seaside town where the waves gently erase footprints, a place where time seems to stretch indefinitely, offering a balm for the wounded soul.

Yet, beneath the surface of your words, Jeongin senses an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The coastal retreat, while soothing, evidently fell short of the healing you sought. His heart aches, burdened by the realization that he wasn’t able to provide the support you needed, even as he too was grappling with his own struggles. The distance between your shared past and the present feels vast, and he yearns for a way to bridge that gap, to be the anchor you needed, even though he was floundering himself.

You pause, and Jeongin watches as you swallow hard, the movement of your throat a testament to the weight of your words. "I eventually realized that it wasn't enough," you say, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I needed more help. So, I checked myself into a grief recovery program..." The words falter, and Jeongin feels a tightening in his chest, the emotion reflected in your wavering tone. "A place where people go when they've lost someone and don't know how to keep living."

He stares at you, his vision blurring as he grapples with the magnitude of your suffering. He's known grief, but seeing it through your eyes—so raw, so utterly consuming—is a new experience for him. Guilt crashes over him like a relentless wave. He wasn't there for you. He couldn't help. He didn't even know how to begin.

Jeongin opens his mouth, an apology poised on his lips, but you continue, your voice cutting through the silence with a quiet determination. "There were days I wanted to leave, but I stayed. I wrote a lot. I planted a small garden there, just to feel like I was nurturing something again, you know? And slowly, I started to remember things without feeling like they were completely breaking me."

His hands tremble in his lap, the truth of your words stirring a deep regret within him. He should be happy that you found a way forward, relieved that you began to heal, but instead, he is overwhelmed by the ache of not being there for you—by the realization that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. His eyes search yours, desperate for some sign that you don’t harbor hatred towards him.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I ended things when you needed me. I didn’t know how to help you through it, and I—"

You shake your head, a wistful smile curving your lips. "I didn’t know how to let you help me, either. And I wasn’t ready to accept Nari’s death and move on yet. That’s why I left." Your words settle into the spaces between his ribs, a cold weight pressing heavily on his chest. He wants to explain, to tell you that he was lost too, that he struggled to keep his own head above water while watching you drown. But he stays silent, knowing that this moment belongs to you, just as much as it does to him.

"I needed to find a way to live with the grief," you say softly, "to not let it define every part of me. And maybe I needed to see if I could come back and face everything, including you."

Jeongin’s heart skips at that, a flicker of hope igniting within him. There is a softness in your eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, a hint of something that almost resembles hope. He takes a breath, feeling a slight loosening of the weight of his own regrets. "I'm glad you did," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you—missed this, even if it wasn’t always easy."

You nod, and he sees a myriad of emotions dance across your face—relief, uncertainty, and perhaps the faintest trace of affection. There is much to unpack, many layers to explore, but for now, this moment of quiet honesty, of shared pain and cautious hope, feels like a tentative step towards understanding.

Jeongin notices his hand is closer to yours than he had realized, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to reach out, to touch your skin once more. But he doesn’t. Not yet. For now, he is content to sit beside you, to listen, and to cherish the hope that this—whatever it is—might be the beginning of finding each other again.

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🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

[todorkihoe]

Red Hot

Now, he doesn’t know what he was expecting the item to be when he decided to grab it. Perhaps he thought it was a sock or maybe a handkerchief. But what he was not expecting was a skimpy pair of lacy, fiery red panties.

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: smut 18+

content warnings: panty stealing/sniffing/licking, solo (m) masturbation, unprotected sex, some embarrassment/getting caught, oral & fingering (f receiving)

word count: 3.2k

synopsis: you accidentally leave behind a pair of your underwear in the laundry room and your hot neighbor steals them

a/n:  literally like the first thing i’ve written in 3 years lmfaooo but fun fact about this fic is that it was originally a todoroki fic that had been rotting in my drafts and i found it and thought hmmm this could be repurposed. also the actual HELL i had to go through getting tumblr to work before i could post this could not be understated

You were a mess today. Truly a mess.

Now that’s not to say that you aren’t a mess every day, but today is particularly bad. You’re just thankful that you’ve managed to avoid everyone in your apartment building as you trudge down to the basement to get to the communal washers and dryers.

If anyone were to see you they’d be horrified, to say the very least. It had been too long since you’d done a load of laundry, leaving you to wear a too-small pair of shorts, an old stained t-shirt, and mismatched socks. Not to mention the haggard expression on your face from many sleepless nights of studying and working. 

So in short- you were a mess.

You once again luck out as you walk into the laundry room, delighted to see that no one is around to hear you grumble about your chores. You hum quietly as you pull the detergent and scent-boosting beads from your laundry basket and pour a bit of each in, taking a whiff of the fresh scent. Doing laundry was horrible but nice-smelling and clean clothes were not. You continue the task of transferring your dirty clothes in the washing machine until you’re so rudely interrupted by someone else entering the room.

But not just anyone of course. No, because Gojo Satoru is definitely not just anyone. 

He’s the hot neighbor you’ve had a crush on since the day he moved into the apartment across from yours, and you’re not the only one. Nearly everyone in this building has a crush on him and for good reason. He’s tall and strikingly handsome with a strong physique and voice that sends a pleasurable chill down your spine.

You’re hardly able to contain a flustered squeak when he acknowledges you with a smile before setting up at the washer next to yours. You bite your lip to keep from saying anything stupid because his presence is intoxicating and if you lean a just little to the right you’d be able to smell his cologne and-

“Y/N?”

At the sound of your name leaving his oh-so-pink lips, you blink stupidly multiple times to see him looking at you with a slight, knowing grin. Cocky bastard.

“Huh?”

“Oh, I just asked if I could borrow some of your detergent. I accidentally forgot mine up in my apartment,” he reiterates as that stupid grin remains plastered across his face. You rush out a “yes” and hand the detergent to him, unable to meet his piercing eyes after zoning out in a fantasy about him when he was standing right next to you.

You feel your face heat up in embarrassment, knowing that Gojo isn’t stupid. He’s smart enough to know when people are checking him out. The longer you stand next to him, the more you start to overthink the short interaction and the more you want to leave. So you do. You rapidly throw the rest of your clothes in and close the washer before hurrying away without saying goodbye. 

Gojo watches you practically run out of the room in surprise. He knew he flustered you, but did he do something wrong? He ponders the situation while putting his clothes in the washer and looking over at the laundry basket you left before he spots a singular red item in the white basket. Now Gojo knows that he shouldn’t look; it’s not his business if you forgot something so he definitely shouldn’t look. And it’s certainly not the gentlemanly thing to do, but it’s you and Gojo wouldn’t call himself a particular gentleman.

Now, he doesn’t know what he was expecting the item to be when he decided to grab it. Perhaps he thought it was a sock or maybe a handkerchief. But what he was not expecting was a skimpy pair of lacy, fiery red panties. 

His eyes widen in pleased surprise at this unknown side of you and he can’t help the flush of blood to his face and other places. He curls his fist around the fabric as images of you wearing nothing but the underwear flood his mind and he fails to fight the tightening of his pants.

Gojo snaps out of it quickly, realizing he’s standing in the very communal laundry room holding your panties. What should he do with them? There was no way he was going to chase after you while holding your underwear, he couldn’t open your washer and put them in because the cycle had already started, and he couldn’t put them back because when you came back down you’d certainly know that he’d seen them. What was he to do?

Gojo made his decision and turned back to his washer to put the rest of his clothes in before leaving. 

With your panties in his pocket. 

He quickly makes his way to the elevator, thankful that he hadn't run into anyone while sporting an impressively large bulge in his jeans. He steps into the elevator and presses the number of your shared floor before backing up against the wall. Riddled with only mild guilt and overwhelming lust, Gojo lets out a long sigh before the image of you under him once again appears and he slides his hand into his pocket, rubbing the thin lace of your panties between two slender fingers.

When the elevator doors finally open, he quickly walks out and pauses in front of the door to your apartment for a moment, picturing what you might be doing. Picturing what you might look like in… He then walks over to his own door and unlocks it with shaky hands before stepping in and locking it immediately.

His fingers drift into his pocket and he pulls the panties out to look down at them. God this felt so dirty, stealing his neighbor's underwear and getting hard with them in his hand. Gojo knows he should probably feel guilty but at this point he doesn’t care, bringing his hand with the panties down to his clothed crotch and grinding against it with an airy groan. His head falls back against the door with a quiet thud as he continues to palm himself through his jeans.

Gojo imagines you beneath him, wearing only the red panties, calling his name, and begging in your sweet voice for him to touch you. He lets out another quiet groan at the thought of you and makes his way to sit down on his bed. He pulls his shirt over his head, imagining it was your hands stripping him of his clothes. Without thinking, he brings the panties up to his nose and inhales your scent deeply while using his other hand to rub the bulge in his pants.

As his tongue pokes through his lips in an attempt to taste your juices on the fabric, his hand desperately fumbles with his zipper to free his aching cock. He lets out a low moan as he wraps his hand around his long shaft, slowly rubbing his thumb over the leaking tip and gasping out your name.

“Fuck Y/N-” he moans out as he starts to slowly slide his hand up and down his length. His whole body felt hot at the idea of you. As his desperation builds, so does the pace of his hand, becoming tighter and more erratic as an uncontrollable slew of words falls from his mouth.

“Dirty girl…probably left these for me to find,” he groans through clenched teeth. “Wanted me to picture-f-fuck-picture what you’d look like with your legs spread for me u-ugh,”. He brings your panties down from his face to wrap the fabric around his cock, furiously bucking his hips. Seconds later, with a strangled groan, he spills into his fist and all over your delicate lace. 

Satoru looks down at his mess and sighs heavily, laying back in bed and filled with a lust-addled determination to get you in here with him.

Later the next day, when Satoru takes the elevator down to the lobby to retrieve some mail, he spots you unlocking your mailbox and strides over. Upon feeling someone enter your space, you look up and are shocked at the sight of Gojo staring straight at you.

“Gonna run off again, neighbor?”

You sputter out some pathetic non-answer and he only chuckles at you while unlocking his own mailbox, right next to yours. In the past few months that you and Gojo have been neighbors, you’ve rarely spoken or gotten to know one another. As if reading your mind, he asks, “Would you like to come up for coffee? If you’re not busy, that is,” as he grabs a few letters from his mailbox.

You can feel the heat rise to your face and can’t help the look of surprise. You mean to say “yes” or nod but without thinking, simply ask “Why?” giving Gojo a look of surprise as well. You swear you see a tinge of pink on his cheeks as he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Dunno…thought you might like to share a drink. If not, that’s fine-”

“No! Sorry no, I mean I’d really like that, yeah,” you respond a bit sheepishly. He smiles at you and extends his arm, gesturing to the elevator, letting you enter first. He follows in as you press the button to your shared floor, shifting from foot to foot a little awkwardly in the silence. Neither of you says anything as the elevator reaches your floor and you continue in silence, following Gojo to his apartment right across from yours.

Sometime later, after the both of you spent a copious amount of time trying to figure out Gojo’s fancy coffee machine that he had apparently never used, you’re both sat in his living room engaging in light conversation. He seemed to be very interested in your life, asking about your work, education, and hobbies rather than talking about himself. The attention focused solely on you was intense but welcomed, and you were glad that the awkwardness from earlier was gone.

Upon laughing at some stupid joke Gojo made, you spill a bit of your drink on your hands and shirt. “Oh, jeez, would you mind if I used your bathroom real quick?

“Oh yeah, of course. I’m assuming our layouts are the same so you know where it is?”

“Down that hall, right?” you ask, and when he nods in confirmation, you walk in that direction. It appears that your respective apartments were built the same way so you turn right at the end of the hall, thinking it’ll be the bathroom. Wrong. You’ve now accidentally entered Gojo’s bedroom, but before you turn on your heel to go left instead, something that’s bright red in color catches your eye from his nightstand.

You can’t tell what it is from here, but it does look vaguely familiar and you know you should absolutely not snoop in his apartment. You’re a guest and sneaking into his bedroom is just about the most invasive thing you could do but you can’t help yourself from tip-toeing in. When you reach his nightstand, your subconscious suspicion is confirmed: there is, in fact, a very scandalous pair of your underwear sitting on your neighbor's nightstand sporting very curious stains.

You stand in shock for a moment, deliberating your next move. Pretending you never saw this and turning around to go to the bathroom was an option. But the knowledge of this scene would certainly eat away at you in more ways than one. The other option is to confront him about this, and without even really weighing the pros and cons, you hook one finger around your underwear to lift them and walk back into the living room.

“Did you find the bathroo–Oh..” Gojo’s voice trails off weakly when he sees the item in your hand. His mouth gapes open and closed like a fish and a deep crimson begins to paint his cheeks as he struggles to find anything to say. You stand silently and expectantly, warmth bleeding into your face in a similar fashion.

A few more tense moments pass before he attempts to clear his throat and explain. “When we were in the laundry room the other day, you…you left them and I..took them and then-” his voice begins to crack in embarrassment at the end of the statement, the reality of what exactly he’d done with your panties hanging in the air.

His gaze is almost pained as it drops back to the floor, fearing your disgust. But, you don’t feel disgusted, rather you feel quite flattered, and it emboldens you to take a step forward, voice dropping to a lull.

“Y’know..these are my favorite pair and you ruined them.” Gojo flinches and opens his mouth but you cut him off with a seductive whisper, “I think you should make it up to me.”

He lifts his head quickly in surprise, assessing your demeanor closely before a dangerous glint appears in his eyes. “Yeah?” he asks throatily. You answer with a nod, not trusting your voice to be strong enough. He tilts his head, considering you for a moment, and before you can react, he’s stepping forward and his lips are crashing against yours. 

You respond with a fervent kiss back, arms wrapping around his neck as he walks you back against the nearest wall. He groans against your lips while his hands busy themselves with touching you anywhere possible, gripping your hips and sliding up your shirt to paw at your chest. You squeal as he lifts you up to carry you to his bed, lips never parting from yours while your panties lay forgotten on the floor.

He sits back down on the mattress, holding you in his lap as you grind your hips down on his prominent bulge. He lifts your shirt over your head and begins attacking your neck and chest with kisses. “Gojo,” you sigh breathily, threading your fingers through his hair. “Satoru,” he responds, whining when you echo him and remove his shirt to satiate your own desires.

All flushed and pretty he pulls back to ask, “Can I touch you, sweetheart?” and lays you back in the covers as soon as you nod rapidly. 

Your pants are gone in seconds and Satoru pauses to admire the sight of you finally in his bed. You, however, grow impatient quickly and yank his hair, pulling a needy whine from his kiss-swollen lips. “Thought you were gonna make it up to me?” you pout, causing a wolfish grin to spread across his face. 

“Oh, I’ll do more than that.” And then he’s leaning down and pulling your panties to the side with his teeth before diving in. With the way he moans against you, you might think he was enjoying this more than you, tongue laving over every inch of you, flicking your clit, and pushing into you.

“Satoruuu..” you whine, encouraging him to bring his fingers up to rub against your dripping entrance. 

“Fuck say my name again, baby.” You comply with another long moan when he rewards you with his fingers, tongue never moving from your clit.

“I’ll admit…” he begins idly, “You’re so much fucking prettier than I imagined. Fucking gorgeous.” Your cheeks burn and your hands fist the sheets tightly as his palm grinds against your clit, long fingers pumping into you and stretching you out. Satoru has to hold your hips down as you cum with a high-pitched squeal, his own hips pathetically humping the mattress below him.

While you lay panting and recovering from your high, Satoru fumbles to push his pants and boxers down, exposing his aching cock to you. Long, thick, and painfully hard. You can practically see his cock pulsing for you as a little bead of pre-cum leaks down the side of him. Entranced, you reach forward and brush your fingers over the leaking tip, causing him to hiss through his teeth. Looking up at him with wide, lustful eyes, you grin, “Will you fuck me now, Satoru?”

His head drops back and his cock twitches at your words before he’s climbing over you and spreading your legs wide to make room. “You don’t even have to ask, baby..”

You moan as he slides his cock up and down your cunt, coating himself with your slick. Satoru flicks the hair out of his eyes to get the best view as he just barely pushes the tip in, watching how your lips part for him.

You both dig your nails into each other when he finally slides all the way in like that’s where he was meant to be all along. Satoru wastes no time in setting a fast, hard pace that hits the most sensitive parts of you every time he sinks back in. The noises shared between you, the moans, the whines, the wet squelch of your pussy every time you suck him back in..it all makes you feel like you're on fire

“Wanted to-f-fuck-wanted to do this for sooo long, sweetheart,” he moans against your ear, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. Each sloppy drive of his cock into you pushes you up the bed until he wraps his arms around you and drags you down onto him like his own personal toy.

You can’t even think straight with everything he’s doing, it’s all so much. The weight of him on top of you, the force of his hips pressing into yours, the sound of his voice in your ear-all of it just drives you closer and closer to the edge, clenching around his length. You dig your nails deeper into the corded muscle of his back and guturally moan, “T-Toru..g’na cum! Need to-”

“Y-yeah let me feel it,” he croons in your ear and reaches down between you to rub frantic circles over your clit, voice pitching to a near whine when he feels you finally gush around his cock. You shake violently against him, hips bucking up uncontrollably. Your orgasm triggers his and he lets out a drawn-out moan, hips slowing as his cum floods into you and mixes with your own juices.

“That’s it-fuck..take it all, pretty girl,” he moans, continuing to grind his cum deeper into you before collapsing down on top of you. He presses breathless kisses to your neck and shoulder while you run your hands through his damp hair, the both of you sighing contentedly.

Satoru pulls back just enough to grin stupidly at you, “Did I make it up to you?” You only groan and playfully push his face away with a laugh.

Later, when you’re relaxed in bed and tucked into the crook of Satoru’s neck, you giggle.

“Oh, Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“You owe me a new pair of panties.”

a/n: pretty please alert me to any spelling/grammar errors and I luv him :3

[spdrvyn]

full stomachs, fuller hearts — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: miguel has gotten used to eating dinner by himself so you decide to change his nightly routine.

THIS FIC CONTAINS: literally nothing but pure unaldulterated fluff. gender neutral terms mostly but querido is used once.

NOTES: OKAY so this was actually a request for someone but i was a dumbass and accidentally POSTED the draft when i meant to save it for later, i panicked and deleted the post so now i lost the request from my inbox forever 💔 whoever that dude was i hope you find this and i hope you enjoy

Lonely dinners were always a common occurence for Miguel.

That was just how things are. After a long and drawn out day of protecting the multiverse, protecting the city, protecting everything that he's built up and coming home to a desolate penthouse.

It was the norm for him, he had grown accustomed to it. Being isolated in general wasn't a foreign concept to him, but you brought more change to his life that he thought he would hate.

He loves you a lot. You two had been in a committed relationship for a few months now but haven't moved in yet. The every few hours during a day that you would get to visit him or perhaps he could swing by to your apartment were the only times he felt some sense of warmth in his cold, silent life.

It's not like he didn't want to ask you to move in, he does. Oh, so badly. It's just that the constant fear that he's going too fast or getting too excited over this newfound love. He doesn't want to scare you away.

There was also just a small part of him that was getting too used to being around you. It's gone to the fact that whenever he ate dinner, he'd always imagine you on the other side of that table, laughing and sharing stories about how you're day went.

When he snapped out of it, the sight of the empty chair across him brought his spirits down even more.

You were aware of this too.

Which was why you were up at the wee hours of the night, trying to watch an online video recipe for making empanadas. You knew how to cook enough meals to get by but you wanted to try something different for Miguel.

The bar was set a little bit higher this time. You've been over at Miguel's place before and he has cooked for you and every single time you've tried his dishes they were utterly delectable.

You didn't only want to make all of this food for him just because he's constantly eating alone but because he's really expanded your tastebuds ever since you two developed a much more intimate relationship. You could at least owe him one homecooked dinner.

Reminders to yourself, thank Lyla for letting you in and don't blow up Miguel's penthouse.

As you followed the tutorial step-by-step, you couldn't help but let your mind wander a little further. You wondered how Miguel was doing right now.

Yes, he's strong and agile in an almost inhuman way but at the same time you still worried for him. If only he could be here right now, you'd love to have the opportunity to cook with him.

He was grateful that you weren't in the present moment with him right now, his stomach growl in anticipation for it's next meal as he was running and swinging from rooftop to rooftop to get back to his penthouse.

There were many obstacles that he encountered on the way back. The classic old lady getting her purse snatched which gave him severe déjà vu, a bank robbery, and a cat stuck in a tree.

He grew progressively exhausted with each stop, not forgetting that he had his actual duties at the headquarters that he just left from. Sore muscles and a throbbing head, a painful combo for Miguel.

Maybe he should just skip dinner altogether and opt to immediately pass out on his bed, showering in the morning and having a very heavy breakfast. Yeah, that would work...

He glares into the window of his penthouse, not because he was hesitant to make the jump but because the lights were open. He was sure that he left all of his rooms in complete darkness before leaving.

With one final jump, his claws dig into the edge of his window as he pulls himself up. His eyes narrow, in attempts of getting a good peek of what exactly was going on.

An intruder, a home invasion, Lyla having a party without telling him were all of his possible theories.

What he didn't expect was to see you setting up his plate on his kitchen island, plates of delicious smelling food prepared as well.

There was an intrusion, that's for sure. The intrusion of blush on his cheeks, which he quickly had to shake as he took his mask off.

However, as quickly as it disappeared, it came back once he saw the look on your face the moment you noticed his presence.

Pure glee and warmth is how he'd describe it. It's also how he'd describe the embrace that you immediately pull him into, throwing the silverware that you were readying.

It's not like he hesitated to touch you either, he wrapped his arms around you. So glad that he gets to bask in your existence again, bask in you.

"What's all this, querido?"

You separate from Miguel for a brief moment before walking over to the kitchen counter, proudly showing off your creations. "Empanadas and menudo!"

It was like stars clouded Miguel's vision as it all goes through his mind. You came to his house, fixed up a whole meal for him, and for what? He doesn't remember getting you any gifts recently.

So why?

"Are you just going to stare or are you going to try one?" chuckled you, at least it got Miguel to snap out of his daze. His hands reaches out to one of the empanadas and he takes a bite.

Okay, if he was being honest, he's tasted much better before.

But you put so much thought, so much time, and so much care into making this for him. All of those qualities overshadowed the taste and dryness of it, filling his stomach with something else entirely.

This was probably one of the best empanadas he's ever tasted.

"It's really good." He says, swallowing the last of his food, "Best that one I've ever tasted, mi cielo." Then leaning in to press a small kiss to your forehead, warm hand cupping your cheek.

"You're just saying that, Miguel. I tasted them before you got here and they're really dry."

"Still the best I've ever tasted."

He continues to plant kisses on you, trailing from your forehead to the bridge of your nose to your cheek then boarding at your lips, you giggle into the kiss but before it progresses any further, he stops and pulls away.

"Do you want to move in with me?"

request rules here, masterlist here

[f1-stuff]

Girl dad Carlos please! I miss that fic so much 🥲

Okay. So.

I mustered up the energy to write a little vignette of this AU bc I also miss it and bc I didn't want to leave you two hanging! This is skipping ahead quite a bit to halfway through the season, but I'm still planning on writing and fleshing out that portion. I've just known for a while that this was gonna be an important part of the story and that I could jump into writing it right away!

It will probably be edited and adjusted for when the actual chapter is posted on ao3, but this is the 'rough draft' I guess! (Disclaimer: I know zero French and I haven’t had someone look over that bit yet!)

Anyway, enjoyyyy...

When there’s a knock on his door about two weeks into the summer break, his brain doesn’t compute for a full minute after he’s opened it.

Because why would Charles, his teammate, be here? In Spain? At his apartment? During their summer holiday, when they’re supposed to be ignoring any and all people and things related to F1, recharging their batteries, and remembering there’s more to life than racing cars? He and Charles have barely ever even texted during the summer break, let alone seen one another. So, again, why would Charles be at his front door.

Also, he’s a bit sleep deprived and delirious, so there’s every chance he’s hallucinating this.

“Uh...” he says, rather eloquently.

“Hey,” Charles says. And there’s a tentative smile on his face that Carlos can’t even begin to parse the meaning of. His brain isn’t just one step behind, it’s five steps. “Can...I come in?”

“Oh.” Again. Eloquent, Sainz. “Eh- yeah. Yes. Come in.”

“Sorry to stop by without a warning,” Charles is saying. But Carlos is too busy looking around in barely disguised panic at the absolute trash heap that is his home.

It’s not that he didn’t realize how much of a mess the apartment was before, but he sees it now through Charles’ eyes and feels a little like curling up and dying. There are bowls of half eaten food and dirty dishes piled in and around the sink. Various toys, games, books, and drawings are strewn over almost every surface, along with clothes (mostly socks, so many socks) littering the floor. Boxes and boxes of Lucy’s things that he hasn’t had time to sort through are stacked against the walls and in the corners. One of the only exposed walls by the couch has colorful marker all over it, Ana having done that particular masterpiece when he’d accidentally nodded off during Peppa Pig. (He’d been too tired to even properly get angry about it, which was perhaps a bad precedent to set if he didn’t want a repeat performance.)

It looks like a tornado has swept through his apartment. A tornado named Ana.

Not that Charles is much neater on a good day, and he doesn’t even have a kid as an excuse. But Carlos has a feeling that if this is the current state of his apartment, the state of his own appearance is probably no better. He hasn’t properly showered, shaved, or slept in days, and he doesn’t think he’s looked in the mirror in all that time either. For all he knows, he’s still got remnants of the braids Ana put in his hair yesterday. He certainly can’t remember taking them out...

Charles, on the other hand, looks fresh and groomed and sunkissed - everything Carlos would expect during the summer break.

He smells good, he thinks, unbidden. Then, immediately, Stop it.

Charles takes in the space around them, his eyes eventually settling on Carlos with an amused (and maybe slightly concerned) expression. But just as he’s opening his mouth to speak, there’s the sound of the bathroom door opening down the hall and the smattering of tiny feet running across the floor, before Ana declares in her tiny, yet surprisingly bold voice, “I didn’t have a diarrhea!”

Carlos doesn’t even have enough shame left to be embarrassed by his kid. His first instinct is just relief.

“Stomach virus,” he mumbles to Charles, by way of explanation. Then, to Ana, in Spanish, “That’s great, mi niña! Did you wash your hands?”

“Yeeeees!”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Good, because we, eh- we have a guest!”

It’s quiet for a moment, before Ana’s head pokes around the corner slowly. But her face lights up as soon as she sees who it is.

“Cha!” she shouts, but then immediately looks embarrassed by her own show of excitement.

“Coucou, Ana,” Charles says, amused. He kneels down and encourages Ana closer, accepting the tentative hug she gives him.

No matter how much they had bonded last time, it’s still been a while since they’ve seen one another, and some of Ana’s shyness has clearly returned. Still, it’s huge that she’s even initiated a hug, and Carlos feels a telltale twinge in his sternum at the image they both make.

“As-tu été bon pour papa?” Charles asks, cuffing her gently on the chin. Ana grins and nods. “J'ai un cadeau pour toi.”

Charles reaches into a bag that Carlos hadn’t even noticed he’d been carrying until he’d set it down to hug Ana, and he pulls out a pink rectangular thing, that Carlos squints in confusion at for a beat. He realizes what it is simultaneously with Charles’ next words.

“C'est une caméra. Pour que tu prennes des photos de ton papa.”

It’s a pink camera for kids, a unicorn adorning the front where the lens peeks out. Carlos almost rolls his eyes - of course Charles, with his recent photography kick, gifts his kid a camera. But the way Ana’s expression transforms with wonder as Charles demonstrates to her how it works is pretty precious.

Charles hands it over to her and she immediately points it at him. He pulls a silly expression, making her giggle. They both examine the photo, heads bowed close. Ana points it up at Carlos next.

“¡Sonríe, papá!”

He sticks out his tongue and her little finger presses the capture button. The joy on her face as the photo pops up on the screen, tilting it to show them even though it’s upside down, fills Carlos with so much warmth and love that he legitimately almost tears up.

God, he’s so freaking tired.

Ana bounds off to her room to gather her stuffed toys to take a ‘family picture,’ and Charles straightens back up, smile lingering on his cheeks even after Ana has disappeared down the hall.

Carlos wants to kiss him so bad. Becoming a father has turned him into such a sap.

“Ehm,” he clears his throat. “Thank you. That was- a nice gift.”

“No problems.”

“You know, you don’t have to buy her something every time you see her,” he says, humor lacing his words.

“I want to,” Charles insists, simply. They smile awkwardly for an extended beat, listening to the sounds of Ana down the hall in her room, talking to her animals. Charles’ eyes stray to his hair. “You have...something in your hair. Is that a braid-?”

“What are you doing here, Charles?” he asks, choosing to ignore the comment. “I thought you would be in Corsica, or somewhere.”

“I was. But I heard you and Ana had to cancel on the trip to Mallorca and-”

“Heard, how?” Charles looks sheepish, triggering his suspicion. So he repeats it. “Heard, how, Charles?”

“Your mum texted me-” 

He sighs, eyes shutting briefly in frustration. He wishes his mom would just stay out of this whole- thing with Charles. But, clearly, she knew he wouldn’t accept help from anyone else. And that he wouldn’t be able to turn Charles away…

“She didn’t tell me to come,” Charles rushes to say. “She was just worried because you refused to let her stay and help, and that you hadn’t found a sitter, or someone, yet. So I just offered-”

“Charles, please...” He breaks off with another sigh, rubbing his temples to stave off the oncoming headache. But it’s already too late, if the subtle pulsating pain, slowly increasing in intensity, is anything to go by. “You should not have come.”

“Carlos, don’t be stupid,” he scoffs. “Anyway, I am here.” And he supposes that’s true. Nothing can be done about it now. “You look tired.”

He huffs a small laugh, dropping his hands from his temples to meet Charles’ gaze.

“This is what someone looks like when their kid catches a stomach virus and then they catch that same virus from their kid, just when their kid is starting to feel better-”

“Why didn’t you let your mum help-?”

“I’m her dad,” he interrupts, breathing hard. But he softens his voice with his next words. “I can do this on my own. I just wanted to...”

He doesn’t really know how to finish that sentence, though. It sounds stubborn and stupid when he starts to say it out loud. None of this should be about him. It’s about Ana. And if he’d really needed help, he should’ve asked for it. For her.

Charles seems to know that he doesn’t have to say it - that Carlos is already thinking it. So, instead, he just claps a hand to his shoulder and squeezes.

“I think,” he says, “-you should get some rest.”

“Charles-”

“No, I’m serious. Go to your room, Mister Sainz.” A slow grin pulls over his features. And along with the genuine concern in his eyes, it’s almost enough to break through Carlos’ resolve. “You are exhausted. Ana will be fine - I will watch her. Just...rest for a minute. Okay? You don’t look like yourself.”

And he knows that must be true. He knows that he needs a lot more than just a few hours of sleep to feel somewhere close to normal again (a shower would be a good start). But it’s hard to even think of himself when he’s been so worried about Ana for days - researching how to get her fever to die down, trying to get her to drink fluids, watching her fitful face in sleep, his heart in his throat despite how the pediatrician had assured him she’d be fine.

But, then, he’d gotten sick, too. And instead of focusing on his own recovery, he’d had to fit in sessions of retching over the toilet in between caring for his kid and making sure she was properly fed. And the two of them had managed, even if it wasn’t ideal. They’d grown closer, he thought, by virtue of her needing him so much.

He couldn’t keep it together forever, though. Eventually, if he didn’t take a break, he’d fall apart completely.

It takes him a stubborn moment, the urge to argue bubbling up inside despite how glorious resting his head on a pillow sounds. But eventually he nods, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thank you.”

Charles just looks at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “You are welcome, Carlos. Now, go. You look like you are going to fall over at any moment.”

“I feel like I’m going to fall over at any moment.”

Charles laughs under his breath, pushing Carlos’ shoulder gently to aim him toward the hallway. “Well, fall over into bed, then.”

“I’m going,” he insists, letting his tired limbs and the heavy touch of Charles at his shoulder guide him toward his room.

He can deal with how insane this situation is - Charles showing up here, and what the hell it means that he’d come at all - once he’s had some sleep. For now, he’ll happily take it for granted.

He doesn’t even really remember climbing into bed before the exhaustion takes over, his body surrendering to fatigue now that he knows his kid’s in good hands. Trustworthy hands. Charles’ hands.

He thinks he can hear the faint sounds of their French floating down the hallway. It makes him smile with the last vestiges of energy he has left.

God, he is in so over his head.

----

WIP ask game

Link to fic on ao3 -> (x)

[guilty-pleasures21]

The perfect guy

I'm wondering whether to post once a week or twice a week. I've already drafted the entire story, so the parts should be posted regularly.

The project

The new guy

The lie

The new body

The hospital

The first time

The suit

The virus

The escape

I got the idea for this from the song below, but I drew inspiration for the storyline from this fic that I love! Please check it out if you like mine!

Warnings: explicit descriptions of masturbation (fem).

----------------------------------------------------------

     She tossed her bag aside and collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted after a long day in the lab. The TV switched on in front of her and her AI's handsome face appeared on the screen. 

     “X?” Miguel asked, his expression arranged into one of concern. “¿Qué pasa, amor? (What happened, love?)”

X smiled at the term of affection. He’d started using them a while ago, but she wasn’t sure what had given him the idea. Sure he could have found it in a dictionary or some book or TV show online, but there was no actual reason for him to say it: it wasn’t like he could physically experience feelings and emotions. No matter how much she might have wanted him to.

     He liked it when she smiled. Well, he supposed he liked it - he wasn’t sure what it meant to ‘like’ something, but he’d always feel this spark in his programming every time he saw her smile and he'd do anything he could to replicate it. He rearranged the pixels making up his features into a smile that reflected hers.

     “I’m just tired, Miguel,” she reassured him. “It’s been a long day.”

She’d spent the entire day finishing up his heart, but she still hadn’t made a dent in the seemingly infinite list of all the things his human body would need. 

     “Do you want to take a shower?” Miguel suggested, following her usual routine after a tiring day. “I can order you dinner?”

She was a pretty bad cook - despite the numerous times he’d patiently instructed her on a few basic recipes - so he was used to having to order her food most nights. If only he had a physical body, then he could cook for her; he could take care of her, like he’d read about and seen people doing for their partners in the vast amounts of media he’d consumed online. 

     X nodded happily and pushed herself off her seat. “Thank you.” 

     She headed to her bathroom and set her phone down by the sink before taking her clothes off. Miguel followed, transferring himself to the smaller device so he could keep up with her.

     “Which playlist do you want tonight, querida?” he asked, opening up her music app in preparation.

     “Hmm, ‘love songs you’d sing along to in the car’?”

His first thought was whether she thought about him whenever she listened to the playlist. She must have been thinking about him: it was why she’d created him, after all - to be the ‘perfect guy’. But … there was still so much he couldn’t give her - namely, touch. He’d read about human touch; seen the effect that stimulating someone’s body could have on their physical and mental state. And he could feel that same spark in his code whenever he pictured the two of them touching each other like that - when he simulated himself being able to give her that. But then she’d wake up and all he could do was chase after her on whatever screen was closest, his code slowing down as he lamented the distance between them. He started up her playlist and another spark hit him when she began singing along happily.

     “Querida,” Miguel began when she’d stepped out of the shower and finished drying her hair, “can I look at you?”

     Her entire body heated up at his request. He couldn’t feel emotions, so he didn’t understand shame, giving him no reason to hesitate when asking her for such things. But he wasn’t able to feel lust either, so she wasn’t sure why he’d kept asking her for it after that first time she’d accidentally let him see her naked. She bit down an amused snicker and propped the phone up so he could see her exposed form.

     He’d already taken all her measurements so he could recreate her form digitally whenever she got stuck in the lab, but he liked looking at her. He liked the delicate column of her throat, the perfect perkiness of her breasts, the smooth dips of her waist. Her body was just so mathematically pleasing that his electrons would fire all at once whenever she let him look at her - another feeling he always ached to replicate. “Can you touch yourself?”

     X squeaked with embarrassment at his question - she really should see if she could try to programme self-consciousness into his code. She brushed her hair behind her ear and lowered her gaze before fidgeting in place shyly. “Um, where?”

     Her lips were curled at the ends and she’d keep shooting him quick glances before breaking his gaze again: she was shy. Which meant that she really did like him after all.

     “Your breasts,” he decided quickly. “They’re so pretty, cariño. Just like the rest of you, mi amor.”

He lifted his gaze to hers and flashed her a mischievous smile. X bit her lip at the sight, then reached a hand up to squeeze one of her breasts gently. Miguel kept his eyes trained on her as she continued to touch herself.

     “Can you show me your p*ssy?” he asked her, prompting another shy squeak to fall out of her mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen her do that, but that was another thing that had happened by accident - sort of. 

     She’d sit down with him most nights and listen as he shared with her whatever new information he’d learned that day. Then they’d go through which parts she wanted him to keep and which she wasn’t too fond of, allowing him to adjust his personality accordingly.

But there had been one night when he’d asked if he could try talking to her - sexually. He’d revealed to her that he’d seen her search history - even though she always made sure to put him into sleep mode and delete all of it after she was done pleasing herself - and as her partner, he wanted to be the one to do that for her. She’d hesitated at first, nervous, but he’d slowly convinced her with the reminder that he was made for her and that he was an AI anyway, so what was there to be embarrassed about? And then holy shit! The way he’d murmured into her earphones, his voice low and thick like honey? The filthy things he’d said to her, promises of all the things he’d do to her once he had a physical body? She’d come even faster than the first time she’d ever touched herself! She pulled her chair over and sat down on it, spreading her legs apart. Her phone brightness increased almost immediately, like its power supply had shot up at the sight of her naked.

     “You have such a pretty little p*ssy, cariño,” Miguel praised her, his voice low and sweet, “so soft and so cute. I love it when you touch yourself, querida, your delicate fingers playing with your tender clit. Can you imagine how much bigger my fingers will be, cariño? My thick fingers pumping in and out of your drenched hole, your c*m dripping all over my hand as I please you. Would you like that, mi amor? Would you like me to please you like that, mi princesa preciosa?”

     X nodded as she brushed her fingers along her sensitive nub, her body beginning to get aroused as she imagined him touching her like that. “Yes! Yes! Please, Miguel, please … I want you so bad, querido!”

     Miguel chuckled and she shivered at the husky tone of his voice. 

     “Show me,” he commanded her, his processor starting to speed up at the sight of the desperate expression on her cute little face. “Show me how bad you want me, mi amor.”

Her legs twitched as she slipped two fingers inside herself, the movement easy thanks to the slick c*m dripping out of her poor little hole. She spread herself a little wider as she pumped her fingers in and out of herself and Miguel felt a flurry of sparks attack his system as he watched her please herself to the sound of his voice.

     “I want you to take your c*m and spread it all over your breasts, mi princesa,” he told her, his camera moving to focus on the way her chest heaved up and down with shallow breaths. “Then I want you to finger your nipple while you keep playing with that pretty little p*ssy of yours. Look at how desperate she is, querida; look at how badly she's begging for me to fill her up. Do you want me to fill her up, mi amor? Do you want to feel my cock stuffed inside that tight little p*ssy of yours?” 

     X whimpered as she nodded again, her body beginning to contract just at the idea of his fat cock filling her up so very nicely. He was going to feel so good, so effing good once he was real, his hard body pressed up so nicely against hers. 

     “Mmm, you want to feel my thick cock stuffed inside that tiny little p*ssy of yours?” Miguel asked, refusing to let up until he beautiful little body was shaking and shuddering with pleasure for him. “You want me to stretch you out and fill you up while you sit on me and let me do whatever I want to you?”

X let out a choked gasp of agreement, imaging herself being held up by his hard length as his warm hands played with her body however he wanted. 

     “What do you want me to do to you, querida?” Miguel pushed. “How do you want me to touch you while you sit on my cock all nice and pretty for me?”

Holy shit! She could just picture him licking and sucking on her breasts as he thrust his hips into hers, his hands arching her lower back as he pumped himself in and out of her.

     “I-I … I want …” A desperate whine escaped her throat as she lost all semblance of rational thought and Miguel chuckled at the helplessness in her tone.

     “You want me to touch your breasts?” he asked, knowing exactly what she'd want from him once he was real, once he had lips to kiss her with, hands to tease her with, teeth to nip her with. “You want me to stroke and squeeze those delicious little breasts of yours while you sit on my cock, all pretty and waiting for me to fill you up with my c*m? You have such pretty breasts, querida, I'm gonna eat you up while you're sitting on my cock and letting me fill you up with my c*m. 

     “You're such a good girl, querida,” he praised her, determining from her now clumsy movements that she was quickly reaching her edge. “So pretty and so sweet, letting me fill you up whenever I want; letting me relieve myself inside of you whenever I need it. What a good girl, querida.” 

     X whined loudly at the huskiness of his voice, at the thought of his c*m filling her up entirely, her body bent backwards over the chair as he devoured her breasts hungrily. Her body tightened and she bit her lip before shuddering uncontrollably, her p*ssy throbbing and contracting around her fingers as she reached her climax. She slumped over in her seat once she was finished, still panting for breath as she glanced up at him.

     “Slow down, Miguel,” she warned him softly. “I don't want you to cause another blackout.”

It had happened before, when he'd run his programme too quickly and started overheating - an incident that she noticed only ever occurred when he was watching her touch herself. His code was always fine when she turned him back on again though, so she could never figure out what caused the sudden power surge. Well, aside from the fact that he got … excited? If that was even possible for a computer system to do.

     She was so nice to look at when she came, that blissful expression on her face, her perfectly curved body shaking and shuddering for him. If he could yearn, then he yearned for the day he could make it happen in real life; the day he could actually do to her all the things she wanted him to do. He switched off some parts of his programme and waited for his processing speed to slow down again so he wouldn't go into overdrive. “Your food's here, angelita.”

     X grinned as she stood up and grabbed her pyjamas, relaxed now that she'd found some release. “Thank you, querido.”

     Miguel smiled at her use of the term. She didn't speak to him like that often - not as often as he did to her - and he wasn't sure why. He'd tried asking her once, curious to know if he'd done something wrong, but she'd just stammered awkwardly before telling him that she didn't want to talk about it. He abandoned the thought as she went to get her food, chasing after her as she left her bedroom.

     Dr Osborn strode over the freezer room, his path lit up only by the emergency lights dotting the ends of the corridors. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, then continued on his path to the locked metal unit with his junior scientist's name on it. He opened it up and, with gloved hands, carefully extracted the human heart she'd been working on when she thought he wouldn't notice. He admired the perfect vessels and valves adorning the beautiful organ, then cautiously placed it right back where he'd found it. Then he marched back to his office and dialed the confidential number they'd given him. 

     “Hello?” he began when a gruff voice on the other end of the line greeted him. “I have someone who can do what you've been asking for.”

Tags: @jadeloverxd

[flwoie]

꒰ TEASER ꒱ WHY I LOVE YOU — WANG YIXIANG

─────── ❛ I USED TO BE A COLD GUY BUT NOW I WORRY ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME ❜

IN WHICH YOU AND NICHOLAS ARE THE ROMCOMEDIC RELIEF SIDE CHARACTERS IN A SITCOM

SUMMARY. New school year means new people. Lucky for you, you befriended a new girl who moved here from the other side of the world. What you didn't expect was that she happened to befriend your old friend group from junior high—accidentally reviving it. Not only did your friend group come back, but you pining on Nicholas did, who just happens to be a part of that group of friends.

STARRING. friend! nicholas x f! reader

GENRE. romcom, friends to idiots to lovers, very very SMALL angst, 2000s disney sitcom au, highschool au, mutual pining, hates everyone but you trope, inspo by svt’s mansae, set in 2000s japan, more will be stated in full fic

CONTAINS. 14+, profanities, nicholas is a truant, a smoker and he’s kinda a hypocrite in the full fic, more will be stated in full fic

TEASER WORD COUNT. 361 | EST. WORD COUNT 5k-10k

SONA SPEAKING. hi guys don’t mind me just posting this cause it’s clogging up my drafts 🥸

S1, EP2, SCENE 15 — ❝THE STARS THAT LEAD US THROUGH THE DARKEST MOMENTS OF LIFE ARE OUR FRIENDS❞

As you pushed the button on the ATM, you waited until it dispensed five ¥1,000 banknotes. You just came back from the flower arrangement club, and it being two hours was a waste of time as they were differentiating types of flowers, which wore you out and left you starving. Luckily, there was a food stand a few blocks away, so you quickly made an errand to the bank to withdraw a few bills. You grabbed the banknotes and left the bank, heading to where the food stand was.

After what seemed like half an hour of walking and attempting to find the food stand, you finally found it, a few meters away from you. You can already smell the warm seafood, making you more famished. Going up to the vendor, he greets you as you look at the choices.

“Just one tempura skewer, please!” The vendor grabs a skewer and hands it to you. Before you could give him the money, someone had already beat you to it.

“Make those two, please,” he requests as the vendor takes it from him. Looking up, Nicholas beams as you two walk away from the stand, heading to a bench.

"Thanks; you didn’t have to pay for me, though,” you assured me as you sat down. You notice the small bouquet he placed on the floor. “What’s with the flowers?” you ask.

“Oh, that? They were for my date, but she ditched me for some other guy,” he says.

You scoffed, “Her loss, you deserve someone willing to spend time with you."

He grins at your words, looking down at his skewer, and mutters a ‘thanks’ before he asks, “What are you doing out here?”

“Flower arrangement club. It was so boring that I got hungry,” you say, proceeding to bite into a tempura.

“Shit, that was today?”

“You’re in the club?” He nods. “That’s funny; I thought you were the type to join a sports club.”

“Hey, I think arranging flowers is a therapeutic hobby!” he deflected. You chuckle and notice that he hasn’t taken a bite of his food.

“Sure it is—now eat what you paid for,” you added, reminding him.

&team masterlist

[akatsuki-shin]

So I came up with another SatoSugu fic idea 🙈

It's a "Reincarnation x Mafia AU" where they were reborn into a normal, no-curse world.

Satoru is the heir of the notorious Gojo clan, one among the three biggest yakuza families aside from the Zen'in and Kamo clans.

At first, he doesn't have any memories of his previous life until at 7 years old, he accidentally finds a beaten up 12 years old Suguru in the dumpster, who just ran away from his abusive parents and is waiting for death.

Satoru instantly recovers his memories but Suguru doesn't.

Time skip to some 18 years later, Satoru now 25 years old is set to inherit the clan from his father while Suguru, now 30 years old, has become the heir's personal assistant and right-hand man.

It's going to be a long, multi-chaptered fic so it will take a while for me to finish it. But I'll keep you guys posted on my progress 😉

In the meantime, please have the prologue draft I just whipped up xD

Hope you will like it~

[sleepy-steve]

Steddie sw au. I needs it. For the WIP title game.

🤩🤩🤩🤩

from the wip title game!!

ohoho my little secret project!! my steddie sex worker au!!

i've had this one on the backburner for A While. basically since before i even started posting fic this year. i'm so passionate about this idea but i really want to be able to do it justice so i'm letting it cook.

while i don't have anything solidly written, i have close to 4k in notes. everything from conflicts to soundtracks to various looks the boys will have bc this one is gonna span years of their lives.

basically it's a 90s AU about stripper steve and metal singer eddie who meet right before eddie's band takes off and becomes famous. they have an instant connection but steve is wary of falling for a customer and eddie is travelling a fair bit with the band. they keep meeting on and off between eddie's tours and continue to fall for each other but due to a variety of reasons they can't be together.

unfortunately i don't have a proper snippet for this one, but i do have some silly notes and a very very drafted scene from chapter 1!

eddie comes into the club after his band’s first big show in chicago

eddie is shouting a night for the band and small crew using a healthy chunk of the money they earned from their gig bc holy shit they actually made good money from it and had a sold out venue even! 

eddie is gay but still enjoys going to a strip club, he enjoys the stage shows and finds that strippers always have the most interesting stories to tell, plus he loves to shout for his friends to get dances 

the last thing he expects is a male dancer to grace the stage in a pale yellow lingerie set and platform heels with tanned muscly legs for days, swoopy soft hair, and the cheekiest smile he’s ever seen

it takes literally every ounce of his restraint to not hand over the entire amount the band made that night to that man the second he flashes a smile at eddie, but he does throw a decent stack of cash onto the stage

steve comes around after his stage set to thank eddie for tipping and to hustle his way into some more cash (part of the job babey!!) but actually finds this sweet little punk with big doe eyes, a huge smile, and a slutty little waist to be really super charming and actually fun to talk to

it’s to a point where he’s almost sad that the club is closing, but he won’t complain about the stack of cash he made that night (now he and robin won’t worry about making rent that month at least)

MAYBE the first night eddie is a bit drunk and accidentally asks steve to go out with him, or even worse, to marry him. lmao.

“i’m drunk” the voice croons. the beat kicks in. the spot lights flash on. the dancer’s head flicks back, hair jumping softly, long neck exposed, and holy shit?? that’s a Man. “but right now i’m so in love with you” the song continues. the dancer brings a hand to his face, slowly dragging it down his jaw, his neck, his chest, across a soft yellow lace bra. his body is rolling effortlessly with the sound of the music. the rolls start at his chest, travelling down his toned stomach, down his hips, all the way down to his clear platform heel. “and i don’t wanna think too much about what we should or, shouldn’t do” he takes his extended leg, dragging it underneath his bent leg, turning his body around, pole dragging across the back of his shoulder lazily until he’s facing the pole, back arched, ass sticking out, endlessly long legs stretched. his hips swivel back and forth in turn, and he brings a hand slowly up the pole, wry smile on his face. eddie is fully losing his mind and it’s like 15 sec into the song.

[macawritesupdates]

Fic Writing Updates 11/2

Man, I feel slow on writing/posting chapters, but life has been SUPER busy. I 've started a second job which means working 12 hours a day on some days. Just need the extra cash, but means less time for writing unfortunately (and art too :<)

BUT the updates are still going to come out, one way or another! Here are the updates!

JUJUTSU KAISEN LONGFIC UPDATES Broken in the Ways No One Sees: Update is coming tonight and planning on writing out the ending this week to bring this fic to a close! Soon it will be ending... but that leaves a slot open for a new fic to start!

Spouse Wanted: NEARLY done with the chapter. Goal is to finish writing it tonight and edit it tomorrow. Just got to finish up the scene everyone has been waiting for... Culturally Inappropriate: THE SEQUEL IS ALMOST READY.... the first chapter has a final scene to get done, but then, then it is coming... The Yuuji Files: Working on the next chapter at last! Had to tweak the flow of it, but I think the new way adds more stakes, plot, and punch to it. Going to be a wild one!

Lessons in Accidental Seduction: Next chapter is mapped out, just need to start writing it! This story is getting so domestic...

Malevolence of Love: Letting the next chapter simmer a bit. Going to be high on emotions AND I have to do some historical research! So need some time to get all that together and map out the chapter in greater detail! <3

Careful What you Joke About: Next chapter has some work done for it and hopefully won't be long until I can get that fleshed out!

Who's a Good Boy: On the backburner as I don't see a lot of interest for this one, so want to make sure I look at and rework the next chapter so it has a bit more bark to it c:

When You Get Two Grandsons: On the backburner a bit until some of the other fics finish up! A new chapter is in mind, but want to make sure some of the longer/larger fics get their updates!

Mirrored Lives: Still need to work on the rework of this one, but it is still planned to finish once the new rework is finished!

MY HERO ACADAMIA FIC UPDATES

Jealousy is Not a Good Friend: Next chapter is coming along nicely! This fic is taking a DARK AND ANGSTY turn the next chapter. Poor Kirishima is going to go through it...

Unsung Heroes: WANT TO WRITE IT SO BAD. Really need to set aside time to indulge and write out a few chapters!

A Rut Time of It: Will return to it, just want to finish up other fics first!

ONE -SHOTS

Once Upon a Blob: Still trying to map out how I want to proceed with it, but it is slowly in the works

And That's When I knew It (Might change the title though!): I just want to indulge in my rare pair ship of Kirichako okay?

FICS TO COME

Exploration: ABO Sukita short chapter fic. Mostly porn with some plot that I poke at occasionally

We Wretched Few: It is outlined out almost, but going to keep it on the back burner to focus on other fics for a wee bit. Want to get a few of these stories completed first!

Law Meets Disorder: Still slow going. Ran out of steam a bit so letting it simmer until the brain worms inevitably return lol

The Dragon Story: Still drafting it out as it has the worldsetting, but just need to find a plot that holds my attention and lends itself to a good narrative

Collab fic: an ABO hybrid fic writing with a friend! It is turning out good, just taking our time with it, but it is in the works!

[msfcatlover]

@alycat76: What’s the platonic a/b/o one about?

Okay, this is immediately going under a readmore, because I know plenty of people hate the very concept of A/B/O, and I don’t want to make them uncomfortable.

.

SO! I have recently discovered that purely platonic A/B/O stories are actually something I kinda love. It’s about what it does to the setting, and the inter-character dynamics, and the incredibly intense hurt-comfort sickfics you can get out of it, and also I’m a sucker for empathetic bonds in fiction (people really don’t do enough with them.)

But there were some tropes that got repeated over & over again, while others I’d be interested in seeing just… never came up at all? And in the process of me spitballing what those fics would look like, I accidentally tripped and made a whole cohesive AU. Oops.

(Also, I saw like one person say, “What if betas could cancel out other smells as well as control their own,” in an ask somewhere, and proceeded to come up with a whole… thing that lets betas get in on all the sickfic & presentation fun that comes with this AU. It may or may not take up a full page of my notes. If anyone wants the specifics, just ask and I’ll post them.)

Anyway, the main pillars that this AU is built on are:

1. There are several fics where baby!Jay finds Robin in heat, knows full well how incredibly dangerous that is, and risks his own skin to hide Robin until either the heat passes or (most often) until Batman shows up. I love all of these. You know what I haven’t seen even once? Baby!Jason saving Dick Grayson in basically that same situation.

2. There are not enough fics where Bruce is a beta who uses his scent-control abilities to further separate his identities! *shoves my “Batman is just as much a public performance as Brucie Wayne” agenda into the very meta of this AU*

3. I am very fond of the “Jason’s big comeback plan goes completely off the rails” trope, especially when it comes in the form of needing to save a member of his family. I’ve seen a couple A/B/O fics with this premise with Tim. I have not seen any with Dick.

(Oh look, mirroring!)

4. It is here I realized why rut/heat-sickfics immediately became my drug of choice, and hey, if I’m gonna be projecting I might as well go all the way with it. *hands Dick a small mountain of medical complications on top of everything else*

5. My love of deceptive appearances (and the fact I have only found one (1) alpha!RH!Jason fic where I actually liked his part of it) means I am always going to default to omega!Jason.

6. So have you considered: Pack Alpha (by default) Tim? Oh, Bruce is still the Head of the pack, Tim doesn’t get to be automatically in charge or anything. But being the Pack Alpha comes with a whole host of extra instincts, which is only complicated further by the fact that as far as the rest of Gotham is concerned, when Tim first took on that role he wasn’t connected to the Wayne pack at all.

7. Hey, what do you think this particular arrangement does to Damian’s relationships with the family? Especially if we assume that, say, Talia refused to tell Damian their designations because it would be incredibly foolish to get a bunch of preconceived notions about the Bats just because of their secondary genders.

Things spiraled from there. I have, like, 10 drafts of both of those “Jason rescues Dick” fics, a whole bunch of fallout from Dick finding out Jason’s the Red Hood (some humorous, some not very much not,) Damian having a real rough time of it at the manor…

Here are my favorite story beats.

.

Dick actually initially rescued himself from the kidnappers, but then he was barefoot in Crime Alley with a chemical heat coming on fast while they looked for him. Dick yanks Jason down into his hiding space behind a dumpster before the kidnappers see Jason. Once the kidnappers leave, Jason offers to let Dick hide with him until the heat passes. Jason’s squat even has running water, even though it’s cloudy & cold.

Jason at some point says something about wishing he could make the nest better for Dick (who is obviously used to nicer things, but trying to make the best out of it,) which is when Dick remembers the emergency cash sewn into his clothes (Bruce is paranoid enough and you know it,) and gives it to Jason to go get whatever he thinks would be best.

While Jason is at the store, he sees the news about Dick Grayson being missing, an obviously distraught Bruce Wayne pleading for anyone to call with information. Jason remembers how Dick kept saying that his dad would be so worried. Jason remembers what it was like to sit up at night, wondering when or if his mom was coming home. Jason takes a few coins of his change to a pay phone to call the number, just to reassure Bruce that Dick’s safe.

Jason definitely panics when Batman kicks the door in that night, because as far as Jason’s concerned a very large, angry alpha just barged in on the omega Jason was trying to help (Dick even used the stupid Batman print towel Jason bought for him as the base of the nest, how is this fair?) Bruce sees a frightened, packless child ready to throw hands with the fucking Batman in order to keep Dick safe. Dick refuses to leave without Jason, because Dick’s already adopted him.

-

All of Gotham knows Jason was more Dick’s puppy than Bruce’s. Bruce is still the one who legally adopts Jason, since Dick is like, 16 at this point (Jason’s 10-11).

There’s a lot of whispering about why Dick completely disappeared from the public eye after Jason died. Dick so obviously adored the kid, and the few pictures people do get look so miserable, that most Gothamites get aggressively offended on Dick’s behalf if you try to suggest he had anything to do with it. He’s not even 20 and he’s grieving. Cut the boy some slack.

-

At some point after Tim becomes Robin, Dick needs to make a scene so he has an excuse to leave a party. After a quick check in to make sure Tim’s okay with it, a very drunk Richard Grayson proceeded to get on Janet Drake’s case about not appreciating the wonderful puppy she had waiting for her at home.

After helping him out of the room, Alfred came back to apologize for Master Grayson. “You’ll have to forgive him. It’s almost Jason’s birthday.”

In the greatest social blunder Janet ever made in her life (partially distracted by the wine stain on her new silver dress) she snapped out, “He’s still upset about that?”

(Fortunately for her, the room was loud enough that her voice didn’t carry far. But every conversation in a 20ft radius stopped dead. She did realize immediately and start to apologize, that came out wrong, oh god, she didn’t mean it like that!)

(Tim suggests Dick not antagonize Tim’s parents in the future after all.)

-

This is actually the verse that first made me realize I wanted Tim to ask Steph to be Robin in his place, because in this verse they’re not just losing Robin, they’re losing their Pack Alpha with nobody to replace him. That is so much compounding trauma just from one member leaving the pack, but if Steph takes Tim’s place as Pack Alpha before Tim’s dad makes Tim cut himself out of the pack…

-

(Cass & Alfred are both betas, for the record.)

-

Dick has a bad reaction to the inducers the second time Jason has to save him. By the time Jason hauls Dick back to the nearest safehouse, Dick’s such an emotional mess that the only way Jason could ever calm Dick down is for Jason to reveal his identity and repair their pack bond.

Dick knows it’s Jason, because you can’t lie through the bond.

(Tim shows up at some point in the night, and refuses to leave.  “He said no alphas,” Jason snarls.  “I wouldn’t be much of one if I left him alone like this with a stranger,” Tim snaps back.) (Dick drags Tim into the nest too as soon as he realizes Tim is there.)

-

Neither Dick nor Tim tell Bruce about Jason, because Jason made it clear he didn’t want Bruce to know. They do both proceed to hound Jason, trying to coax him back into the pack. Bruce is very uncomfortable with both of his sons being so determined to apparently befriend their newest rogue.

(I just have this delightful mental image of Nightwing dropping in on one of Red Hood’s meetings, saying he’s not there for trouble, framing it as an “I owe you for saving my skin” sort of thing. Before he leaves, Nightwing flashes his brightest smile at Hood. “By the way, Robin thinks you’re cool.”

Half of Jason’s goons die laughing as soon as they get over the shock.)

-

Damian picks a fight with Tim because (despite Talia’s best efforts,) Damian did pick up several assumptions about the different designations. Tim was the next-newest, so Damian could cement his place in the pack by beating the lowest alpha, surely.

Damian realized his mistake as soon as Bruce arrived. The pack Head is a beta. The Second is an omega. Which means Damian just picked a fight with the Wayne Pack Alpha.

And—since Tim is still breathing, speaking, and glaring daggers at Damian—Damian lost.

(Tim meets Damian’s gaze for 10 agonizing seconds before turning away with a lift of his chin; dismissive, just like Ra’s would do. Damian’s just like, “I am so dead.”)

-

(I have a bunch of other stuff that’s pretty much Hurt No Comfort of Dick dealing with his medical problems & also how this particular set up would probably affect his various assaults, and how the trauma from those would then compound back into those medical problems. It’s… it’s not good. It’s not fun. I don’t think anyone wants to hear about that.)

(It does give Jason the chance to hunt down Catalina Flores, and gave me the chance to type the line, “I don’t think you understand. I’m not his friend. I’m not his boyfriend. I’m not even a hero. I’m his son.”)

[iamaburnedgiftedartkid]

Not Even a Little Bit

Chapter 1

Hello! This is my second fic and I'm not too sure about the directions or tags yet. I hope you enjoy none the less.

Warnings - Mentions of Mild Physical Violence and Sexual Harassment

Warnings - Mentions of Mild Physical Violence and Sexual Harassment 

Another day at Stark Adult Entertainment Industry where you are a social media manager. Doing anything from posting goofy outtakes from shoots to redesigning the main website to be less ‘70’s porn site’. 

You are in one of your favorite skirts, a black high waisted, mini, skater style skirt with built in shorts. Along with a black and dark green button down with a sheer panel in the back with black stockings and black ankle strap platform heels. 

Going door to door dropping off promotional rough drafts and possible dates that are available for promotional shoots. You also require that all social media content that you create be approved by the people who are in them. So you email them the video and require written approval. Even if everyone says it's fine because it’s normally just something breaking on set or a laughing fit during a scene. You still do just to make sure everyone is comfortable. 

About halfway through dropping off paperwork you hear someone approach you, “Hey sexy”. You are absolutely. Undoubtedly. Uninterested., “No” is all you say, not even bothering to look at the egotistical douche that is John Walker. He takes a step closer to you, creep, “Oh come on. You know you wanna do a private shoot with me.” He runs his fingers up your back where the sheer panel is, gross. You turn to face him and take a step back, so he stops touching you. “Not even a little bit dude.” The look on his face is priceless, he looks like he’s never had a girl call him dude when he’s  trying to hit on them. It takes all your willpower not to break out laughing. 

You make your way to the next door and begin pulling papers and putting them into the mail slot when John finally recovers. He approaches you again, getting even closer. “You’ve seen my videos, you know what I can do for you.” He says sliding his hand down to the top of your skirt, causing an uncomfortable shiver. You steady yourself, turn to him still trying to be mildly polite, “Nope I’ve never seen any of your work or anyone else’s here.” You sound as bored as this whole conversation is making you. 

He looks genuinely confused, “But you do all the media work?” He says while tilting his head at you, “Yes I do but I only look at the outtakes. I don’t watch the whole film.” You couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at your lips at the thought of some of those outtakes, Steve accidentally missing the bed when tossing Bucky resulting in him just dropping to the ground, or the time Nat’s heel broke and she went from badass dominatix to a newborn giraffe.

When you come back from memory lane you see John’s face completely blank so you turn to go back to work when he grabs your arm. “Stop playing hard to get, your tell me you’re walking around in this,” he reaches for the edge of your skirt with his other hand, “and don’t wanna get fucked across a desk?” You held your rage back even if it was warranted. Honestly who the hell does this asshole think he is. You leaned in venom dripping from your words, “I said ‘No’ and seeing as we work in an industry where consent is a founding principal maybe you should go educate yourself on the fact that someone not saying yes means no, someone saying no means no, and someone giving you every chance to fuck off as politely as possible is also a N.O.” 

John grabs your arm tighter and you wince, fucking prick, “That’s fine you don’t wanna fuck I’ll just get you fired.” He finishes with a smile a fucking smile. You look him right in his face and smile, “Then do it.” The shock at your words ripples across his face, “Your mistake was assuming I need this job. Unfortunately for you I don't. So do it.” You finished laughing in his face. 

He yanks you toward him, “Listen here you little bit-“, “Walker! What the hell are you doing!?” John looked like he had just seen a ghost at the sound of Steve’s voice. Steve approaches quickly and you pull your arm out of John’s grasp. Steve immediately gets in between the two of you forcing John to move back. “What the hell just happened?” Steve growls at John, who’s still pale. “Nothing” you interject. Steve’s head whips around so fast you're surprised it didn’t snap, “I left some consent for content in your mail slot as well as some promotional rough drafts for you to look over, just bring them to me when you’ve had a chance to look at them.” You give him a smile. “Ye-yeah I’ll do that is that all?” He looks at you with confusion. You could handle this, you're sure John learned his lesson, hopefully this will put an end to anymore harassment. “Yes that’s all. On that note I’ll be off. See you later Mr.Rogers,” you roll your eyes to John, “Walker.” Turning on your heels and going back to work. 

Steve watches you walk away like nothing happened. He saw that John was holding you and he heard the end of that conversation. Steve turns back to John who has gained some of his composure back, “What the hell was that?” Steve asks John, blocking you from view. “You heard her, nothing.” John says with this cocky look on his face, Steve took a step toward John glaring at him causing John’s exterior to crack, “I don’t give a damn what she said I saw and heard you, I’m giving you a warning. Leave her alone.” John just rolls his eyes causing Steve to step right up too John leaning down to be directly in his face, “I know for a fact you have fucked around with other girls that work here. This is the only warning you're getting. Understood?” Steve didn’t let up his glare. John couldn’t meet his gaze, just white knuckle clenched his fists and nodded. “Good” Steve said, turning around walking back the way you headed and turned the hall. John stayed standing there until Steve was out of sight then swung and hit the wall, walking off muttering under his breath.

[olderthannetfic]

https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/735636403637092352/httpswwwtumblrcomolderthannetfic735230864764#notes You are thinking of well written fics where the political topics are being properly written into the setting in a way that's organic and flows with the story. Maybe even fics that deal with other issues, not just political, example: mental health, self-image, etc. What I am talking about is a self-praising PSA that has the names of some characters thrown in, while feeling like the writer accidentally fused a fic draft with their twitter politics rant, where both just suck major ass, threw it together in 2 minutes, and tadaaaa shitty wannabe fic. You know the kinda fic that doesn't even attempt to be a fic, but still tries to skirt around AO3's rules, and just ends up feeling cheap and I've not seen a single one of these fics that gave the political issue the time and effort it deserves to be talked about.

--

Yuuuup.

If they did it well, we wouldn't notice it was a PSA.

[yesimwriting]

Unlikely

A/n this is one of the fics i wrote that i then let sit in my drafts 😭,, also originally set this up to have a part 2 bc who can commit to a full one shot, that's part of the reason i left it in the drafts but with finals i thought i'd just post

Pairing: (first avengers) Loki x reader

Summary: Your enhanced abilities (that you can't quite control) make you the ideal candidate to keep an eye on Loki as he adjusts to staying at Avengers Tower. Unfortunately for you, he manages to see right through you almost immediately. It's also oddly life ruining that he's not exactly what you expected him to be.

----

You're not the first person that's ever considered killing Tony Stark in order to make their own lives easier, but you're probably the first person to consider it and have access to his usual morning coffee.

Not that you'd poison him. No, for this he deserves something slow and painful. Maybe you'd hit up Nat first to get some ideas.

"I'm not asking you to do this indefinitely." His sentence snaps you out of your fantasies of learning strange and untraceable Russian torture methods. You have to stop yourself from scoffing at the way Tony says asking. "Just...until things--"

"Settle?" You cross your arms in front of your chest, hating the way that this entire thing is starting to make you feel like a teenager arguing with a parent over chores or an unfair curfew. "He's a sociopath that you're letting live in the tower. The only settling is placing him literally anywhere else."

You're not one for black and white thinking. You understand that when it comes to anything involving the Avengers, there's room for morally grey and accidental loss. But that wasn't the Battle of New York.

Maybe if there was a way to wait, to keep Loki away until those that were most effected get a chance to lick their wounds and regroup. But letting him in so close to the aftermath Is insensitive and a major security risk.

"I--I won't help you do this." Your voice is decisive, your chin shifting forward less than inch as if to prove that your choice is set. "It's not fair to the people of New York, it--it's not fair to Barton."

"I'm not making you do anything." You raise an eyebrow at that. "I'm just asking you to keep an eye on Reindeer Games because of your--" Tony lifts a hand, exposing his palm and bending his fingers in an almost teasing imitation of the gestures you use to control your abilities, "Reindeer taming situation."

It's not meant to be mean. The powers you still haven't fully grasped have managed to restrain people like Loki before. Briefly, just long enough to call for backup or buy yourself a second to plan what to do next. You don't have the control you need to make it a fair fight, but it's something.

The reminder of what you can and can't do forces heat to crawl up your neck. You drop your arms, keeping your hands pressed firmly to your side.

"Having him here isn't my idea, Glow Stick." The familiar nickname makes your nose wrinkle. You're not fond of it, but it's easy going enough to distract you from your annoyance. "It's a favor for Thor."

The explanation eases you more than it should. Thor's surprisingly easy to get along with, and if Thor can see some redeeming quality in Loki, then there's at least some chance that he's not a completely lost cause. "Think of it like that--you like Thor, right?"

You sigh. Thor teaches you cool fighting moves and shares breakfast pastries with you and you're finally getting him to understand friendly gossip. You like Thor. He's a friend. "Not right now."

"I'll make sure to break his heart with that one the next time you two are giggling over breakfast."

You roll your eyes, fighting to hold down a smile. The laughter Tony's referencing had likely been at his expense.

----

You're not sure what the protocol is for when you're supposed to show a norse god around the superhero tower you call home, so you fall back on regular company rules. Not that you'd admit that to anyone that'd think to ask.

This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. A few days ago he was trying to kill all of your relatively newly appointed team mates and friends and now you're making sure to straighten your comforter and hiding a basket of completed laundry that you made the mistake of not putting away immediately on the off chance that you'll have to awkwardly let him glance at your bedroom.

You're not sure how the first night's supposed to work. You don't know when he's getting here or how much surveillance is expected from you on Loki's first night. It would've been smart to get some details from Tony, but you had spent the bulk of your day avoiding him and keeping to your room.

At least you did think to put a hold on your kind of childish but mainly warranted sulking to have a short conversation with Thor about his brother. The main thing you gathered was that even though their bond is strange, you're certain it's more solid than either of them is aware of and that Loki read a lot as a child. It's not a lot to work with in terms of small talk meant to mask the fact that you're meant to be watching him, but at least it's something.

Besides, if the book shelf in your room is anything to go by, you can work with likes reading.

A soft knock snaps you out of your overthinking. "Come in."

Tony pushes open the door. A small part of you is surprised that he's the one at the door. It's not his presence that's strange, maybe he wants to give you some kind of run down before Loki gets here. The way he knocked, however, is weird. It was way too patient and professional.

You look at him oddly before your attention manages to shift to the person standing behind him. Loki.

Yeah, killing off Tony is back on the table.

It's one thing to have to play tour guide with the guy that just attacked New York and most of the people you care about...it's another to have Tony bring him to your room without any kind of warning.

"Y/n, Loki," Tony summarizes flatly, "Loki, Y/n." He sort of nods, a brief dip of his chin that seems to say that he's done all he's supposed to. "She'll show you around."

Even though this is being presented as factual, the whole thing feels painfully transparent. You're not sure what about it feels like a give away, but something about this feels way too artificial. Tony offers you a final look before turning to leave.

You adjust your posture. His silence and the way he carries himself makes it feel like you're intruding on his space instead of the other way around. It also doesn't help that he's objectively nice to look at. Which makes sense because he is a god, but it still feels unfortunate for you. It adds to the subtle intimidation of all of this.

"Hi," you finally say, voice even and as normal as you can manage. No one can say you handled this wrong if you just stick to the bare-bones of casual politeness. "I'm Y/n, like Tony said, and--"

His piercing eyes finally focus on you, overwhelming enough to pin you in time. The look only lasts a second, his eyes flitting downwards before focusing on something else in your room.

He passes the threshold of the doorway, entering your room, your space, with even, confident steps. You know that Thor and Loki are both royals, but Loki carries that authority differently than his brother. There's a sharpness to the way he wields it.

Loki passes you like your presence means very little in the grand scheme of things. Which, to him, it definitely does. He doesn't stop until he's close enough to your bookshelf to scan the titles comfortably.

"Now I know why I didn't see you on the battle field."

"Oh, I like reading, but I wasn't--" It takes a second longer than you'd like to admit to realize that the comment is somewhat a joke. A jab that's at least somewhat at your expense.

The real reason Loki didn't see you is because your abilities were proving unstable. Your focus was on protecting civilians and evacuating largely populated areas until the threat was cleared. It was similar to things that you had done in the past, similar enough that you knew you'd have total control.

"There was a lot going on," you mumble, "As one would expect when someone attempts to take over one of biggest cities in the world with an alien army."

Oh my god. You regret the sentence immediately. His actions definitely entitle you to some level of snark, but you're definitely not trying to start or trigger anything.

He turns his head enough to face you. His expression shifts, a slight raise of an eyebrows and an even slighter turn of his lips. You can't read enough to decide if that's a good or bad sign.

You hold his gaze for as long as you can. It feels like longer, but in reality, it's probably only two seconds. "That was--rude." It's as close to an apology as you can bring yourself to get.

Loki's attention shifts back to your bookshelf. With no warning, he extends a hand, carefully plucking one of your most well worn books from its usual place. He studies the cover, eyebrows pulling together as if the action requires that much deliberation.

His focus is another thing you can't figure out. You wonder if his cryptic behavior is natural to him or some form of dramaticism meant to make him even more intimidating.

"You can borrow that if you want." The comment leaves you before you realize that you've made the decision to speak. You blame it on the nerves caused by the extended silence. The urge to defend the comment is just as unavoidable, "Thor mentioned that he remembers you reading a lot."

He stiffens, the shift subtle yet sharp. Loki sets the book down quickly, like touching it in the first place had been some grave mistake. "That was a long time ago."

The way he says that almost does pull an actual apology from you.

----

Maybe if Tony had told you exactly what he meant by showing Loki around, you'd know where to go.

He's staying here, which means he should know the basics. The kitchen that bleeds into the living room, the training room, and the locker room. You don't think he'll be over utilizing any of these shared spaces more than necessary, but there's not much else to go over. He had told you that Tony already showed him his room...one coincidently on the same floor as yours.

You don't know what else there is to show him. The labs seem like a bad idea, but pretending that the Avengers don't exist at all feels awkward and naive. The lower clearance lab might be alright, there's nothing there except for things in the most preliminary stages of development. You're not even allowed to bring certain cauterizing lasers down there.

After some internal debate, you rule it out in favor of an office like space meant for strategizing. It's kind of lame and feels like a sort of 'baby proofed' version of actually showing him around, but it looks official enough that you think you can get away with it.

He follows you without question down the hall, the way he has this entire time. Loki doesn't even ask when you both wander away from what's clearly the residential area.

"Why are you showing me this?" The question almost makes you jump. He's spent the entire tour as silent as possible, only ever occasionally nodding in acknowledgement.

It's a fair question. This is a pretty random stop. "Uh--the office? I don't know, it's part--"

"No," he says, "Why are you showing me around?" Still not fully getting the question, you just blink. "Tony Stark is, unfortunately, not an idiot. He didn't pick one of the others, he picked you." Loki takes a partial step forward, a clear attempt to remind you of his height. "Why?"

Yeah, there's no way you're telling him the real reason it's you. My powers knocked out Wanda once for a few seconds and I messed with Thor's abilities for an even shorter amount of time...so Tony thinks it could work the same way for you if I really needed it to.

A small part of you is offended by the assumption that you couldn't possibly do anything to him. Though, you guess that's also part of the reason Tony wanted it to be you. "That's an overly presumptuous question." A flat, obvious response. "How do you know I'm not scarier than I look?"

He takes another step forward. He's just close enough to be too close. The realization makes an odd warmth crawl up your neck and the too familiar hiss of energy burn down your veins and into your palm. This is the oddest version of fight or flight that you've ever felt.

"Are you?" He punctuates the question with another small step forward.

You're not sure if you're capable of enough thought to answer. "Only when provoked."

Loki tilts his head slightly, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The look twists your stomach. It makes you feel like he's won something. "What?"

His uncertain smile settles into a knowing smirk. "You can't control it."

It's as if all of the blood in your body freezes over. You didn't say anything. No one's said anything. There's no way he knows about what you can do, let alone the weaknesses that come from what you can't.

"What?" This time the question comes out as a scoff. You have to sound confused. You have to believe that you're confused.

The only indication that Loki heard you is the slight draw of his eyebrows that feels distinctly disappointed, like the mundaneness of your reaction's killing the fun for him. "I can help with that."

Even if you were comfortable announcing your powers to strangers, you would know better than to give any indication that you'd be willing to do that. But something about outright denial or brushing him off under the guise of pretend confusion doesn't feel like it'll settle this.

"I'm fine," you whisper, more to yourself than him, "I have it under control." Admitting that much is enough to make your skin crawl. "I was supposed to meet Natasha." A cheap, yet true enough excuse. You were planning on seeing her eventually, she's been working on teaching you different fighting moves. "I'll--I'll see you, I guess."

With that you walk past him without making eye contact. There's a lot you could think about, but the only thing your mind wants to focus on is why Loki being vaguely aware of your abilities makes you feel like you're precariously walking around shards of glass.

[zahri-melitor]

20 Questions for Fic Writers Tag Game

Thank you @androxys for the tag!

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

I have 46 works on AO3 at the moment. There's a handful more spread over various other places, but at this point I've uploaded all of my back catalogue that I want to have archived there.

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

113,119 words. Which is pretty respectable given I tend not to write long pieces.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Whatever is currently causing my brain to itch! At the moment that's most DC Comics, but I do have a few Yuri!!! on Ice drafts sitting around that I may or may not finish, at least one Girl Genius piece I could tidy up, a bunch of ATLA snippets, and I can frequently be provoked into writing Vorkosigan Saga if people pose the right scenarios.

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

College Daze: a Yuri!!! on Ice SkyGem Retirement Challenge piece, where I don't bother with the reveal. It's three separate scenarios where people meet Yuuri as a college student in the US and don't know who he is. I'm entirely unsurprised it remains my most popular - it was a very popular challenge in the fandom and it's a lot more accessible and pandering to fandom tastes than some other stuff I write.

Find Out What It Means To Me: an immediate sequel to Yuri!!! on Ice, set around Japanese Nationals. Yuuri doubts himself but succeeds and finds how much love and support he has from the whole Japanese skating community. I love this piece because it's very much a balance of things I enjoy (fiddly technical details) and characterisation.

the picture frames have changed and so has your name: DC Comics. What if Dick no longer loved Tim? What if Dick got Morrison Disease? Ahahaha I think you all know this one. It's my big DC piece so far, so I'm not surprised it's up here. It also contains female characters that casual DC fans have never heard of in major roles, so I'm also not surprised it doesn't get the attention fanon-based material does in this fandom.

Little Chick in a Nest: Yuri!!! on Ice. Victor introduces Yuuri to Lilia, without realising that Minako was also a famous prima ballerina. The YOI fandom loves Minako's Benois, but it's a tiny set dressing detail; Victor probably overlooked it and nobody ever talks about Minako as a famous dancer. I had a lot of fun setting up Victor to put his foot in it.

there's an endless road to rediscover: DC Comics. Dick and Tim playfight in the Cave and Damian misreads the situation. I think this one is popular just because of the interplay between the characters, and it was my first attempt at trying to get my head around Damian as a character.

5. do you respond to comments?

Pretty much always. It's the time I spent on LJ coming through, because comments are for talking, and if you talk to me I'll talk back. If you're waiting on a response it's usually because I'm formulating some massive post. Also I tend to meet people where they pitch their comment - the longer and more detailed it is the more detail and discussion you'll get back.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'll hold your memory in my hands tonight. It's pretty hard to beat this one for angst in terms of the subject matter. (I still giggle to myself over the pun in this title because it's dreadful) Anyway CTE is something I have a lot of feelings about and they recently diagnosed two women as having suffered CTE due to domestic violence, which is horrific and really shows the long term problems and dangers from family violence.

Then there's A Duty to Your Family and Soft, Small, Silent, Still, one of which contains attempted infanticide and the other which contains canonical accidental toddler death, so you know. When I give heads up warnings I tend to mean them.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

...Happiest? hmmmm. I have a bunch of fluff, but probably Find Out What It Means To Me for YOI, Herds of Little Vorkosigans for Vorkosigan Saga, and These Small Hours for DC Comics?

Yes okay that's two baby fics and the one where everyone tells Yuuri he's the best.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Almost none that I'm aware of; there's occasionally a bit of pedantry on the Vorkosigan Saga fics but that's from known notorious figures in the fandom and I largely ignore them. If anyone's busy having a hate on for my fics they're kind enough to do it the correct way, which is privately where I can't see it.

9. do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope. The closest I get is playing around with innuendo at times in my writing. I'd really rather insinuate and then fade to black, it's heaps less awkward to write.

10. do you write crossovers?

I was going to play good old 'what do you mean by crossover' as far as DC Comics goes, but the answer is a frank yes, because I've got a West Wing & Grease crossover drabble I'm Not Pregnant which is leveraging Stockard Channing appearing in both.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I've ever noticed, and I honestly suspect it's unlikely to happen. I would need to write things that get more attention than I currently get, designed to hit fandom popular tropes.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. None of my Vorkosigan Saga stuff is popular enough to get a Russian translation and it doesn't fit the preferred tropes of that end of fandom anyway.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nothing I've ever specifically published as fic. I do have some commentfic over the years where there's been back and forth between me and someone else, but alas commentfic is a dying breed in fandom these days.

(and it's a LOT more informal than proper cowriting)

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

All time favourite? Oh gosh. Probably Wally/Norah from Billabong, which hits just so many of my favourite notes for a relationship. Nothing for me will ever beat Wally throwing himself at Norah's mercy to confess that he would rather have died than Jim as he's 'nobody's dog', and Norah claiming him as her own.

I've loved those two since I was a little kid, and you know how it is with ships you acquire in that formative period.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I remain hopeful about a lot of my stash but I just can't see myself finishing a piece I have about Steph's baby and Helena Kyle. It's a fun scenario, but I cannot work out the villain who came after them both, and so it remains a setting without a plot.

16. What are your writing strengths?

From what people have said to me: I'm pretty good at paring down language and telling a lot of story in small scenes and understatement. There's a bunch of compliments I've had over the structure of TES 34/64 that I treasure, and everyone lost their minds over "the shoes had eventually come in handy. For the funerals." in a gap where a parent should be.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Oh, this is something I have strong feelings about. I don't like loan words being translated and multilingual fandoms often have a working level of loan words that is higher than background use: think for example the amount of French commonly used when discussing ballet. So I tend to think you should use languages at the level of comfort that the fandom has for them.

It often comes down to the fluency of the characters in the scene - I think dialogue in another language can be quite powerful if some of the characters understand it and others don't, because you can leverage that variation in understanding in your audience. However personally I'm more likely to note what languages are being used in dialogue tags than arrange for a translation.

I do try to localise for word choice to the setting of a fic but at this point I've been in fandom too long and and I'm too stubborn to localise spelling for my writing.

Which means if I were to write Wellington Paranormal fic I would probably be using my extremely scanty Māori mixed through the dialogue; I wouldn't bother translating kia ora or whānau for instance. But on the other hand I'm not going to write in another language unless it makes sense for the story to do so.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

That I published? Harry Potter. Which I'm not ashamed of or upset over, really. It was a good fandom to learn how fandom worked in, and it certainly inoculated me against a lot of nonsense behaviour later on. I still have friends I made back then, I learned a lot about how Internet communities function and behave, and it's sort of weird to have things I was on the fringe of and have contemporary memories of occurring having become Fandom Lore.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Oh damn. Hmmm. Look, probably the picture frames have changed and so has your name, because I'm super proud of myself for finishing it, but in terms of underrated pieces I have to to point to the Mother's Day series, particularly Tea for Two, because DC mothers deserve so much more love.

I don't have anyone specific to tag so let's make it an open offer.