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mylovesstuffs · 18 days ago

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learning to be loved after forgetting what it feels like to be safe.

🥕 bae-sically fake. yoon jeonghan [1]

a mylovesstuffs production...

You swear when you made up your fake relationship, you didn't know that someone worked at the coffee shop with the same name or that your family would go to check it out. Now everyone thinks you guys are actually together, and, well, pretending to be fake partners has never been so complicated. Jeonghan plays along, and even offers you a deal—100 days to let him try and woo your closed-off heart. masterlist

genre: fake dating au, modern au, romance, comedy, slice of life, slow burn, emotional healing

pairing: jeonghan × fem!reader

content: fake dating, post-breakup healing, strangers-to-partners dynamic, deal-making [100 days to woo], protective best friends [celeste, seungkwan], healthy family, intense ex-relationship trauma, food symbolism [carrots, broccoli, lunches], nice gestures [flowers, notes, meals], respect and gentle persistence, found family warmth, strong parent-daughter bond, empowering ceo, realistic emotional pacing

warnings: idr the specific warnings for this chp, so im adding all the things that this fic will have in this and future chapters. mentions of past emotional abuse/manipulation, toxic ex, grooming mentioned [non-graphic but explicit reference], cheating and infidelity [past, non-graphic], mentions of underage grooming [girls legal but barely, predatory behavior], emotional trauma and flashbacks, ptsd-like emotional responses, manipulation disguised as affection [past], reference to stalking/following for confirmation of infidelity, heartbreak and betrayal, gaslighting implications [in past relationship], alcohol consumption, mild cursing/swearing, themes of grief and emotional vulnerability, soft romantic tension, no smut [so far; not written yet], emotionally guarded reader, indirect trauma references, workplace sexism [called out], fluffy but with realistic emotional baggage

word count: 14,464 words

✦ in fiction we trust. love, celeste ˶ᵔ⤙ᵔ˶ first of all, tysm to yuki @eclipsaria and rae @nerdycheol for messing with their heads trying to figure out how to actually use the banner in this chapter — because i fucked up [well, not me technically, but technology… long story for another day]. they genuinely tried to help with every possible loophole they could think of, and i appreciate it sm. those days were a mess, and i still don’t understand how tumblr can share a meme but not a banner. anyway. huge thanks to ro @shinysobi and k @cheers-to-you-th for beta-ing and helping me revise this fic to the best version it could be. truly, without these two, i’d have gone insane trying to perfect it all by myself. i’m so, so grateful for their advice, revisions, and all the little tips that helped shape this chapter into what it is now. i could go on and on about how much they helped, but i’ll keep it short [before i get emotional lol]. last but not least, big thanks to k, ro, rae, and yuki for helping me name the ex [and not actually giving space to actual problematic ppl in my fic]. and a big bow to jj @iknowimanicon for letting me yap and brainstorm this fic on and on. btw, this beautiful beautiful banner by yuki!!

this fic went through a lot. i’ve written around 30k words so far [it still needs editing lol], and if this chapter isn’t as fun, i hope the next ones will make up for it. i really poured myself into this story, so i hope you enjoy. this is my submission for yuki’s 100 milestone collab! it’s also jeonghan’s part from my how do you fake it series ♡ i just changed the prompt a bit and included the 100 days — which honestly made it more interesting, imo. anyway, i hope you enjoy!

tag list: @metaphorandmoonlight @smiileflower @starlight-night0 @tokitosun @hanniescookie @woncheecks @suraandsugar @https-seishu @junniesoleilkth @aeerio @i-am-confused-about-life @syluslittlecrows @starstrawb @reiofsuns2001 @honeybear-taetae @atinygracie @nonbanhg @miriamkovacova @giverosespls @lalataitai @fragmentof-indifference @cowboylikemalika @salnovna @wooingmandy @binnielovie @sumzysworld @seungcheolsblackcard @matt-sturnioloo @soonyoonswoo @studioeisa @shinysobi

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“I swear, Mom, I’m not getting married anytime soon,” you had said for what felt like the hundredth time. Your mother, however, didn't seem to hear you anymore, her eyes fixed on the wedding photo album you had been trying to avoid.

“You’re almost twenty-eight! Your cousin got married last month, and your aunt is already planning your other cousin’s wedding!” She sighed, flipping to yet another photo of the happy couple. “When will it be your turn?”

You pressed your lips together, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. She didn't get it. How could she? After the five-year relationship that ended in disaster, you hadn't exactly been eager to dive back into another serious relationship. And so, you said what you always said, a little more exasperated each time: “I’m seeing someone, Mom. We’re just waiting for the right time. It’s complicated right now.”

She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed as always, knowing you're just lying. “Oh? And who is this mysterious boyfriend of yours? Where is he, huh? Why can’t we meet him?”

“I told you, it’s complicated.”

You could see your mom’s gears turning, and you knew exactly where this was heading. “Well, if you’re really serious about him, maybe it's time you finally introduce us. You know, to make sure he’s a good man.”

Crap. You hadn't thought this through.

Your dad, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, chimed in from his chair, not looking up from his newspaper. “Is he from a good family? Are you sure he has the right intentions?”

"Yes, of course!" you said, possibly too cheerfully. Your eyes did a quick tour of the room as if they were looking for a fire alarm to pull. Naturally, your mom leaned in closer.

“Tell us his name, and we’ll go visit him. We can meet him at his work if that's more convenient.”

It was one thing to talk about a boyfriend they hadn't met, and it’s another for them to demand to meet him. Panicked, you blurted out the first name that came to your mind, “Jeonghan. His name is Jeonghan. He works at Mirage Café down the street.” You winced internally at the sound of the name. Jeonghan? Really? That’s what I said? I needed to come up with a name and that’s what my brain goes with? Not something easy, not some basic, common name, but Jeonghan?!

There was a beat of silence and you could practically hear the wheels in your mom’s head moving, and then she smiled, probably thinking she had won. “We’ll go there tomorrow. Let’s see this Jeonghan, then.”

Before you could even think of a way to backpedal, your dad nodded in approval. “Sounds good. We’ll go visit.”

You tried not to make eye contact with your mom as she smiled to herself. “Perfect. We’ll take a trip tomorrow. You’ll be happy that you let us meet him, sweetheart.”

The next day had arrived way too fast. You could barely eat breakfast without your stomach churning. Your nerves were through the roof, and the thought of meeting your family at Mirage Café made you want to crawl into a hole and hide forever.

When you and your family arrived, you stood awkwardly at the entrance, mentally kicking yourself for getting into this mess in the first place. Your mom marched ahead, searching for the barista. “Let’s call him, darling. He’s probably busy, right?”

“Right,” you said through a tense smile, not sounding as confident as you’d like.

She waved down a waiter. “Excuse me! Do you know any Jeonghan? He works here, right?”

Your eyes darted across the café as if you were being hunted down. You looked up at the ceiling, pleading with the universe to give you a damn break. Please, please don’t let them see through this lie. You cleared your throat, desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. “Oh, you know... he’s probably not working today. Maybe we should come back another time?” You offered weakly, trying to nudge the waiter into agreeing.

The waiter gave you a confused look. “I’m not sure... but I’ll check.”

Before you could stop him, a voice called out from behind. “Excuse me? Did someone ask for me?”

You turned around to see a tall, impossibly handsome man with an angelic smile walking towards you three. The very same man who had handed you your coffee that morning, you realized. You blinked in shock as his name tag gleamed in the light. Yoon Jeonghan? Oh no. You hadn't paid much attention when he'd taken your order, but your subconscious must have, since his name had been the first you'd thought of. Before anyone could say a word, you did something incredibly stupid. In an instant, you stood up, feeling your face flush hot with panic. You wrapped your arm around his arm, desperately trying to make this look like it had been all planned. “Oh, you're here! Mom, Dad, meet Jeonghan,” you said enthusiastically. “We’ve been together for... two years now.”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened for a split second as he looked at you in confusion, but then, slowly, his lips curled into a smile that was way too charming for your own sanity—far too practiced for how stiff his shoulders had gone. Your mom’s eyes were practically sparkling with excitement, and you could already tell this was going to spiral out of control.

“I didn’t realize you’d be here,” Jeonghan’s voice slid like velvet, but there was a slight corner of confusion below. He shifted his weight, then smiled at your family. “It’s nice to finally meet you all.”

Your mother, bless her heart, was practically glowing. She didn’t even ask what your relationship had been like, or anything that might have made sense, instead, she immediately started making plans. “You two must be so in love!” she gushed. “How did you meet? Tell us everything! Where are you from? What’s your family like?”

You could feel your face burning and really regretted saying two years. Jeonghan, to his credit, didn't seem fazed by her interrogation, though. He just smiled that perfect smile, and before you could say a word, he launched into the most believable, well-thought-out story about how you had met through mutual friends, weaving in little details like how we both loved hiking [which you didn't] and how we once spent an entire rainy weekend binge-watching a series together [you'd never seen it]. Your mom ate it up, of course, nodding approvingly, and you just wanted to die on the spot.

Then, Jeonghan glanced at you with a low-key teasing look, and you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. Is he laughing at me? You couldn't even tell, but just when you thought you might spontaneously combust from the pressure, your dad who had been silently observing, suddenly spoke up. “So, when’s the wedding?”

You blinked, your mind went blank. “Dad!” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Your voice was a bit too loud, and you caught the eyes of several other patrons in the café who were now all very clearly watching you. Jeonghan took this as his cue to add, “I think we’re still figuring things out,” Jeonghan said smoothly, “but I’ve been thinking next year might be a good time to propose,” and that made you choke on your own saliva.

“Next year?” Your mom’s eyes widened. “Oh, we have to start planning then! I have so many ideas—Y/N, you’ll want a nice, big wedding, won’t you?”

“Uh, I—” you tried to protest and reply with something, but your voice was lost under her excitement.

Once the initial shock of the meeting wore off, and after a painfully long conversation with your family, you eventually managed to escape the café.

You rushed out of the café, heart still pounding from the whirlwind you had just dragged yourself and a complete stranger into. He was standing by the side entrance now, sleeves rolled up, a hand running through his soft, brown hair as he stared off into the street.

You hesitated for a second before calling out, “Hey… um, Jeonghan?” He turned, eyes found yours instantly and then, a faint smile curved at the corners of his lips. “I’m so sorry,” you began, words tumbling out before you could even take a breath. “That was—that was a disaster, and you were just caught in the middle of it. I didn’t even know someone named Jeonghan actually worked here. I just made it up. I didn’t think—I never thought—”

He laughed, a warm sound that made your apology trail off. “I figured,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Kind of hard to miss how wide your eyes got when I said my name.”

You winced, hands fidgeting in front of you. “Yeah, that’s… that’s fair.”

There was a pause before he nodded toward the café with a shrug. “It was entertaining. Not every day I got introduced as someone’s long-term boyfriend out of nowhere.”

You flushed. “Seriously, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I just… panicked. My family had been asking about this imaginary boyfriend for ages, and then today, they decided to show up.” You let out a shaky laugh. “And now they think you are him, but I'm really sorry and I won't let it bother you and this was and will be a one time thing. I'll handle them.”

Jeonghan chuckled again but softly. “Well, if you’re really sorry,” he said, brushing imaginary dust from his apron, “you owe me a coffee sometime.”

“Huh?...”

He nodded. “One with my name on it, preferably. Since, you know… it is mine.”

You frowned in confusion. “Your name…?”

He gestured back toward the café. “Café Mirage. It’s mine. The whole chain.”

And you found your eyes going wide again. “Wait, you’re the owner? But you were taking orders like the other staff?”

He smiled as if he was used to that kind of reaction. “I like helping out. Keep things grounded, and it’s nice to be part of the buzz when I’m not buried in paperwork.”

You didn't know what to say to that. Turned out, your imaginary boyfriend was actually a charming, successful café chain owner who somehow hadn't reported you to security yet.

He pulled his phone out of his apron pocket and handed it to you. “Number?”

You blinked again. “You’re serious?”

He smirked. “You owe me, remember?”

You reluctantly typed in your number, thumb hovering over the final digit for a moment before committing to it. As you handed his phone back, he leaned in slightly, just close enough that his breath brushed against your cheek.

“Well,” he murmured teasingly, “that was interesting.”

You winced, glancing over your shoulder where your family was still chatting excitedly inside the café. “They get… a little overenthusiastic.”

Jeonghan straightened, grinning because he found the whole thing more amusing than inconvenient. “Yeah,” he said, pocketing his phone, “I can see that.”

You were about to apologize again, but he just waved you off and started heading back inside, leaving you standing there completely dazed.

You shrugged and headed back inside, trying to school your expression. Your dad was reaching for something in his pocket—which you assumed to be his wallet—you hurried over to him. “Dad, did you already pay? If not, I can—”

Before you could finish, your mother cut in with a pleased smile. “No need, darling. It was on the house.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. On the house? You glanced toward the counter, politely excusing yourself from your parents. “I’ll just go… thank someone real quick.”

You made your way to the front, where a woman in a black apron stood, busy typing something into the POS system. You cleared your throat, and she looked up with a kind smile.

“Hi,” you said, “um… is Jeonghan still around?”

“Yes, ma'am,” she said with a nod. “One moment, I’ll call Mr. Yoon.”

You stepped aside, waiting near a shelf of pastries, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag. A few seconds later, you heard footsteps behind you.

“Back so soon?”

You turned to face him, lowering your voice as you took a small step to the side, away from the counter. “Yeah. Just… I wanted to thank you again, and also to say… about the bill… you really didn’t have to do that. I can pay, honestly. I want to pay.”

He raised an eyebrow, arms folding loosely across his chest. “So you’re saying you want to pay after pretending I was your boyfriend?” You opened your mouth to protest, but he grinned and held up a hand. “Look,” he said, kindly, “it’s on the house. Just consider it my treat—call it payment for the entertainment. All you need to do is show up the day you decide to buy me that coffee.”

You bit your lip, half-smiling despite yourself. “Are you always this stubborn?”

Jeonghan shrugged playfully. “Only when I want something.”

“Okay, thank you. Seriously.” You nodded, finally giving in.

“Anytime.”

You glanced over your shoulder and saw your family was already getting up, chattering excitedly near the door. “I should go,” you said. “They’re probably already planning our wedding.”

Jeonghan laughed at that. “I look forward to hearing all about it.”

You chuckled, stepping back. “I’ll see you soon then. For the coffee.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, voice sounding calm and warm.

You slumped onto your bed, the towel still wrapped loosely around your shoulders, your hair damp and sticking to the back of your neck. It had been three days since that café incident. Three whole days and not a single text. Why had he taken your number if he wasn’t going to use it?

You sighed and rolled onto your side, staring at the soft glow of your phone screen. Was he just being nice? Had he thought your lie was pathetic and this was his way of backing out gracefully? You groaned and buried your face into the pillow. You owed him a coffee anyway, and maybe it was time to just go to the café tomorrow, buy him the damn drink, apologize again, and vanish from his life forever like the myth you accidentally became.

Just as you were scripting your own disappearance, there was a soft knock at your door.

“Come in,” you mumbled, voice muffled in pillow fluff.

The door creaked open and your mom stepped in, holding a tall glass of milk filled all the way to the brim. She made her way to your bedside table, carefully placing the glass down. “Your hair’s still wet,” she scolded lightly, tsking as she brushed a few strands back. “You’ll catch a cold like this.”

You only just hummed in response to her. Despite your age, despite the adult life you lived outside these walls, your parents still treated you like their little girl. You were only living with them again because your workplace was closer to their house than your apartment, and… because they had missed their only child. You had missed them too.

Your mom sat on the edge of the bed for a second, smoothing the blanket over your legs like she used to when you were small. You glanced at her, at the lines time had etched onto her face, and that stirred a fragile kind of love and bittersweet warmth in your chest. Your parents hadn't had the easiest childhoods. They didn't talk about it much, but you knew. Maybe that was why they tried so hard to give you the life they hadn't gotten, and they did it really well. Your dad, especially, was the reason your standards were sky high. He treated both you and your mom like queens. Not princesses, Queens. He never made either of you feel small, and even when there wasn’t much money, there had always been love and that love felt like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer.

That was why it had hurt so much when you didn’t listen to them about your ex. They knew he wasn’t right for you, they had seen the signs which you hadn't. You were too in love—or what you thought had been love. Even after it all had come crashing down, your parents didn’t say, I told you so. They didn’t shut you out, instead they pulled you in closer and protected you. They never brought him up again, and just silently patched you up with love, like they always did. You still remembered the way your dad’s jaw had clenched when he had seen you cry, and the way your mom had stroked your hair and pretended not to be crying with you.

You blinked back the sudden sting in your eyes. Your mom patted your thigh, smiling at you like she already knew you had been spiraling before she came in. “Dry your hair properly, okay? And drink the milk.”

You nodded slowly, “Thanks, Mom.”

She got up and walked to the door, pausing before she left. “You’ll be okay, you know. Whatever’s bothering you... it’ll pass.”

You nodded again, because she was always right.

The door clicked shut behind her. You sat up, reached for the milk, and took a sip. You were still annoyed that Jeonghan hadn't texted yet, but maybe tomorrow, you would go see him just to return the gesture.

You were halfway through your milk and mindlessly scrolling Instagram when a text from an unknown number suddenly lit up your screen.

You walked into the café wearing something casual and comfortable which was feminine but not too much, something that still felt put together without trying too hard. You glanced around, your eyes instinctively landing on the floor-to-ceiling windows. The natural light poured in like a warm hug, and you chose a table by the glass, giving you a perfect view of the area outside.

Barely two minutes passed before you spotted him. He was walking toward you, but no apron this time, just a simple outfit that still made him look unfairly good. His hair was slightly tousled, a few strands falling perfectly over his forehead, and there was that ridiculously sweet and disarming smile gracing his lips. He definitely knew the effect he had on people and didn't even try to hide it.

He stopped in front of you. “I’ve got a better spot for us,” he says softly, nodding for you to follow him.

You stood and trailed behind him as he led you deeper into the café, away from the area you had been in a few seconds ago and into a semi-private space tucked to the side. The vibe was warm soft beige and creamy whites, cozy lighting, and a calm atmosphere that immediately made you feel at home.

Once seated, Jeonghan flashed another smile. “What do you want to order? My treat.”

“But I’m here to treat you, remember?” You said.

“Exactly,” he grinned. “You’re already getting the coffee. Let me at least cover the dessert.”

You started to argue, but he gave you that playfully persuasive look, and insisted until you finally gave in and settled on tiramisu.

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about your work, your absurd deadlines, your coworkers’ obsession with bubble tea. He told you stories about running the café chain, how he sometimes snuck into different branches just to work as a barista because he missed the human side of it. There was both laughter and comfortable silences rising between you, and before you knew it, he had completely disarmed you.

Then, as you were taking a sip of your latte, he leaned forward just a bit and said it; softly but with no hesitation. “I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.”

You nearly choked on your latte. “W-What?”

He chuckled but didn't take it back. “I’m serious. You were pretty and nervous, trying to save face in front of your family... but there was something about you that just stuck to me.”

Your heart stirred, but not enough to change where it was currently locked away. You set your cup down gently. “Jeonghan, you seem like a good man… and you’re,” you gestured vaguely at him, “well, unfairly handsome, if I'm being honest, but… I’ve closed off that part of my heart for a while, and I’m not ready to open it yet.”

He didn't ask why or pry, he just smiled that same soft understanding smile. “I figured you’d say that. So how about a deal?”

You tilted your head. “A deal?”

“I’ll keep playing the part of your boyfriend anytime your family needs to see me.” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “But you give me 100 days.”

“One hundred days for what?”

“For me to woo you,” he said, eyes gleaming in a way that shook you a little more than you’d like to admit. “No pressure and definitely no expectations, just let me try. That’s all.”

You hesitated, looking down at your hands. “I’m not promising anything, Jeonghan. Like I said, my heart is… closed.” You took a breath, thinking it over; it was too much of a good deal to completely turn down. After a pause, you looked up again. “But I’m not completely closed-minded. If you want to try, you can. Just know I might not change.”

He leaned back with a satisfied smile. “I can work with that.”

You exhaled a soft laugh and nodded. “Alright then. Deal.”

The countdown began.

Two

Day 5 of 100

Your pencil glided across your sketchpad as you worked on a draft for the new balcony design of a hotel lounge. The afternoon light spilled in through the office windows, hitting your page just right as you adjusted the lines of the railing. You were lost in thought, debating whether to go for a rustic wood finish or a sleek glass border when a paper bag was dropped onto your desk with a soft thud.

“Delivery for you,” a coworker said. “From your boyfriend, apparently.”

Before you could even process, Celeste, your best friend and your cousin, launched up from her seat like she had been electrocuted. She didn't even give you a chance to reach for the bag. “Boyfriend?! Excuse me—the fuck do you mean boyfriend?” she exclaimed, already halfway through tearing open the top of the paper bag. “When the hell did you get a boyfriend? I thought you were done with love! You said you were done with love!”

You exhaled sharply, snatching the bag from her hand before she could dig in further. “Cel, can you not violate my lunch?”

“So it is lunch! And it’s from him!” she paused then looked at you accusingly, “who even is him? And why do I not know about this?”

You glanced down, eyebrows raising when you saw a folded note tucked inside, the handwriting a neat scrawl: Don’t skip meals today. — Jeonghan

You honestly weren’t expecting to hear from him after that coffee—maybe in a week or so. So when a paper bag landed on your desk today, the very next day, your brain had to short-circuit. You swallowed, the corners of your lips twitching, and pulled out the lunch box. Inside was a beautifully packed meal—teriyaki chicken with seasoned rice, grilled veggies, and a small matcha cookie tucked in on the side. Your stomach growled on cue.

Celeste was practically bouncing behind you, peering over your shoulder. “You better start talking before I call your mom.”

You rolled your eyes and gestured to her seat. “Sit the fuck down.”

She obeyed, sliding animatedly into her chair, arms crossed. “I’m listening.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Okay, so… remember how my family’s been bugging me to get married for like… two years?”

“Yeah. They’ve been on your ass because it’s their full-time job.”

“Well,” you started, picking up your chopsticks and stabbing a piece of broccoli, “I kind of told them I already had a boyfriend of two years.”

Her eyes widened. “You lied?!”

“I didn’t mean to lie-lie. I just… said a random name, and said he worked at a café.”

“And?”

“And then my parents dragged me to that café.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God—”

“And there actually was a Jeonghan working there.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth. “NO.”

“YES.”

She wheezed.

“And before I could do anything, he walked over, introduced himself to my parents, and I panicked and told them he was my boyfriend.”

Celeste fell sideways in her chair, clutching her chest like it was too much for her weak heart to handle. “This is insane! Keep going.”

You shoved a bite of chicken into your mouth. “Later, I went to apologize to him for the scene and it turns out… he’s the owner of the café chain.”

“What the actual—?!”

“So I took him up on a coffee treat a few days later, and while we were there, he told me he fell in love with me at first sight and made me a deal.” You said and calmly took another bite as Celeste shrieked. “He’ll fake-date me in front of my family whenever I need — in exchange for 100 days to woo me.” Now all you heard is silence, and so you glanced at Celeste, who was staring at you like she just witnessed a plot twist in a K-drama in real life. “…You okay?”

She nodded slowly. “I have never been more emotionally fed in my life.”

You snort. “Well, now get physically fed before I steal your lunch.”

Juggling your sketchpad under one arm and your nearly dead phone in your other hand, you found the front door was locked, which was weird because your parents were always home this time of day. Frowning, you unlocked it and pushed the door open.

The first thing you saw was a note, stuck right on the shoe rack in your dad’s familiar handwriting: Buy a bouquet of flowers on your way to your aunt’s. Don’t stay home—come straight there.

Your brows furrowed as you stepped in and dropped your bag. You instinctively reached for your phone to call your mom but of course it had finally died. You stared at it for a few seconds before groaning. With a reluctant sigh, you grabbed your charger for later, locked the door again, and left for your aunt’s.

You had expected a cozy dinner with maybe a few people. Instead, you were hit with the sound of dozens of voices the moment you stepped into the front gate. Laughter, chatter, shoes—a mountain of them—outside the door. You walked in and it was everyone. Uncles. Aunts. Cousins you hadn't seen in months. Your second cousin from abroad was there too. It was a family gathering, you realised. You blinked, recovered quickly and offered a polite smile and greeting to anyone who turned toward you. You bowed your head, murmuring ‘Hellos,’ as you shuffled through the familiar hallway, doing your best to keep your confusion hidden.

You finally found your mom in the kitchen, pulling roasted chicken from the oven. She turned around and let out a tiny yelp when she saw you. “Oh— you scared me!”

You immediately reached forward and steadied the pan in her hand. “Sorry! That could’ve burned you.”

She exhaled in relief, then smiled wide. “Everyone’s been waiting for you. Go change and plate the dishes, okay?”

You didn't move. “Wait. What is going on? Why is everyone here? Why didn’t you tell me we were coming here today?”

She looked at you, confused. “I did tell you. I sent you a text this afternoon. I told you we were all coming to celebrate your cousin’s graduation. Everyone’s in town.”

You stared at her, stunned for a moment, then groaned. “Oh my God—I didn’t see it. My phone’s been flooded with client messages and drafts and edits and now it’s dead and—ugh.”

As you were about to turn around and change, your mom gasped, her eyes going wide. “Don’t tell me Jeonghan’s not with you!”

You froze mid-step. “...What?”

“I told the family your boyfriend would be coming too. I wrote it in the text. You didn’t see that either?”

You facepalmed so hard it echoed. “Obviously I didn’t. Why would you tell them he’s coming?!”

“I thought he was! It would be so cute for everyone to meet him tonight.”

Your heart lurched. This is bad, this is very bad. “I’ll fix it,” you muttered and spun on your heel, practically running through the hallway. You darted into a spare room and locked the door behind you and slumped against it for a second. You plugged your phone in and the screen flickered to life. 1% and you didn't wait, your fingers were already flying across the screen as you found Jeonghan’s number and pressed ‘Call.’

“Hey,” his voice came through, warm and a little sleepy.

You didn't let him finish. “Jeonghan, I’m so, so sorry to bother you at this hour—seriously, I wouldn't call unless it was important. Are you busy? Or like… home and maybe willing to go on a sudden field trip?”

He chuckled. “Hey, breathe. What happened?”

You exhaled shakily. “So apparently—my cousin graduated and the entire extended family is at my aunt’s place. My mom had texted me about it but I hadn't seen it because my phone was dying and drowning in work notifications. And now I’m here, and so is everyone.”

“Okaaay…”

“And my mom—bless her—told the whole family you were coming… as my boyfriend.”

There was a beat of silence and you cringed. “So… you want me to come over and save you?”

“YES, Jeonghan. Everyone’s here. My uncles, aunts, their kids, and my mom just dropped, ‘Don’t tell me Jeonghan’s not here with you!’ I’m two seconds away from faking a stomach ache and crawling out the window.” You heard him laugh lightly as you blabbered on. “I’m seriously sorry,” you apologized again, your voice small. “Can you—would you maybe come over? You don’t have to stay long, just… show face, say some sweet things about me, eat a cookie, and then disappear. Please?”

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm...”

“I’m begging you, Jeonghan. I swear I owe you so much after this. You can blacklist me from your café if you want, I’ll go willingly.”

He laughed again, soft and amused. “You don’t need to beg. I got you. Send me the address.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he said easily. “I told you I’d play the boyfriend whenever you needed me. I’m on my way.”

“You’re the best. Like actually the best. I owe you dinner, bubble tea, and a kidney.”

“I’ll take the bubble tea. Keep your kidney.”

You were already typing the address with trembling fingers. “On it. Thank you. I mean it.”

“I know,” he teased. “Now hurry up before your aunt tries to set you up with your cousin’s dentist or something.”

You groaned. “Don’t even joke about that.”

He just laughed again, and the call ended. Now, all you had to do was survive the next twenty minutes of nosy relatives until your fake boyfriend-slash-lifeline walked through that door.

So, what was the next best distraction? Your little cousins, of course.

You made your way to the living room where a couple of them were sprawled on the floor playing some weird version of Uno that definitely didn't follow official rules. You crouched beside them and instantly snatched a card from the youngest, who gasped and tried to get it back while shouting, “Unfair! You’re not even playing!”

“That’s because I’m a wildcard,” you smirked, holding the card high above your head while the others laughed. You spent the next few minutes stirring up chaos like, peeking at their cards, mixing up the draw pile, and accusing them of cheating just to mess around. They were yelling at you, but laughing too hard to mean it. It was the perfect distraction from your own nerves for the night.

That was, until you heard footsteps and a familiar voice that made you groan. “Well, well, well... I hear someone’s boyfriend will be here soon.”

You whipped your head around to see Celeste strolling into the room, a smug little smirk curling her lips as she sauntered up to you. She bumped your hip lightly with hers and raised her brows in exaggerated curiosity. You cussed her under your breath through a clenched smile, already bracing yourself. Unfortunately, your aunts were quicker than your panic.

“Oh, he's coming tonight, right?” one piped up from the couch.

“We’ve been dying to meet him!” another added cheerfully, leaning forward.

You internally screamed but plastered on a polite smile. “Yes, he’s… on his way.” Before the interrogation could go any further, you grabbed Celeste's wrist and muttered, “Excuse us,” before dragging her away from the living room crowd, down the hallway and toward a corner near the bathroom. “You’re actually insane,” you hissed once you were alone. “Why would you bring him up?! They were quiet, Celeste. They were probably forgetting!”

Celeste just giggled, “I’m sorry, I had to. You know I’ve been dying to meet the guy who managed to sneak past your titanium heart.”

You groaned and rubbed your forehead. “First of all, you already know it’s not like that. Second of all—okay, listen—this is what happened.” You exhaled and spilled the entire story from start to finish: how your phone had died, how you hadn't read your mom’s text about tonight’s gathering, how she’d apparently told everyone that Jeonghan would be joining, and how you had called him to come save your ass.

Celeste listened wide-eyed and gasped at all the right moments, nodding along. “So he’s at least coming, right?!”

“Yes,” you sighed. “And please don’t make it worse. Don’t act like this is some grand romance. He’s doing me a favor, okay?”

“Mhm,” she hummed with a sarcastic grin. “Of course, of course.”

Before you could smack her with a dish towel, Joshua, her long-term boyfriend, showed up with his usual sweet smile. “Hey, sorry to interrupt the secret meeting,” he said, wrapping an arm around Celeste's waist. “But I’m gonna steal her for a sec. Your mom’s calling you, by the way.”

You nodded and smiled politely at him. “She probably wants to scold me again.”

Joshua chuckled and led Celeste away as you headed back to find your mom. As expected, she was standing by the kitchen counter, hands on her hips. “Did you have to rile up the kids like that?” she asked, though her tone is more bemused than angry.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “They started it.”

“Go plate the dishes,” she said, trying to hide her smile at your childish behaviour. “And behave.”

You grabbed the fried rice and sides, neatly plating them and arranging them on the dining table. The smell was warm and rich and comforting, but it still didn't calm your nerves.

Ding dong.

You nearly launched yourself down the hallway to the front door, ignoring everyone’s curious glances behind you. There was only one person you were hoping to see on the other side, so you reached for the handle and opened it and—thank god—there he was. Jeonghan; your lifeline for the night. Your heart might have been closed... but damn, it still knew how to skip.

Jeonghan stood tall and effortlessly charming in a beige cardigan over a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A silver chain peeked just slightly from under his collar. He was holding a bouquet: roses and baby’s breath, just like your mom's type, and was wearing a calm smile like he hadn't just agreed to join a family gathering at the last minute.

“You’re… kinda late,” you muttered, your hand still on the doorknob, but your heart was doing somersaults from relief.

He leaned slightly forward, the smile growing. “I brought flowers. That buys me five minutes of forgiveness, right?”

You snorted under your breath and grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside quickly before anyone else saw him and turned this into a press conference, but you knew it was too late when you heard a chorus of gasps and not-so-quiet whispers rise like a wave from the living room.

“Oh, he’s so handsome,” someone whispered.

“Is that him?!”

Your aunt gasped. “He looks just like a celebrity—”

“Is that the Jeonghan?” one of your cousins said in awe.

Jeonghan’s eyes swept over the room politely which happened to be straight ahead from the main door before turning to you with a smug little glint in his eye. “You didn’t tell me it was going to be a fan meeting.”

“Oh come on,” you murmured under your breath, forcing a smile so strained you swore your cheeks might just snap as your relatives descended like hawks circling prey.

He slipped off his shoes, and just as he was about to step onto the wooden floor in his socks, one of your aunts rushed to the door. Her eyes practically sparkled as she beamed at her niece’s so-called ‘secret boyfriend.’ You, the niece who apparently had hidden him away for two years. Without hesitation, she bent down and placed a pair of white guest slippers in front of him. Jeonghan gave her a smile so sweet it could rot teeth, and you realized he'd never be one to falter in charm. You’d admit it, no matter how many times you saw it, he really did have a beautiful smile.

As you both stepped inside, the small herd of kids and elders who had been in the living room just a minute ago, started trailing behind you. You started feeling a little self-conscious. It had been two years since you last dated anyone, and suddenly you couldn't remember how you used to act with Minho, your now ex boyfriend. If you thought about it, two years was a long time; long enough to forget the feel of someone’s hand in yours, or how you used to laugh back then when they were around. But memory had a cruel sense of loyalty, because it never forgot the pain.

How had you even fallen for someone like Minho? Someone who had pursued you first, only to break you later. If you could go back, you’d beg yourself not to say anything that night, to stay strangers.

As you poured Jeonghan a glass of water, your thoughts still swirling, you barely noticed him watching you. He smoothly tugged at the hem of your sleeve, Are you okay? his eyes asked.

You glanced at him and smiled, the smallest shake of your head telling him you were fine, even if you weren't entirely sure it was true.

Just then, your mom appeared in the living room, eyes wide and lit up with relief and happiness when she spotted Jeonghan sitting on the couch. “Oh lord!” she exclaimed, rushing over to you both. “I went to the bathroom for one second—one second, and missed the chance to greet you properly!” Her hands fluttered as she talked, clearly flustered. She was genuinely upset, as though it was absurd that she actually left the moment before Jeonghan rang the bell. The timing was almost too poetic, but that was your mom for you.

She clapped her hands then and ushered everyone to the dining room. “It’s so late now, come on, come on—everyone to the table. Dinner’s ready!”

You and Jeonghan followed her, along with the rest of your extended family. The dining table, of course, wasn't nearly big enough for this many people, so the kids were more than happy to scatter to the living room where the TV held more importance than proper seating.

It was funny how easily you were getting along with Jeonghan. He didn’t seem intimidating when you first met him, but still, you didn’t expect to feel this comfortable around him so soon. This was only the third time you had seen him in person, and yet it felt like you had known him longer. Too long maybe, and too close too fast. You had learned your lesson the hard way. You try not to get attached to people anymore, or at least not easily or carelessly like you did before. And yet... here you were, telling yourself he was just a friend. A good one, sure—genuine, polite, naturally teasing in a way that didn't sting. Like just now, when he handled your relatives’ questions with ease. It made you wonder if he had rehearsed all this in front of a mirror.

They were asking him how you two had met, or, to rephrase it correctly—how he had met the love of his life, as one particularly nosy aunt put it. He was smooth with his answers though, like he had been back at the café when he first met your parents. His voice was calm, a smile curved so sincere, and in some way, every word he said sounded real like it actually had happened. You blinked, trying to hold onto the moment, because truth be told, nothing like what he was saying ever had happened with Minho; not even close. That boy never even tried, and still, despite all the pain he had left you with, despite the way he did you dirty and walked away without a shred of guilt, he still lived rent-free in the back of your mind.

You glanced back at Jeonghan, now answering what he did for a living and why he never had appeared by your side before. His words were golden, the kind that had your relatives gushing and giggling. Words that belonged in fairy tales. But he was no prince, and those stories didn't exist in real life.

You sighed, picking at the little pile of broccoli on the edge of your plate. You hated broccoli. No matter how it was cooked, it tasted so bitter, bitter like betrayal. But you ate it anyway because your mom would scold you if you didn't. So you pushed through, chewing your fourth and final piece like a true soldier that you were. What you did love, however, was carrots. Carrots were divine. And apparently, Jeonghan had taken notice of that.

Just as you were about to take another bite, two sets of chopsticks appeared over your rice bowl at the exact same time, both holding out perfectly cooked carrot slices. You paused, blinking, your eyes following the utensils back to their owners. Your dad. And Jeonghan.

Smiling, you glanced at your father first, but he wasn't looking at you. He was looking at Jeonghan—with a raised brow and that intimidating dad stares only fathers like yours could master. You shifted your eyes to Jeonghan next. He met your gaze, smiled still gently as ever, and dropped the carrot into your bowl before lowering his chopsticks. He didn't even flinch under your dad’s stare. Your father held his gaze for another second, then, wordlessly, added his carrot to your bowl too.

Shy and oddly happy, you pulled your rice bowl closer to your face, half hiding behind it, trying to focus on eating so no one saw your flustered expression. The table erupted into hushed chuckles including your mom, because she couldn't help herself but to throw marriage blessings your way. People nodded and laughed, and soon everyone shifted focus back to their food, making sure neither you nor Jeonghan felt awkward.

But in the middle of it all, there was one thing no one noticed.

The small, soft smile curved at the corner of your father’s lips. Because no matter how much of a threat Jeonghan might have seemed in this little game of hearts, to your father—you had always been his little queen.

After dinner, everyone began clearing the table, piling dishes into the sink. Thankfully, dishwashing duties didn't fall under your job description in this house. You were technically a guest too, at least that was the excuse you clung to as you quietly tiptoed away from the mess.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight.

That was when it hit you, you hadn't seen Jeonghan in a while, and worse, you hadn't even offered to walk him out yet. The man probably had sacrificed his peaceful night’s sleep just to show up at your family gathering and play pretend boyfriend. The least you could do was make sure he got home safe and as early as possible… or at least wasn't cornered by another round of interrogation.

You wandered through the halls, gently pushing open doors until you found him sitting cross-legged on the floor of the guest room, now completely claimed by your little cousins and their stuffed animals. You blinked, quietly leaning against the doorframe. He looked oddly at peace there, in a room filled with cartoon blankets and sticky fingers.

One of your younger cousins was enthusiastically chatting with him. “So my birthday is next month!” the little boy said, eyes bright. “You have to come, okay?”

Seriously, how does he do that? Kids, moms… even aunties? God. It’s actually scary how easy it is to like him, you wondered. Jeonghan gave him a soft smile, but you could read the hesitation on his face. He was trying to be polite, trying to find a way to decline without crushing tiny dreams. “That sounds fun,” he said slowly, “but I might need to check with—”

Before he could finish, your cousin cut in with an easy solution. “You can just come with Y/N! You’re her boyfriend, duh. You have to come!”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, but before he could respond, you stepped in from the door and cleared your throat. “Alright, birthday boss,” you said with a playful smile. “Jeonghan’s going to be super busy that day, okay? You’ll have to deal with just me.”

Your cousin looked disappointed for a beat before shrugging with a sigh, “Fine… but please at least don't annoy me that day ”

“Deal,” you said, laughing, as you gestured for Jeonghan to follow you out.

He rose, and followed you through the hallway. You led him around the corner of the house, to the narrow balcony space near the laundry room, just private enough without being suspicious.

He quirked an eyebrow at you that resulted in you giving him a dry look. “What?”

“You really won’t let me come to his birthday?” he queried, lips tilting with amused defiance. “I’ll clear my schedule for the kiddo if that’s what it takes to make my pretend girlfriend’s family happy.”

“You looked uncomfortable. I thought you’d want an easy out.”

“I was uncomfortable because I didn’t know if you were okay with me going,” he said honestly, voice softer. “But if you are, I want to come. It’s not a bother.”

Caught slightly off guard, you tried to blink it away, “I’ll… think about it,” you murmured

“Fair,” he said, leaning against the wall. “So, what’d you really pull me aside for?”

“Oh, I was just gonna tell you to head out before someone tried to chain you to the dining table with dessert.” He snorted, and you glanced at him again, your voice dropping more to the soft range. “Thanks for coming, though. I’m sorry I called last minute and dragged you into this. You were probably asleep, weren’t you?”

“About to be,” he admitted with a laugh. “But it’s okay. I told you, didn’t I? If you ever need saving, just say the word.”

You didn't respond right away, instead you just smiled before whispering, “Let me walk you out.”

He nodded, and turned to walk toward the front door, but just as he was about to reach for the handle, he paused and glanced back. “Where are your parents?” he asked, almost like he just realized he should say goodbye properly.

You tilted your head, scanning the hallway. “They’re probably… somewhere.”

He didn't take your vague answer, though, so he disappeared back down the hall, and a minute later, you heard familiar voices of your mom’s tone and your dad’s low chuckle and then, Jeonghan’s goodbye. Your aunt insisted he stay the night, even offering him an extra toothbrush and spare pajama set, but Jeonghan politely declined, because of course, he knew what was appropriate and what was not.

Still, your mom told him to come by their house sometime, which also happened to be your living space too. He promised he would, and then finally, walked back to the front door where you were waiting for him.

You caught his eyes one last time and bid, “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

He gave you a little salute as he walked out of the door. “Goodnight.”

You watched as he stepped outside into the quiet of the night, and then you closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Three

Day 8 of 100

You had hoped this would be your winning year. You had landed the job you had always dreamed of, and now, there was a business trip to Italy; something you had kept on your vision board for years. It felt like everything was aligning at last, but luck never played fair. You had misunderstood the timeline because you had thought the trip would be next month. Turns out, it was this week—right on your mother's 45th birthday.

The company was sponsoring everything—flights, accommodations, even the visa. In return, you and your team would be working on a high-level project that could redefine your career portfolio. It was an opportunity you’ve only dreamed of, and yet, here you were, sitting in front of your laptop with the screen glowing in your dim room, torn between the offer and a woman who meant the world to you. You had been planning her birthday for so long. You had wanted this year to be extravagant, joyful, and different. She had always put everyone else first, and this time, you had wanted her to feel like the star of the world.

Your heart ached. Of course, your mother’s happiness was more important than any job title, any overseas project. You were already drafting a polite email to decline the offer when a soft knock tapped on your door.

She entered, holding a glass of milk, wearing that same smile that always reached you before her words did. "I got the mail from your company earlier," she said, sitting on the edge of your bed. "I opened it by mistake, but... I know it's about your trip to Italy." You stayed quiet, already knowing where this was headed. “I know you’re worried about my birthday,” she continued, offering the glass to you. “But listen to me. This trip is important. You’ve worked so hard for this moment, so don’t let it go just because you want to buy me a cake and hang some balloons.”

“Mom, it’s not just a cake and balloons. I wanted to do something big this year. You deserve that,” you whispered.

“Sweetheart, I don’t need big. I just need to know you’re happy and that you’re doing what you love. That’s enough of a gift for me.” You lowered your gaze, hands wrapped around the warm glass. “Go to Italy,” she said firmly. “Prioritize your future. You can celebrate with me next year, or the year after. But right now, it’s your time.”

You nodded, giving up. “Okay… I’ll go.”

She kissed your forehead, a gesture that still made you feel like a child wrapped in safety. And as she left, you sat back, gulping the milk, your heart swelling.

You would always count your stars that she had chosen to be yours, that she was the one you got to call, Mom. Your life had been stitched with love since the moment you were born, her heartbeat syncing with yours. Everything you were, and everything you would become, was because of her, and because of them; your parents. For their love, their sacrifices, their endless belief in your dreams. You were you… because of them.

Just as you were lost in that warm pool of gratitude, your mother broke the silence again. “So… is Celeste going with you?”

You shook your head slightly, “no, she’s not. She’s already involved in another project. It’ll probably just be me and a few others from the team.”

Your mother hummed, nodding. “And… does Jeonghan know?”

You let out a light exhale. “Not yet. I’ll tell him once it’s finalized.”

There was a moment of pause before she spoke again. “You know,” she began with a familiar lilt, “Jeonghan… I really like him. He’s the best boyfriend you’ve had so far. It’s a mother’s instinct.” She chuckled at her own words like she always did when she said something she believed was completely obvious.

You blinked, looking at her, lips parting with a small smile. There was a wave of relief washing over you, because who knew the random name you nervously muttered would actually turn out to be attached to someone like Jeonghan who was decent, polite, respectful. Not a creep. “Yeah,” you muttered, glancing down. “He’s… nice.”

You knew your mother was right, because every boyfriend you had, you ended up walking away from for one reason or another. But when it came to Minho, your parents were obsessively against the relationship, and still, you didn’t care. You didn’t listen. You were too blinded by a love that you now knew was never truly mutual.

Minho was the only man you genuinely, wholeheartedly fell in love with. You dared admit—no one else ever came close. You loved him in a way that scared you, you loved him in a way that consumed you, and yet… he made you so sad.

He was a fucking terrible person, and yet, you loved him more than anyone deserved to be loved if they were going to treat someone the way he treated you. You remembered the nights he left your messages on read, the way he made you feel like your needs were too much, like your softness was some kind of burden he had to bear. You remembered holding your breath during phone calls, hoping today he wouldn’t be in one of his moods, laced with that mockery he always passed off as jokes.

He didn’t scream or break things, but he broke you in pieces so small you didn’t even notice at first. Little digs at your work, guilt-tripping you for being emotional, never showing up when it actually mattered—when you were sick, when your dad was hospitalized, when you cried and said I really need you right now. And he didn’t come. You were fucking dying inside and he didn’t show up. You still remembered how small you felt clutching your phone, praying he would text, but he didn’t. And when he finally did, it was something so simple like, Did you eat? Like he hadn’t gone missing for days, like he didn’t just leave you all alone to drown in pain that he had promised to be there for.

You knew you deserved better, but you didn’t want better. You wanted him to be better. And that was your downfall, because you held onto hope, onto potential, onto memories from the beginning, when he was kind and sweet and said things like I’ve never met anyone like you. But all of that turned to dust the moment you looked closely. He won you over with his words, but it was his actions that made you walk away.

Your parents begged you to let go. Your friends tried to shake some sense into you, but love didn't always listen to reason, and you… you were stupid in love. And now, looking back, the part that hurt most was how long you stayed naive, how long you let him stay in your life, how long you made excuses for him when he didn’t deserve a single one. You hated him, but you hated yourself more for loving him.

Snapping you back, your mother took the empty glass from your hands as she stood up. “Get some sleep, okay?”

You nodded, offering a ‘Goodnight’ before she walked out and closed the door behind her.

Without even glancing back at your laptop or your skincare shelf, you pushed yourself off the bed, trudged into the bathroom, brushed your teeth half-asleep, and threw yourself onto the mattress as soon as you were done.

Your manager in charge was a certified piece of shit. There was no other way to put it. He had been dumping a mountain of unnecessary workload on you for the last three days, which was an obvious attempt to wear you down before the Italy project even began. You know his type; a man who thought women were only good for pretty presentations and coffee runs. It was disgusting. It got under your skin in ways you couldn't even articulate without gritting your teeth.

Right then, he was yelling, loud and pointless. Screaming at you for things that weren't even part of your damn job description—the audacity. Beside you stood Celeste and Seungkwan, both fuming in silence. Their fists were clenched so tightly, you were convinced their fingernails were permanently embedded into their palms. From the corner of your eye, you could see them both with their heads lowered, trying not to explode, but you knew them. If it weren’t for their upcoming promotions hanging in the balance, Seungkwan would’ve already flattened that pitiful nose into something even more pathetic, and Celeste would've kicked him where the sun didn't shine. God bless their restraint. If what they had worked so hard for wasn't hanging by a thread, they would've already thrown hands right there, right then, in front of HR, God, and everyone, and they wouldn’t even have regretted it. They would've walked to the police station whistling.

Just when you thought the day couldn't get any more heated, the CEO walked in. Mrs. Kim. Your boss’s boss. The actual authority in the building; a woman. The very species your manager seemed to despise with his whole shriveled heart, and maybe that was why he was divorced and hadn't gotten laid since forever.

She walked in, looked at the three of you, then her eyes moved to the manager. “What’s going on here?”

Before any of you could speak, he jumped in, sugarcoating everything, and hearing his version of events, how he was ‘just trying to guide his team to success’ made all three of you visibly nauseous.

Seungkwan was the first to speak, voice sweet as syrup but sharp as a knife. “Oh, yes, we're definitely being guided.”

That statement with that tone, made the CEO raise a brow. Celeste didn't wait, she stepped in calmly and confidently. “We understand deadlines, but lately the amount of off-task work being pushed onto us has started affecting the actual projects we’re assigned to. It’s just becoming difficult to prioritize what’s actually important.” She didn't whine or plead, she simply spoke facts with clarity and class.

Mrs. Kim turned to the manager, “why are they doing extra work that doesn’t align with their primary responsibilities? These three are handling a high-level project—one that has international visibility. I expect their full energy to be focused on that.” The manager sputtered, trying to defend himself, but Mrs. Kim shut it down gracefully, yet firmly. “Respect your team. Don’t misuse their time because you misunderstand their value. Let this be the last conversation we have about this.”

A girl’s girl, through and through. A CEO who got it, and as she walked away, Seungkwan muttered under his breath, “I’d die for her.” You didn't even have the strength to laugh, because you were too busy mentally high-fiving her in your head.

Your manager in charge still didn't look remotely ashamed, just let out an ignorant sigh and shooed the three of you away like he was the victim, but whatever, you were too tired to deal with male mediocrity right then, so you just complied.

On the way back to your desks, Seungkwan leaned closer and threw a “Lunch date?” your way. It was actually pretty normal and nothing new. Platonic lunch dates were kind of your and Seungkwan's thing—matching eye rolls and stealing each other’s fries. Celeste might have been your closest cousin, and your ride-or-die since childhood, but Seungkwan was your bestie, your lunch break soulmate, the lawless good to your tired neutral. Who said you needed only one close person when life handed you more than one decent human being?

You nodded at his offer and plopped back into your seat, immediately drawn to the growing pile of papers on your desk, the ones about the Italy trip and your high-profile project. You uncapped your signature green pen [because black and blue are for amateurs] and started scribbling notes. Mid-marking, your phone buzzed, and without thinking, you assumed it was your mom because who else would it have been at that hour aside from Celeste or Seungkwan—and they were right there, but no, it wasn't your mom. It was Jeonghan.

He was asking if you were free for lunch. You glanced at Seungkwan, who was already halfway through planning his order in his head, you texted back.

You smiled. Sipped the lukewarm coffee from your desk, and went back to highlighting your to-do list.

Seungkwan scanned the menu and orders a burger that was apparently ‘new and calling his name’. He recommended the same one to you, so you checked the picture on the menu and yeah, you weren't not gonna lie, it did look scrumptious.

He immediately started ranting about how he was on a diet and how Vernon didn't diet with him, and how that clearly meant Vernon didn't love him enough.

You laughed right in his face. “Vernon doesn’t need to starve himself to prove he loves you, babe.”

Seungkwan glared but sulked in silence, grumbling about how he was probably just in ‘male menstruation mode.’

You took a bite of your burger—he wasn’t wrong, it was divine. But before you could get too far, Seungkwan nearly spat out his iced americano as something suddenly went through his head, “Okay, so Celeste told me you have a boyfriend now? Since WHEN? You literally said, and I quote, ‘I’m done with love.’ Like, girl, what?!”

You gave him a look and shrugged. “You should know better than to believe Celeste with her three and a half brain cells.”

But the truth was, you did say that. Two years ago, drunk off your ass, crying over an asshole, bawling into Celeste’s shoulder, snot and all, swearing off love because it was a contagious disease, and you meant every single thing back then. Part of you still did, you didn't believe love was for you.

You sighed and finally explained what really happened; how Jeonghan became your boyfriend. Fake boyfriend to be, and how Jeonghan, saint that he was, actually agreed to play along.

Seungkwan stared at you for a solid five seconds, then: “Girl… I want to judge you, but I’m weirdly impressed.”

You just groaned and plopped back in your chair, sipping the last of your watered-down coffee.

He then asked if you were going to the team building party that week. “Obviously,” you said, “you think I’d miss out on free food and gossip?” He snorted, satisfied with your, you kinda answer, and the two of you finished up lunch before heading back to the office.

You buried yourself in paperwork, prepping everything for the Italy trip. Your green pen glided across the documents—marking the hotel addresses, underlining budget breakdowns, drawing tiny stars next to notes. You were so into the zone that you didn't notice when your work chat pinged. It was from the front desk. The CEO wanted to see you.

You low-key froze because that was a big deal. It wasn't not everyday the CEO called you up, and while she wasn't the biting-heads-off type, it was still nerve-wracking.

You climbed the stairs—the elevators were reserved for upper management at that time of the day. Classism at its finest. You rolled your eyes, like, please, how much money was the company really saving by keeping one elevator out of use? It was giving ‘penny-pinching villain arc’.

Finally, you reached her office, knocked politely, and heard a warm, come in.

You entered, instantly wrapped in that elegant aura Mrs. Kim always carried. She was poised, sharp, and always smelled like fresh roses and justice; a woman you wanted to write poems about. She smiled. “Have a seat.” You did—respectfully, obediently. She was the boss for a reason.

You’d always admired her, but not just for her presence, but for how she consistently sided with the employees whenever an overzealous senior acted out of line, e.g. like that morning. She knew you by face, name, and the quality of your work, though your interactions had mostly been limited to the occasional office circus or passing greetings in the hallway.

She started, “I know you’ve been reviewing the design documentation for the Italy project,” and you nodded. You updated her on what you’d done so far: layout revisions, material specs, budget adjustments—everything. She nodded along, then sighed lightly. “I’m sorry to throw this at you, but I wanted to speak to you directly. There’s a new assignment,” she paused before continuing again. “I know it’s not what you signed up for right now,” she said, “but a very important client specifically requested you for a new project. He saw your portfolio and won’t take no for an answer.” She continued, “It’s a bar. Both interior and exterior design. He wants it done by you, and only you.”

Men and their obsession with being picky, you muttered in your head.

“But,” she added, “you won’t have to start until after the Italy trip. The schedule is flexible, the budget is very accommodating… and he’s paying double your usual fee.”

Now that caught your attention. “Okay,” you said slowly, “I’ll happily consider it once I check the brief and make sure I’m actually capable of delivering what he wants. I’ll speak to my manager—”

She stopped you there. “Actually, no. You won’t need to discuss it with him. It’s already been approved. The details will be sent once you return from Italy.”

Huh? You nodded, but your brain was half-screaming. This sounded a little too good to be true; great pay, great flexibility, total creative freedom—but no option to say no, and no brief until you’re back? Yeah. Red flag. He might have been rich, but he was still giving mild bastard energy. Still, you nodded again. “Understood.”

You thanked her, left the room, and walked back to your desk. At least the pay was great, all was well for now.

Day 10 of 100

You were wearing a silk ivory blouse with a subtle sweetheart neckline, tucked into high-waisted slate-grey tailored trousers that hugged your waist just right. Over that, a light beige trench coat draped you, the sleeves slightly pushed up to show off your simple silver bracelet. You had paired the outfit with pointed-toe nude heels, pearl stud earrings, and your hair was done in a half-up loose twist, soft waves cascading down your back. You were so glad you had worn something put together that day. After successfully convincing Seungkwan to switch your lunch date with Celeste instead, with the promise of paying for dessert next time, you headed out of the office with a slight skip in your step. You strolled down the pavement, one hand in your coat pocket, the other holding your phone with Jeonghan’s pinned location glowing on the screen. You finally arrived, stopped and gaped.

The restaurant in front of you was stunning. Soft cream stonework, vines grew over the edges of a wooden pergola, delicate white drapes danced with the wind. There was outdoor seating bathed in golden sunlight; the whole vibe screamed expensive, and summer-soft.

You were too caught up in soaking in the place to notice footsteps approaching, until a voice leaned over your right shoulder. “You like it?”

You jolted and instinctively, you stepped back and pivoted to your left, hand brushed against the edge of your coat as you turned to face the source of the surprise. “Jesus, you scared me!” you half-laughed, pressing a hand to your chest as you exhaled.

Jeonghan, in a light blue linen shirt tucked into beige trousers, grinned down at you. “Sorry,” he chuckled, “wasn’t trying to scare you.”

The sunlight kissed your cheekbones as you smiled, a little breathless from the jump scare. But Jeonghan, he went completely still. His smile faded, but not in a bad way, but in a speechless kind of awe. His gaze softened, eyes lingering on you, trying to memorize every detail: your earrings catching light, how your blouse moved with the breeze, the way you’re smiling not even knowing what you were doing to him.

You waved your hand in front of his face. “Hello? Earth to Jeonghan? Are you good?”

He cleared his throat, finally snapping out of whatever trance he had been in. “Right—yeah. Sorry. You just…” He scratched the back of his neck, then held out a bouquet wrapped in rustic white paper—pale pink roses and sprigs of baby’s breath peeking out. “…You look beautiful.”

You took the flowers, smiled, but not bashful or not giddy, just unfazed; you refused to let any man, no matter how sweet or charming or kind-eyed, have that kind of effect on you again. You had spent too long rebuilding yourself, too long sealing every crack Minho had left behind, and you were not about to let someone slip through them again just because he smelled good and brought you flowers. So you didn't blush anymore, there was no blush creeping up your cheeks but your ears betrayed you. The tips of your ears were red as fuck.

Jeonghan led you to one of the umbrella-covered tables nestled beneath the sunlight, which filtered just enough to feel warm, not harsh. The breeze was soft, carrying the scent of fresh herbs and baked bread. It felt really like a European afternoon even though it was just noon here, but you let yourself enjoy it.

He pulled your chair out like a proper gentleman, and for a second, your breath caught but because of the wrong reason; your ex used to do that too. But you shook the thought off. This wasn't Minho, not everything needed to circle back to him. This is just a nice gesture, you told yourself. A decent man doing a decent thing.

You settled in. Jeonghan smiled and gestured toward the menu. “Order what you want,” he said, resting his chin on his hand, watching you with the smile he always seemed to carry.

When the waiter came, you ordered with a small smile, “Can I get the smoked salmon sandwich with scrambled eggs, and a vanilla iced latte?”

The waiter nodded and Jeonghan chimed in, “Same for me. And can you add a basket of your warm mini scones too? Thanks.”

Your gaze shifted to him, taking him in again. He was dressed well. It wasn't a suit, but it was still effortlessly stylish. Still, you couldn't help but chuckle internally—he ran a café chain, you had expected suits and ties like a K-drama CEO 24/7 but everytime you saw him, his aura was of a human, of a nice man.

The silence settled in as the waiter walked away, and it was kinda awkward. Not bad, just not easy either. You fidgeted slightly with your napkin and broke the silence, “By the way, I forgot to thank you the other day at my aunt’s place… thanks for sending lunch to my office. That was really sweet.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, brushing it off with a soft chuckle. “It’s no big deal. Like I said… I’m wooing you, remember? That means I’ll do things like that. You’re my love interest now.” He said it with a teasing smile, but the sincerity didn't go unnoticed.

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to respond for a second. “I mean… you can do whatever you want,” you murmured, eyes going to the complimentary glass of water. “It’s just—like I said before, my heart’s kinda… closed. I’m not really looking for anything, so… I don’t want you to be disappointed if I don’t change my mind.”

He nodded. “I get that. But I said I’d try. We made a deal, and I still have… what, 90 days?” he grinned. “Just let me do what I want. No pressure.”

You nodded again, this time shyer. “Okay…”

Another short silence followed, but Jeonghan filled it with a question. “So how’s work been?”

“Oh, I’m heading to Italy for a project. It’s sort of a business trip but I’m hoping I can sneak in some vacation time.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, impressed. “ Italy? Fancy.”

You nodded, stirring your straw. “Yeah. I’m excited but… I was supposed to celebrate my mom’s birthday this week with her. And now I won’t be here, which sucks.” You looked at him hesitantly. “Would you mind… joining a video call with her? Just to wish her a happy birthday with me. She really likes you and it’d make her smile.”

Jeonghan didn't even hesitate for a second. “Of course, and you don’t need to ask if I’d like to do something for you,” resting his elbows on the table, he leaned slightly forward. “The answer will always be yes. So don’t think twice. Just tell me.”

That might have been the nicest thing anyone’s said to you in a while. The waiter returned with your food, placing the plates in front of you. The sandwiches were golden and buttery, eggs perfectly soft. The smell alone made you sigh.

Jeonghan clasped his hands. “Let’s dig in, shall we?”

After brunch, Jeonghan insisted on giving you a ride back to the office. His car, already parked earlier before he stepped into the restaurant, sat sleek and waiting. You remembered how he'd found you standing there, mouth parted in awe at the view of the restaurant—now it made sense, he’d arrived early whereas you walked there. He drove a black Audi A8 L, and everything about it, from the glossy sheen to the whisper-quiet engine, spoke of understated luxury. Being the owner of chains, you always assumed he was very well-off, but after sitting in his leather-wrapped cabin, there was no doubt—he was rich rich. Not just wealthy, but smelled polished and wealthy too.

The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. He talked to you about small things, light things. He mentioned how he wanted to do more for you, soon, once a little more time had passed.

You were a woman of few words, and he respected that. You didn't say much, but you were already... comfortable. Being around him felt like sunlight through a window, warm and golden; wrapped in a blanket still carrying the warmth and scent of the sun on a winter morning.

Back at the office, time passed like pages fluttering in a breeze, and soon, it was almost time to leave for the evening’s team building party. You had missed the last one because of a fever, but that night, you were ready. Those nights, especially with Celeste and Seungkwan by your side, always promised laughter and fun. They were the most fun people to be around at parties.

Your body reacted before your mind caught up, and you moved back, a step, maybe two. The closer this man came, the more your instincts coiled tightly within. A breath's space became half a step, then a full one. Your fingers curled tightly around your purse strap, your throat drying with each beat of the music thudding like a war drum in your chest. You were disgusted to say the least.

Celeste had vanished into the crowd, tipsy and gleeful, her laughter now a memory swallowed by bass and bodies. Seungkwan was in the restroom, and you whispered silent prayers into the air. Please come back. Now. Please. But instead, he came closer.

His breath reeked of alcohol and something sourer; bitterness, maybe. The look in his eyes was familiar, kind of that once stripped you of peace. "You look good," he sneered, lips twisted, voice drenched in mockery.

You felt it then: rage, disgust, and fear rising from the pit of your stomach. "Shut the fuck up," you stepped back again. "Don’t touch me."

He ignored it like he always did. His feet shuffled closer, lazily. Your back brushed against a counter. You were running out of space. “I’ve been thinking about us,” he slurred. “We can fix this. You know we can.”

You almost laughed, but your voice trembled like a blade. “You broke everything. You ruined me. You fucking hollowed me out and smiled about it.” Still no tears spilled, they hung in your eyes.

He tilted his head mockingly. “Still dramatic, I see.”

“I was miserable with you.” Each of your words was a stone hurled. “You gaslit me, degraded me, manipulated every breath I took and still had the gall to call it love.” Your voice rose the more you speak. “You were a fucking asshole. Are a fucking asshole.”

That was when his expression shifted, something flashed in his eyes; violence barely contained, he moved faster. With a growl, he swooped in, his arm slamming against yours, pinning it down to the counter behind you. The marble was cold beneath your skin. His hand caged your wrist. You're leaned back, your spine arching slightly, nowhere to run. His body hovered far too close, and that was when the tears began to spill.

He leaned in until his breath warmed your cheek. “Those words… they don’t suit your pretty little mouth,” he whispered with a sneer. Then, his fingers gripped your face, cruelly and crudely, pressing your cheeks together, forcing your lips into a shape you didn't own. “Who is it, huh?” His voice was poison dipped in curiosity. “Who are you fucking now, since it’s not me?”

Your limbs shook but your spine stayed straight. Somewhere in the haze of lights and laughter, his friends—if you could call them that—stood at a distance, watching, and laughing. Your pain was once again, another kind of entertainment.

All you were hoping now was for someone in this sea of people, to be decent enough. Just one man with a spine, a conscience, something resembling a soul.

Or, God, let Celeste or Seungkwan find you. Because if they saw this… If they saw your trembling form pinned, tears running down your cheeks, your lips being forced into a shape not your own; hell wouldn’t just break loose, it would bleed.

Celeste would have turned into a beast, rage that ripped through bone and skin with heels sharp enough to slice throats and a fury only a woman can wield after watching her sister break. She’d scream murder, tear at his face like it was paper, her nails dragging blood down his cheek, down his pride. She’d laugh while doing it, vengeful and beautiful.

And Seungkwan—he’d see red, nothing but red. He wouldn’t stop until someone dragged him off, until every punch left a mark, until the bastard begged on his knees with his face bloated and black. He’d spit down on him.You touch her again, and I’ll break every single one of your fingers until you forget how to be a man.

But they weren't here.

Just as he was about to forcefully kiss you while your head was twisting away but his hand trying to clamp your jaw still, trying to oppress you to submit; he’s suddenly gone.

Pushed hard, a weight crashed against the floor with a hollow thud. Your breath caught, chest was rising and falling in erratic jolts. You barely registered what had happened, but then, your eyes met his. That face etched in concern, eyes gentle for a moment until they flicked down to the filth on the floor. Then they shifted to rage again; controlled.

The man on the ground groaned, his ego bruised deeper than his spine, tried to get up, but he crouched beside him with chilling ease. Fingers reached out and plucked the name tag pinned to the bastard’s chest. “Park Minho,” he murmured like a curse.

Minho snarled. “Who the fuck are you to mess with me?” His fist launched but his hand moved faster, catching it mid-air, holding it steady, not violently but commandingly.

“Jeonghan. Her boyfriend.”

Minho lunged again, but this time, Jeonghan didn't flinch. He just moved, twisting enough to let the man’s weight tip himself off balance, and that’s when the owner rushed in. The music cut off, lights flashed red and blue outside the sheer window. Police.

“Mr. Yoon, I’m so sorry,” the bar owner panted, glancing between Jeonghan and the wreck on the floor. “I had no idea he would—he’s fired. He’s done. He’ll never work here again.” Two officers grabbed Minho by the arms, he thrashed, cursed, but it was over.

You didn't even realize your legs had given out earlier, until Jeonghan was kneeling before you. You were on the floor, knees scraped, mascara streaked, eyes wide and blank. He said nothing at first, just held your arms gently. He picked you up, but your head fell on his shoulder. Then you started shaking. Sobs erupted, no longer contained. You clutched at his shirt, trembling, your soul was trying to crawl out of your body.

Jeonghan pulled you closer, one hand on the back of your head, the other around your back. He rocked you gently, a murmur at your ear. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” His voice was low, raw, not above a whisper. “I’ll always protect you. No one will ever lay a finger on you again.” He kissed the side of your head, his breath trembling along yours, too. “If anyone dares touch you again—if anyone dares hurt you—I’ll bury them myself. I don’t care if my hands get bloody. I will end them for you.”

You didn't answer, not because you couldn't, but because words felt too fragile to carry the weight of what just happened and what he said. The lights spun like distant planets and the crowd hummed around you, oblivious and indifferent. He was achingly kind, his shoulder was there, warm, a borrowed sanctuary in the aftermath. You were grateful, but you didn't want to be seen by anyone like this right now. Your voice was small, trembling only at the edges. “I want to be alone… I don’t want to see you right now. But… thank you.” You didn't meet his eyes.

Everything had happened in the span of ten minutes, but to you, it felt like ten years; slow, stretched, jagged. Time warped cruelly in the dark, by then the din had drawn others. You heard them before you saw them—your coworkers murmuring, shifting, clustering like confused birds after a storm, and then, Celeste appeared.

Disheveled, tipsy, and horrified, she rushed forward and dropped to the ground beside you, wrapping you in the scent of vanilla and liquor and the desperate ache of guilt. Her arms pulled you away from him and into the safety of her embrace. “I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over, stroking your hair like you were a breakable glass. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have disappeared.”

Jeonghan, who was silent and observant, took a step back. He didn't fight your decision. He just watched from a respectful distance, assessing the new guardian that had taken his place. Her eyes were glassy, and even in her inebriated haze, she was more present than most sober men here ever were. “Is there someone I can trust,” Jeonghan asked the crowd, scanning, “to take both of them home?”

A voice rose from the group, mostly from her coworkers that had been present at the party. “Seungkwan. He didn’t drink, so he’s probably the best to—”

Jeonghan was already walking toward the assumed coworker. “Who is Seungkwan?” he asked, tone neutral but outlined with the protectiveness of a man who didn't want to hand over what he’d just protected, to a stranger. And as if conjured by name, he arrived.

His knees hit the ground the moment he saw you slumped against Celeste. His hands trembled as he reached out, stopping himself just before touching you, as if your pain might be contagious. He looked at you, then at Celeste, then at the space around, putting the pieces together without a single word being spoken. His expression hardened into pure fury concealed beneath tight control. “What the fuck happened here?!” His voice cracked through the air. “Tell me who the hell did this. Tell me, and I swear on every grave beneath this city—I will tear him apart with my own hands.” His fists curled. “I’ll fucking gut that bastard and bury what’s left. You think I won’t? You think I can’t? I’ll make it look like an accident and sleep just fine at night.”

Celeste flinched but reached out a hand to him, still cradling you. “Kwan… please. Just wait.”

But Jeonghan had seen enough of this, so he stepped forward in careful assessment. He laid a hand on Seungkwan’s shoulder. Seungkwan’s gaze dropped to the hand as if it was an insult. He didn't look up for three full seconds. He was waiting for a response from Jeonghan, and Jeonghan spoke before that moment died. “Do you have a girlfriend? Or do you like either of them?”

The question felt abrupt, even intrusive, but Jeonghan knew better than to let two emotionally unstable women be left in the care of someone who might have had complicated feelings for them. It wasn't a call to be made lightly, and certainly not one a level-headed man like him would ignore.

Seungkwan’s eyes flashed from the implication, his jaw locked, blood rising to his eyes, but before the storm erupted—“This is Jeonghan,” Celeste cut in hoarsely. “And Seungkwan has a boyfriend.”

There was a pause, then a shared oh between the two men; mutual clarity, and just like that, Jeonghan stepped away, surrendering you both into the care of someone he now deemed safe.

Celeste informed, “I called Joshua. He’s on his way to pick us up.”

Jeonghan nodded once, eyes on you. You still hadn't looked at him since, and he doesn't press for more. You had asked not to see him, and he honoured it, and walked away for now.

Something in you broke tonight, and something in him awakened.

⌦ 🥕 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

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societyfolklore · 7 days ago

Text

What’s This Do?

Title: What’s This Do?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: Steve volunteered to tidy up the bedroom while you were in the shower. What he found in your nightstand drawer left him blushing... and more than a little intrigued.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Modern tech confusion, toy discovery, flustered Steve, curious Steve, teasing, toy play, dominant Steve, possessive sex, unprotected sex, established relationship, slight size kink, aftercare

A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for Spring Bingo Square: A1- Steve and Modern Technology – Yay got them all done!!! Card Number: AAS001 The water had still been running, the faint sound of it echoing from the bathroom, when Steve crouched by the bed. He ran a hand over the comforter, smoothing it automatically, his eyes catching on the bottom drawer that stuck out just slightly. You always teased him for being a little obsessive about tidiness, about how he couldn't walk past a crooked frame or an unmade bed without fixing it. Today, though, he'd wanted to be helpful. You'd had a long week, and if organizing the bedroom gave you one less thing to stress about, then so be it.

He tugged gently at the drawer, assuming a stubborn sock or hoodie was to blame for the gap. But the moment it slid open, his entire body stilled.

What greeted him wasn’t laundry. It was a collection of sleek shapes, soft silicone, and polished curves. He blinked. Once. Twice. The colors ranged from soft pastels to bold black, and each one looked more alien than the last. There was something with little bunny ears. Something with a looped handle. Something that looked like it might require a license. Something tiny and bullet-shaped. Something else that looked like a wand from a sci-fi movie.

And then the remote, one he definitely didn't recognize. The little screen flickered to life when he nudged it by accident, and he nearly dropped it.

Steve closed the drawer on instinct. His jaw flexed. Then he opened it again.

"...Oh. Oh- OH."

He couldn’t stop staring.

His face flushed scarlet. His ears, too. He shifted on his knees and scratched the back of his neck like it was the 1940s and someone had just flashed a smile at him. He was stammering softly to himself, still half-frozen, when you stepped out of the ensuite wrapped in a towel, already smiling until you saw the look on his face.

"Steve?"

"I- uh. I wasn’t snooping, I swear. The drawer wasn’t shutting right and I just- " He gestured helplessly toward it, cheeks burning. "I didn’t expect that."

You padded across the carpet, water still beading on your skin. "What are you tal- Oh."

Steve cleared his throat. “They’re... yours?”

You laughed, finding his bashfulness adorable. “Who else would they belong to?”

He didn’t laugh back. His brow furrowed, and the crease between his brows deepened as something more complicated passed behind his eyes, an old instinct to blush, to look away, warring with the part of him that needed to understand. “You use them when I’m not around?” he asked, voice low. It wasn’t just curiosity, it was something closer to awe. “Did you ever… think about me when you did?”

"Who else would I be thinking about?" You offered shrugging slightly.

He sat back on the edge of the bed, as if needing space to wrap his head around it. Of course he’d known people did this. Even back in his time, people had ‘aids’….though they were clunky, noisy things you didn’t talk about. But this… this was something else. A drawer full of pleasure, all tucked away like a secret. You, arching under your own touch, moaning into a pillow while something artificial pulsed between your legs. His brain short-circuited.

He looked at you, really looked, and the images came fast. You, flushed and panting, back arched as you chased your own release. Did you touch yourself slow? Did you tease yourself the way he liked to? Did you cry out his name, or bite your lip to keep quiet? The thought should have made him awkward, uneasy.

Instead, it made something in his chest pull tight. Something possessive. Something raw. And lower; something stirred in his gut, thick and demanding. His cock twitched in his jeans before he even realized it, a warm flush spreading beneath his skin as arousal crept in uninvited and overwhelming.

The idea of you like that; legs spread, eyes shut, fingers digging into the sheets as you came all over something smooth and buzzing- it struck him deep. He imagined the way your thighs would shake. How pretty your mouth would look gasping for air. How red your chest got when you were close. All of it, happening in secret, just for you.

He shifted slightly where he sat, suddenly very aware of the growing pressure building beneath his zipper. The heat, the need, it was immediate and sharp, blooming through him like a live wire.

He cleared his throat again, rougher this time. "I guess I just... I didn’t think you needed something like that. Not when you had me."

You stepped closer, eyes soft. One hand still holding your towel while the other ran a damp hand over his arm and shoulder trying to help. “It’s not about needing, Steve. It’s about exploring. Playing. Sometimes I just miss you too much.”

That did it. That broke him. The idea that you’d used those things not instead of him but because you craved what only he gave you? That you thought about him the whole time?

He nodded, slow. Processing. Adjusting. And then his jaw clenched as something behind his eyes shifted entirely.

"Get on the bed."

This was not how you were expecting your morning to go. What started as Steve curiously poking through your nightstand while you were wrapped in a towel had become a full-on audit. His questions came in quick succession- what’s this one for? How does this part work? Do you use it like this, or like this? He examined each item like it was a new kind of weapon, like understanding it meant understanding you.

And the more he asked, the more his voice dipped. The more his fingers lingered. He kept circling back to a smaller one with a smooth curve and soft lilac finish, the one you'd once offhandedly mentioned was your 'easy go-to.' His thumb hovered over the button like he was waiting for permission.

When it whirred to life, the quiet hum filled the room like a promise. He didn’t speak right away, just met your eyes with something heavy and warm and unbearably focused.

“Lay back” he said again, and this time you moved.

You settled back on the pillows, towel still clutched loosely to your chest until Steve reached out, thumb brushing your knuckles as he gently peeled it open. It pooled around your hips, baring your flushed skin to the morning light and his increasingly ragged breathing.

“Spread your legs for me.”

You did, already slick from the teasing, from the talk, from the look in his eyes.

He climbed up beside you, one knee on the mattress, toy still buzzing quietly in his hand. His other hand stroked up your thigh as he looked down at you; hungry, reverent, almost awestruck.

Then he held it to your clit.

Your back arched at the first contact, heat sparking sharp and sudden. He kept it light, tracing slow circles, studying every flutter of your lashes and every sharp inhale.

“Talk to me,” he said, voice low and taut. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s- ” You swallowed hard. “It’s good. It’s soft at first, but it... It- Steve."

His lips twitched at the corners. Not smug just focused.

“What about when I do this?” he asked, turning the toy slightly and pressing in more firmly. Your breath hitched.

You moaned. “It’s- god- it’s right there when you angle it like that.”

He kissed your shoulder, then dragged the toy slowly down to your entrance, pausing to brush the slickness there, his breath catching at just how wet you already were.

“And when I push it inside?” he asked, voice thicker now, fingers trembling just slightly as he teased your opening, circling with the head of the toy and watching the way your hips twitched with anticipation.

You gasped as he eased it in. The toy slid in slowly, the pressure a stretch at first, not quite like his cock, but enough to make your toes curl. The soft silicone dragged against your inner walls, and your thighs instinctively fell wider open as you exhaled a shaky moan.

“Ah...” you managed, blinking hard, lips parted, voice catching on a breathy moan. “Snug. It stretches just right. Fuck- it feels so fucking good, Steve. Hits just the right place.”

He adjusted the angle slightly, pressing in deeper, eyes locked on your cunt as it took the toy. “Here?” he asked, voice almost hoarse. “That spot?”

You cried out in response, hands fisting in the sheets.

Steve’s breathing was hard now, ragged. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding it open as he moved the toy in slow, deliberate strokes, the base grinding against your clit every time he pushed in.

“Look at you,” he murmured, completely transfixed. “Taking it so well. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this.”

And then, more quietly, almost to himself: “Can’t believe I wasn’t here for this before. Watching you fall apart like this... should’ve always been me.”

Your answer came in a moan that was all the confirmation he needed.

He learned fast. Too fast. He adjusted the angle, the speed, the rhythm. Studying every twitch, every gasp. His mouth hovered close, whispering encouragement against your cheek, “There we go. That’s it, baby. You feel that?”

Your fingers clutched at the sheets and towel under you, hips straining against his grip. Your back arched as the sensation built and built, Steve murmuring praise with every moan he pulled from your lips. “You’re so wet like this. All from me.”

He was fascinated, utterly focused, and beneath the curiosity, there was something darker simmering in his voice. The way he kept his hand steady when your hips bucked, the smug little smirk when you gasped his name, the way his other hand slid up to hold your trembling thigh down.

“Did you use it like this?” he asked roughly suddenly stilling the toy inside you, pushed all the way in then just rocked it slightly back in forth in shallow thrust “Or did you just let it sit there and pulse till it drove you wild?”

You could barely speak. Could only moan something close to his name. Your thighs were slick and shaking. He held the toy perfectly still, just for a second, and the sudden stillness made your whole body flinch.

“Oh, you like that,” he murmured, almost to himself. “All wound up with nowhere to go. You going to cum sweetheart?"

You whimpered his name, your legs trembling as you tried to hold on, but Steve didn’t let up. Not until he was ready. Not until you were teetering.

Then, finally: “Let go,” he breathed and you shattered.

You came with a strangled noise, your whole body quaking. Steve caught you through it, his hand steady on your thigh, the toy still buzzing softly as you trembled beneath him. He watched your face like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. That look of overwhelmed bliss, of coming undone under his touch. And it did something to him.

He turned the toy off but didn’t move right away. Just knelt there, staring at you, jaw clenched and chest rising like he’d just run a race.

When you finally opened your eyes, breath catching in your throat, he was staring down at you, dark-eyed and completely undone.

His jaw tightened as he looked at you, flushed and trembling, still twitching from aftershocks. His arousal was taking over, his cock straining hard against the seam of his pants, the pressure almost painful now. The idea of you falling apart under something fake suddenly wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Not when he was right here.

He reached between your legs again- Slowly. Gently. The soft silicone slipped from your body with a wet sound that made both of you gasp, and Steve held it in his hand for a beat, watching the way your slick coated the surface. Then he set it aside with careful reverence, as if it no longer had a place in what came next.

His eyes were molten when they met yours again.

“Ready for the real thing, sweetheart?” he muttered, voice rough and low, hands working his belt open with shaking urgency. “Everything those toys can’t be.”

You were still reeling, floating somewhere between bliss and haze. Your body was soft and pliant, chest rising in slow, shallow breaths, skin flushed and damp with sweat. You nodded before you even realized you had, too dreamy to protest, too sensitive to think, your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks he’d pulled from you. You wanted him- needed him- but couldn’t find the words.

Steve leaned in, his lips brushing yours, breath hot and ragged. His mouth hard against yours, his body pressed hot and heavy to your skin his clothes stripping away. The kiss was messy and hungry, all teeth and tongue and pent-up need. You barely had time to catch your breath before his tip was nudging against your entrance, broad and hot and real. You gasped as he pushed in, slow, steady, and unrelenting. Your slick heat parted for him, your walls stretching around the thick length of him, inch by inch.

It was overwhelming. The stretch was deeper than the toy, firmer, hotter. Alive. You moaned into his mouth as he sank deeper, your body welcoming him in a way that felt instinctive, necessary. He moved with maddening control, giving you time to feel every inch.

“Fuck,” he gritted out against your neck, voice wrecked. “You’re so tight. So warm. Nothing- nothing feels like this.”

He bottomed out with a groan, hips flush to yours, your body trembling from how full you felt. He pressed so deep you swore you could feel him everywhere, against places no toy ever reached, places that belonged to him alone.

He didn’t ease into it. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He just pulled back and snapped his hips forward, sharp and deep, pulling a gasp from your throat as his cock drove in with purpose. You could feel him in every nerve ending, thick and hot and overwhelming. Each stroke landed with a force that bordered on frantic, like he needed to carve himself into your memory, mark you from the inside out. No one else had ever reached you like this, so deep it made your spine arch, so consuming it blurred the edge of pleasure and surrender.

Every thrust was brutal, deliberate. Skin slapping against skin. The way he moved was unrelenting, his hips driving forward in punishing, rhythmic snaps that sent the bed creaking beneath you, headboard knocking faintly against the wall. Your body rocked with the rhythm, helpless beneath the power of him.

"Fuck- look at you," he growled, pushing himself up to sit back on his knees, dragging your hips with him. He gripped your thighs and spread you wider, watching the way you fluttered around him, watching his cock disappear into you with every demanding thrust. His eyes were locked on the place where your bodies met, mouth parted in awe.

"Look at that" he rasped. "Better than any toy could ever fuck you."

You arched beneath him, back bowing off the bed, chasing the pressure, the stretch, the burn. Each time he bottomed out it punched a sound from your lungs; raw, high, desperate. You felt wrecked and worshipped, your whole body trembling from the intensity.

"You're mine," he bit out again, thrusting harder. "Say it. Let me hear you say it."

And even if you hadn't wanted to, even if your mind wasn’t lost in bliss, you still would’ve said it. Because it was true. "I'm yours, Steve."

His eyes burned. "Tell me you need me."

Your answer came on a gasp, voice high and shivering as he thrust again, hard, deep, tilting his hips just right to press into everything inside you that could ache. “I need you. God, I need you, Steve. Don’t stop.”

He leaned back over you, bracing one hand beside your head, the other gripping your hip, driving into you with relentless focus. You were already close again- so close- from the angle alone, the way his cock rubbed that sweet spot inside you, deeper than anything else ever had.

“You feel that?” he growled. “"This is what you’ve been aching for, isn’t it? Not buzzing plastic- me. Deep and fucking real.”

Your whole body bowed beneath him, thighs shaking, vision blurring as your climax began to build again, fast and hard and impossible to outrun. You weren’t going to argue. You weren’t going to point out that this wasn’t a conversation about competition. Not when you could barely think past the overwhelming sensation of him inside you, the rhythm of his hips slamming into yours with unrelenting power, the thick slide of his cock stroking every swollen, aching spot inside you with ruthless precision.

All you could do was hold on, whimper his name, and take everything he gave you as your orgasm coiled tighter, relentless and sharp, pulling you toward the edge with every powerful thrust. Your cries turned breathless, your body locking up as the pleasure surged white-hot through your core.

You came hard- like a dam bursting, the flood of sensation blinding, shuddering through every inch of you. It ripped through your core, electric and unstoppable, leaving you gasping, chest arched and nerves alight as if every breath was caught between sob and scream. Your whole body arched beneath him, heels digging into the mattress. Your cunt fluttered and clenched in sharp, rippling waves around his cock as the orgasm took you. You could feel every nerve-ending fire as your walls milked him, desperate to keep him buried deep, to draw him even closer as the wave crested and broke. You sobbed his name, every nerve ending lit up as he fucked you through it.

Steve groaned deep in his chest, hips stuttering at the feel of you pulsing around him. "Fuck, baby- I'm right there. I’m- "

His pace broke, hips jerking forward in ragged, uneven bursts as his climax overtook him. Each snap of his body was urgent, uncontrolled, like instinct had taken over, driven purely by the overwhelming need to finish deep inside you. With a final deep drive, he spilled inside you, his cock twitching as he came hard, heat flooding you as he panted against your neck. His muscles tensed, his mouth parting in a strangled groan as he ground deep, wanting to be as close as possible, to stay buried in you until the shaking stopped.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as he collapsed over you, both of you breathless and wrung out. You nuzzled at his cheek, soft kisses along his jaw as your heart slowly steadied, his weight warm and grounding against your chest.

You could still feel him inside you, the pulse of him easing, warmth dripping slowly between your thighs. Your body throbbed with aftershocks, a dull ache layered with satisfaction. Steve’s breath came in broken huffs against your neck, his weight comforting, grounding, too perfect to let go of just yet.

You didn’t speak for a long moment, just touched and breathed and held on as the last ripples of pleasure ebbed away. Then you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Steve huffed a soft, almost disbelieving breath, but you didn’t let him pull away. Your hands curled at his back, anchoring him there. “This is what I miss when you're gone,” you said quietly. “You. Not the touches. Not the relief. Just... you. Your weight. Your warmth. The way you look at me like I’m yours.”

He kissed your collarbone, something tight and wordless in the way he held you.

“And you don’t have to think twice about what’s in the drawer,” you murmured, nuzzling into his temple. “They’re fun. We can enjoy them together if you want. But they’ll never replace this. You.”

Steve didn’t answer right away, but the way he exhaled and kissed you again said enough.

Tags @avengers-assemble-bingo

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #captain america smut #marvel smut #avengers smut #Steve roger x yn #Steve Roger Fluff #Captain America Smut #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers oneshot #captain america fanfiction #AAspring

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nevadancitizen · 5 months ago

Text

-> ROT IN PUREST GOLD

synopsis: you've been skipping through universes ever since you touched the source of the hexgates. through everything, you've never stopped searching for your viktor -- now, you've found him, and you just want to go home.

word count: 2.7k

ships: viktor/reader

tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff and angst, pre-established relationship

notes: inspired by purest gold by miracle of sound. and this is my first shot at writing viktor.. lmk if i got anything wrong ^_^

related reading: Oh Viktor, My Viktor (What Could’ve Been)

It’s been years since you saw Viktor. Many years – artificial years. Years spent close, away, at a distance but still observing. But they were never your Viktor.

Viktor with the accented voice and the long face. Viktor with the work ethic of a hive of worker honeybees, tireless and continuous. Viktor with the eyes of pure gold – never pyrite or brass with a yellow twinge. He’s always been made of the purest gold.

None of them ever could’ve replaced him. With all these alternate universes you were hopping between, you met plenty of Viktors. Some came close, but none replaced him. It wasn’t their faults; they couldn’t compete with a memory.

You were a variable, too, so you couldn’t blame them completely. You went by different names, had different stories. Anything to make this depressing, grueling trudge through many lives more tolerable.

Some things made things less annoying, like cars. (Well, sometimes. Sometimes they were a nuisance.) Cars are one of the things you think your Viktor would’ve liked to study. To take apart, to put back together, to modify and make better. You could see him becoming a real torque dork while listening to Speedfreaks FM.

Mostly because that’s what he insists on listening to when you drive him to his doctor’s appointments – both of which you’re doing right now. Well, this universe’s version of him insists on Speedfreaks FM, and insists on you not calling him a ‘torque dork.’ Differentiating the Viktors from each other gets really complicated really fast, but giving them numbers feels dehumanizing. (If you did, this Viktor would be V-24. You’ve been keeping track.)

You turn on your blinker and wait for an opening to drive into the parking lot. Beneath the chatter of the radio hosts, you can hear Viktor tap his slender fingers against his forearm crutch in the passenger seat. Another difference you’ve noticed – both his outward fidgeting and his different mobility aids.

When your turn comes, you turn your car into the parking lot. You slowly let the car drift, your foot hovering above the brake in case someone needs to cross.

You turn down the radio a few clicks. “You think you’ll need your wheelchair?”

Viktor is silent. You take your eyes off the road for a split second and glance at him. He’s looking out the side window, at the plaza’s tall buildings and a sign that says Pueblito Plaza.

“Viktor?” You say. “You hearing me?”

You pull into a parking spot and put the car in park. Worry eats through you – you don’t know what’s happening. Why is he acting like this?

He’s turned in his seat, looking through the back window at the buildings. There’s amazement on his face and for a second – a split second – he’s there. He’s your Viktor.

But he’s not. He’s not.

Those eyes are not gold. They are topaz and they are citrine. They are the yellow-orange that accompanies the sunrise. Beautiful, yes, but not yours.

“Where… are we?” He asks, his voice soft and wonderful.

“We’re going to your doctor appointment,” you say. “With… what’s her name? The pulmonologist. And then you have a CT chest scan.”

“No – the nation,” Viktor says. “What nation are we in? I have never seen technology like this.”

He runs a hand over the console of the car, then over the glovebox. He opens it, then looks inside. Nothing but napkins from fast food places and a laminated copy of your car insurance.

“What’re you looking for?” You ask. You turn the key, and the car shuts off.

“The power source,” Viktor says, looking at the key in your hand. “May I?”

“Viktor, you’re not cleared to drive,” you say, your voice growing sterner and firmer. “The doctors said your legs are… too weak or something – I don’t know.”

You clutch the key (and the carabiner it’s attached to) tighter in your hand. The charms hanging from it jingle and clink together. A small cog and a toy that looks like a spark plug make a metallic click as they collide.

“What is that?” Viktor reaches out, but just barely stops himself from touching the spark plug toy. You pause for a second, then give him the entire carabiner.

Viktor holds the spark plug toy up to his face, inspecting it closely. He lets the rest of the charms on the carabiner dangle freely. You watch him – watch his eyes. A spark of gold. A fleck of cooler color in a pool of a warmer, yellowish orange.

He sets the pad of his thumb on the hex of the toy (the hex here is a piece of metal on a spark plug fitted for a wrench – not the hex you were used to, so long ago). He wiggles it back and forth, then spins it. The hex spins with a barely-audible metallic rasp, like a fidget ring.

“It’s very intricate for a toy,” Viktor says. “Who made this?”

“Wh… you did. You gave that to me,” you say softly. “Why don’t you remember that?”

A quiet question nags the back of your mind – is Viktor getting worse?

You silently beg that you’re right. In a twisted, selfish way, you want him to get worse. You’ve taken care of Viktor before. Watched him die in multiple dimensions. In some of them, he even died in your arms, his golden eyes fading and his hand falling from your cheek.

You know what it’s like to watch him get worse. You’ve done it before, seen it before. You know what to do, how to grieve. You don’t know what you’d do if this is… Viktor. Viktor for real. Your Viktor.

“Are you trying to stifle my curiosity?” Viktor asks, a teasing smile on his face, his eyes still on the toy.

“You gave it to me… I don’t know, six, seven years ago?” You say. You turn so that your shoulder is leaning against the car seat, facing him. “A spark plug. It’s important to the engine. I don’t remember how. And now… I’m failing your test.”

Viktor puts the carabiner down on the console. He laughs, and he’s looking at you like… you don’t know how he’s looking at you. But it’s something familiar. Something long-lost that you’ve been yearning for.

“How could I test you on something I barely know anything about?” He asks. His smile falters a little.

“Don’t bullshit me,” you say, smiling. (His laughter always manages to make you smile.) “You know everything there is to know about cars, trucks, motorcycles…”

Viktor’s smile turns forced and confused. His eyebrows furrow a little. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about…”

And then he says it. He says your name. Your real name, your true name – the name V-1 called you. The name the real Viktor called you.

It goes through you like a cold shock. A baptism in electrified ice water. You want to put your hand to his throat and ask, “What the fuck? What the hell did you just call me? Who’re you talking about?”

You want to… but you can’t. You’re frozen until Viktor places a hand on yours.

You jerk it away, cradling both hands to your chest and scrunch back against the car door. “Don’t touch me.”

And he says your name again. Again, in that tone that invites sympathy, but mostly pity. He’s pitying you. You’ve gone through this too many times, with too many therapists.

“You – Viktor,” you say, his name coming out in a gasp. There’s a lump in your throat and you feel almost nauseous.

“You’re not… you’re not the real one,” you grind out. “You’re not my Viktor, so stop acting like it. In th– in this universe, you’re just a friend, and that’s it.”

Viktor is silent, his mouth agape. “My love –”

“Don’t! Please,” you say. The words escape you before you can do anything. “Please, just don’t. Who – who told you?”

“Who told me what?” Viktor asks. His voice is still soft and sympathetic and sickly sweet.

“That you’re… you were…” You slump against the car door. Your elbow knocks against the steering wheel.

You look at him again. Your eyes dart between both of his, looking, observing. They’re not gold anymore. Well, they never really were, but now they’re… they’re opaline – pearlescent. A whole kaleidoscope in a drop. This is something different, but, still… it’s almost like you can sense him. This is the true Viktor – your Viktor.

“I was there, Runeterra, the core of the hexgates, and then… I wasn’t. I’ve lived twenty-three lives before this. My first memory of… here… is of my fifteenth birthday party. I had to grow up all over again. Make new friends, go to a child’s school. I didn’t have anyone. And you –” Your voice catches in your throat, on both anger and sorrow. “You left me here! You left me to do this all alone!”

“I would never.” Viktor’s cold hands meet yours. He cradles them both. “I would never leave you, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”

“But you did!” You grip his hands as tight as you can, trying to savor the feeling. Tears well at the corners of your eyes. “You left me with this… this rot. These gilded Viktors that look like you, act like you. And it hurt. Everything hurts.”

“I know,” Viktor says softly. “You’re hurting me, too.”

You blink, then realise what you’re doing and loosen your grip on his hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He breathes out a soft laugh, then brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. “It must’ve been lonely, all by yourself.”

“You have no idea,” you say, your voice breaking a little. You blink hard, and a tear runs down your face. “We went to an arcade, and I spent all my quarters on you. We went to a museum, and I bought you a small paperweight of a statue that was on display there. We went to this weird, exotic place – Great Britain, I think it was called – and we shared tea and scones. And, no matter what I did, it… it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t right. It… he wasn’t you.”

“I’m here now.” Viktor gives your hands a gentle squeeze – much softer than what you gave him. “How long has it been?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you say tearfully. “Time moves differently here. Maybe… sixty years? I’m not sure.”

“Sixty?” Viktor balks. “Oh, my love…”

His hands slowly, carefully, move away from yours. Cold fingers meet your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut on instinct, head tilting down into the touch. Viktor cradles your face, both his thumbs brushing back-and-forth over your cheeks.

“I dreamt of you,” you say softly. “Every night. And I thought of you every day. Just… thinking of you, every moment I could spare.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration,” Viktor says.

You shake your head and lean further into his touch. “I’ve waited so long… so long. And now you’re here, and I – I don’t know what to do.”

He moves his hands, the tips of his fingers splayed across the sides of your neck and his thumbs gently pressing into your temples. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “This is nice, though. Just… you being here is nice.”

You lean forward, placing your hands over his to ensure they stay in place. “It felt like eternity, waiting for you. Just waiting, and longing. None of them could replace you.”

You open your eyes, just the slightest bit, and take Viktor in. Good god, he’s Viktor. He’s your Viktor. No longer the purest gold, but something new. Something better. Something life-bringing and something with infinite mercy.

“That is flattering, coming from you,” Viktor says. “You could have anyone you want – anyone across twenty-four universes. And you chose me, in every single one? That is the highest praise I could receive.”

You breathe out a laugh as your eyes shut again. “Shut up.”

“Eh… if you continue to act like this, I don’t think I will,” he teases. In a softer, warmer tone, he adds, “Your face is getting warm, too. I can feel it.”

You groan and hide your face in Viktor’s hands further. Even though you act like you hate it, you’ve missed this – you’ve missed this immensely. His teasing, his compliments that make you feel like you hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars by yourself.

“Maybe you’re just getting warmer in general,” you say softly. “Maybe you’re getting better.”

“I have gotten better,” Viktor says, his voice light. “In our universe… I… I have touched the Arcane. I have been healed, and I am a healer. A herald into a new, better world – not only for the Undercity, but for the whole of Piltover.”

You shift his hands so that they’re resting on your cheeks and open your eyes, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “That sounds nice. I’m… sorry you had to do all that without me.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Viktor asks. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know. I just…” You sigh. “I blamed it all on you, and I was angry. Real angry. But it wasn’t your fault – it wasn’t anyone’s. I was angry and I took it all out on the memory of you.”

“Do you really think I care?” His voice is soft as he swipes a thumb over your cheek.

“No,” you admit after a moment. “But, still…”

“You are occupying your mind with the past and what-ifs,” Viktor says. He draws a hand over your scalp, his fingernails lightly digging into the skin there. “Focus on the here, the now.”

You shudder and melt into his hands. Your eyes, though still closed, sting with a fresh wave of tears.

“I missed you,” you choke out.

“You’ve said that already,” Viktor says.

“I can’t say it enough,” you say, your voice sticky and wet. “I was your champion in the arena. I was your personal knight. I was the chieftain of your armies. I was your tool, your instrument. And you were my everything.”

“You are my everything,” he says. His tone is so sincere and heartfelt that it makes your throat seize up. “Why would you ever doubt that?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “It–it’s just that, all these memories… I was so many people, and so were you. And some things blur together, and it gets hard to differentiate everything, and…”

You groan and lean into Viktor’s touch. You glance up into his eyes, still opaline. “Everything got so complicated so fast. I just wanted you – the real you.”

“It’s okay, my love.” His hands move to hold your jaw, to draw you closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“But I feel like I have to,” you say. “I just… I just want you back. I wanna go back to the Viktor I know. I wanna go home.”

“We can go home,” Viktor says. “I can take you home.”

“Then take me home,” you say, almost too quickly. “Viktor, please.”

“You don’t have to beg,” he says. There is no teasing or hidden malice in his voice. He just wants you home, too.

Viktor’s hands slide to the back of your head, his palms almost cradling your skull. He presses his fingers down and tilts your head forward, towards his. Your eyes flutter shut as your forehead touches his.

It’s white. It’s the bright, cleansing light of some sort of heaven. Heaven? Haven? You’re not too sure. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to care, either. Not when you’re here – not when your Viktor is in reach. Not when you can touch him, hold him, talk to the one you love. The one you’ve been pining for, fighting for, losing and winning for. From somewhere between sixty years and eternity, you’ve been wanting him. And now he’s here. Your Viktor is here.

It’s unbelievable. Your Viktor is here.

The memories of your past lives, the former realities you’ve lived, meld and blur into distinct feelings. Visual memories blend into base emotions. A warrior’s pride. A traveler’s wanderlust. A teenager’s excitement. A knight’s confidence and courage. A chieftain’s insecurity cloaked as hostility.

They melt away into contentment. A gentle wave lapping at a quiet shore. Acceptance.

You are healed.

You are home.

#riptide writes 🌊#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x gn!reader #arcane #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor x y/n #viktor arcane x y/n #arcane viktor x y/n #viktor league of legends #viktor league of legends x reader #viktor lol

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 month ago

Note

Any recommendations for a rules-lite mecha game?

THEME: Rules-Lite Mechs.

Hello friend, I sure do! I had a really fun time putting this recommendation list together, so I hope you also find something fun in here!

Reactors & Romance, by JP Bergamo.

Reactors & Romance is a rules-light, narrative-focused, one-shot-oriented RPG featuring mechs and flirting.

Players take on the role of a hot-shot mech pilot with only two ways of problem solving: flirt your way through with your romantic charm, or fight your way out with your mech. Your ability to do either is measured with one stat, your HEAT. Your HEAT measures both how hot your mech’s reactor is getting, and how hot of a pilot you are. Your mech will get less and less reliable as it builds up heat and takes on damage. Fortunately, you have always done your best flirting under pressure.

Say hello to a beautiful, quick game that focuses on the emotions that sizzle inside the gigantic battle machines, as well as the fights that might make those relationships complicated. With a nod to Lasers & Feelings, Reactors & Romance has some additional bits and pieces to play with, such as heat, which both propels you into the danger zone and also makes you very attractive. You also have Keepsakes, which are meant to represent romantic connections that help you clear your Heat. The author references Thirsty Sword Lesbians, Promare, and Gurren Lagann, which all make me super excited about this game.

Mech and Kaiju, by Minbot.

You are the pilot and crew of the Dominator, an advanced bio-mechanical skyscraper sized battle suit designed and built to fight the Kaiju, gigantic leviathan creatures from beyond the depths of space.

Based on the popular Lasers and Feeling RPG by John Harper and created for the Minimalist TTRPG Jam 3.

Simple and descriptive, Mech & Kaiju asks you to determine a few traits of your characters, a few traits of the mech you pilot, and a few truths about the Alien Overlord and the Kaiju you're going up against. When it comes to rolling, it's typical Lasers & Feelings: roll under your target if the situation is related to logic, reason or technology, and roll over if your approach is related to emotion, reasoning, or biological understanding. If you want a contrast between flesh and metal, you might like this game.

Resonance, by Foolhardy Press.

You and your team are Pilots; called upon as a team to control a single Mech capable of defeating the Intelligence

With your skills combined, your party alone can pilot the mech via Resonance, a state of understanding acquired through intense training and compatibility.

Each of you has an individual role to be expressed through your control of the Mech; the Captain, the Gunner, the Engineer, the Hacker, or the Muscle.

You must defeat the enemy Intelligence within a constricted amount of rounds or fail your mission.

Resonance feels very much inspired by Pacific Rim, what with the idea that all of your team is responsible for piloting a single mech, and the fact that the game defines success as relative to a target called The Drift. I like the idea that success here is related to how aligned the crew is in regards to the goal; it's an excellent example of a game that tries to weave the themes of the story into the mechanics.

Mechers, by Jason Pickering.

Welcome to Odin Corp new employee. You get to start your exciting new career as a Mecher working with our resource gathering facilities on the planet Sif 11. Your exciting career will see you wearing an Odin Corp Mech Suit as you transport cargo and supplies between our many different planetary stations as well as light resource gathering duties. In your journey you will see the wondrous sights, flora, and fauna this planet has to offer. Yes! It’s dangerous work, but your hard work will allow the facilities to keep operating so we can supply Odin Corp products to families galaxy wide.

Mechers is a rules-lite ttrpg that uses a 2D6 system, to determine outcomes for player actions. Players pilot a mech equipped with gear and adventure across an alien planet dealing with wild flora and fauna and an overbearing corporation. So grab your Dice, Load your tools, and head out into danger.

If you love mechs but you want to do something other than fight, Mechers is probably where you'll feel most at home. Your players are using mechs as tools to help them explore planets, rather than fight battles, although I wouldn't be surprised if you have to get a little bit physical to get yourself out of some tricky situations. Getting past obstacles requires filling tracks to represent the effort it takes to work through difficult situations.

Attempting to overcome an obstacle involves rolling 2d6 and trying to get a 7 or higher, with results of 10 or higher being without any consequences. It feels very akin to PbtA in terms of result range, but I think the ethos is a little less about generating interesting results and more about using what resources you have to improve your rolls and reduce any damage you take.

Immortal Gambit, by TitanomachyRPG.

IMMORTAL GAMBIT is a pick up and play 1-page mecha TTRPG you can start as soon as everyone has arrived to the session. Every player picks a different role (Pilot//Pilot’s Mech//Battleship Captain// Faction Leader//Rival//Rival’s Mech) and their own goal. Try to accomplish your goal while deducing who you can trust--and who is working against you!

Immortal Gambit looks to be about pitting children against each-other in gigantic mechs, all for political gain. I think it's interesting that a character and a character's mech are two different roles that are played by different people. Each character has a personal goal, one that is hidden from the rest of the table. You take turns trying to turn the tides of battle in your direction, using a d20 and a coin. I think it's interesting that this game is very competitive, and encourages your characters to work against each-other. It's a little bit like a hidden role game, so if you like keeping secrets, I think you might like this.

Big Robots, Big Feelings, by RentAThug.

Prime your laser cannons, draw your energy sword, and pilot your mech to glorious victory the only way you know how: how by feeling more feelings than anyone has ever felt! Battle enemy mecha and your own raging emotions in BIG ROBOTS, BIG FEELINGS!

Big Robots, Big Feelings is a one page RPG designed for the 2024 One Page RPG Jam! The game uses a simplified version of the Powered by the Apocalypse system, with Action Rolls determining outcome. Inspired by mecha anime, these Action Rolls are influenced by your character's emotions and relationships with other characters, allowing you to literally use the power of friendship to destroy your enemies.

This game feels very in tune with the color-coded superhero genre, with bright colors and themes that really double down on tropes. Your character has a background, three emotions, and a Mech that's designed to reflect their personality. When you try to do something, you use 2d6, as per a typical PbtA game, with modifiers related to your emotions and your relationships. In Big Robots, Big Feelings, you truly do win fights with the power of friendship!

Sad Teen Mecha Pilots, by Unknown Dungeon.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION….

Over twenty years ago, the first Demon attacked. Humanity fought back, but suffered great losses in the process.

In the decades since, a secretive program was initiated to build monstrous bio-mechanical mechas to fight the Demons, and to train the young pilots who control them.

You are those pilots.

Sad Teen Mecha Pilots is a collaborative story-telling RPG about the lives of young people faced with the impossible task of saving the world, and the strain it puts on them and their relationships.

A simple one-page game, this is all about the motivations behind a war, and the strain of trying to hold off Doomsday. The lose state of the clock is represented in a Doomsday clock, which looks like it's already partially filled when you start to play the game, although I'm not entirely sure if that's the intention. When the clock hits the Eleventh Hour, your characters are pulled away from their teenage lives for a nearly-hopeless battle.

The bulk of the game is definitely focused on the daily lives of your characters; their family relationships, their struggles with school or friendships, and recovering from wounds. I'd be interested in seeing how this game might combine with a more mechanically complex mech game to provide a lot of pathos in between high-combat scenes - although you as a group would have to be OK with going up against pretty impossible odds.

Also Check Out…

Mechs Part 1 Recommendations

Mechs Part 2 Recommendations

Gundam TTRPG Recommedations.

Metal Sword, by Mousewife Games (simplified Beam Saber!)

If you like what I do and want to leave a tip, you can check out my Ko-Fi!

#rules-lite #mechs #tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg

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startheskelaton · 4 months ago

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Do you have a timelime for your sparkplug au?

Yes and It's LONG. This isn't even all of it but it's what I have written out at least

Timeline: important plot points

Pre war

Orion pax and D-16 are born

Both experience the loss of parental guardian

D-16 is taken to the pit

Orion pax breaks into the pit, he and Dee start the foundations of the Decepticon cause

Revolution starts to take shape on Cybertron

Orion is killed in an attempt to stop D from falling down the slippery slope of a rage filled warmonger

Orion is brought back as Optimus prime

OG Ultra Magnus makes him a general in the Autobot ranks

During war

War goes on for like…. Long ass time

Autobots land on earth

Main decepticons fallow suit and step up shop due to amount of resources

Governments make deals with different factions in place of protection and access to weapon technology

Eventually Megatron has a “oh fuck” moment when he invades an illegal mining operation in central Africa. It puts into perspective how far he has fallen, seeing his commanders make deals with those who profited off the mines, just like those in power back on cybertron.

Midlife crisis, Megatron leaves the Decepticon cause, he takes Soundwave with him. Declares he will do whatever he needs in order to free those enslaved on this planet

Megatron joins the Autobots, this cases Prowl to leave and switch sides

Battles pick up heat as both sides are desperate

Millionaires and those in places of high power use Cybertronian technology to flee earth and live in space as earth is being destroyed

Starscream kills Optimus Prime in an attempt to kill Megatron. Both sides retreat as a result

Optimus splits the matrix and gives it to Hotrod and bumblebee,

Rodimus prime and Vespa Prime are born

Optimus Prime’s spark is put in a reformation chamber with parts of Megatron in an attempt to bring him back

Treaties are made and the decepticons take Cybertron as the Autobots stay on earth

Post war

Decepticons start rebuilding Cybertroinian society

Shockwave finishes creating a replacement for Soundwave

Soundblaster is born

The first sparkling born on Cybertron in millenia emerges

Nightflyer is born

Due to the splitting of the matrix of leadership, dormant energon on earth awakens and allows for new sparklings to emerge

The attempt the revive Optimus prime’s spark fails

Sparkplug is born

A new era

Earth

The Autobots have made it their mission to help reform the planet and help the humans rebuild

Rodimus prime leaves earth in a hope to find some kind of explanation for why he feels like everything is in the shitter

Subsections of colonies start to pop up, some keep to themselves, others work directly with the autobots, some hate transformers entirely

Railroads are made more efficient in order to transport supplies across countries

Earth starts to heal with the help of the matrix, forests grow and temperatures fall to a normal level

Major cities act as sanctuaries for the human population, help from other alien races arrives as well, helping earth to become a space traveling hub

Cybertron

The Decepticons no longer go by that name, no longer wanting to be associated with the past. They go by Workers of Prime

Shockwave has put together a complicated and purposeful chain of command and leadership that he sits at the top of. However Starscream is the “king” of Cybertron, while being a puppet

Prowl takes care of enforcing laws and regulations to the planet. Along with trying to unite the cities with one another

Cybertron now has a entertainment industry, focused on promoting good morals to the population along with keeping bots distracted

Cybertron only communicate with it’s colony planets, trying to form a stronger relationship between all transformers

“Peace times” (start of the story)

Sparkplug is currently working as the assistant of Ratchet under the blessing of Megatron and Elita one

Sparkplug trains in her free time to be a scout and will sneak off every once and a while to play basement concerts

On Cybertron, Nightflyer is top of his class while training to be a high guard soldier. He is chosen by Shockwave to go on a mission to earth and infiltrate the Autobots

Cybertron is in desperate need of resources

Nightflyer lands on earth and pretends to be a Decepticon defector, Sparkplug is wary of him

Nightflyer manages to become an Autobot and meets Sparkplug during the scout tryouts

Reluctantly Sparkplug is passed but gets put on the Energon transportation and quality control team, she’s fine with this as she just wanted to see the world

Nightflyer gets put on a mission team, meeting Landlot, Defender and other bots his age.

During this time we get our first mentions of a cult ran by a former Decepticon that’s turning humans into purple energon

Both Spark and Night explore earth and meet new and old bots.

Example: Sparkplug gets to know earth born transformers, Nightflyer gets to meet bots like Skyfire

Back at the base, Sparkplug gets annoyed with how much fanfare Nightflyer is getting, while she still gets treated like a sparkling

She breaks Night’s social mask and gets to know the real him. A romance between the two starts to form

Shockwave informs Nightflyer that they’re sending a team to take over the main Autobot base

Shockwave employs the DJD to help in the Autobot attack

Return to war

Sparkplug confesses to Nightflyer, Nightflyer returns the feeling as he does like her.

Right before the invasion he tries to convince her that living on Cybertron wouldn’t be so bad. Sparkplug refutes that she likes Earth and that Cybertron would probably hate her.

The DJD and a group of seakers make their way to Earth and start fucking shit up

Big dramatic reveal to the characters that Nightflyer was a spy all along and is Starscream’s ward

Things are going in the bad guy’s favor until Tarn realizes Sparkplug is part Megatron.

He orders his men to capture her and kill everyone else, as they have a new leader of the Decepticon cause

The battle becomes even more messy as sides are switched and the Autobots and seekers are now fighting to survive

While attempting to help Megatron fight off Tarn, Sparkplug is grabbed by Soundblaster, who hopes to bring her back to Shockwave in order to get in his favor.

Space distortion happens when Skywarp tries to help get Soundblaster out of there and accidentally sends him and Sparkplug halfway across the universe.

This cases the DJD to leave as they are now looking for Sparkplug, and the seekers(after getting beaten by the DJD) are taken prisoner for now

Depression but in space

Sparkplug and Soundblaster are in the middle of nowhere on a deserted planet. After trying to restrain one another, they realize they need to help each other if they wanna survive this mess

Back on earth, Rodimus comes back from space due to getting a SOS message, he is yelled at by his family

Acidstorm, Slipstream and Airachnid are absolutely furious about being stuck on earth for the time being. Nightflyer is currently being used as a verbal punching bag for the Autobots

Back in Space, Sparkplug and Soundblaster start to develop a chemistry as they learn more about each other.

Rodiums takes it upon himself to get Sparkplug back as a way to make up for leaving everyone years ago. This is a big reference to “the lost light”, characters like megatron, rodimus, swerve and others join, along with some OC’s like Nanabah (native american sharpshooter) who forms a friendship with Preceptor, and Lobo (the lowrider transformer born on earth)

Rodimus takes nightflyer under his wing in an attempt to reform him

In space, Spark and Soundblaster start to feel romantic feelings for one another. However this is interrupted by them getting found by the DJD.

Soundwave takes it upon himself to split off from Rodimus group as he might be able to locate her better through his mind powers (I don’t know, it's all space magic man)

Sparkplug properly meets Tarn and is quickly given a new frame and alt mode against her will.

Soundwave finds the DJD with Spark on it and sneaks on, However he is caught, and even if he fights well, he can’t fight off all of them.

Tarn forces Sparkplug to finally give into her anger when he kills Soundwave in front of her and lets her kill him.

Spark takes on the name “Megatron” and is then forced to eat Tarn’s spark in an act of dominance. She is now the leader of the DJD

There will be more to come!!! this is not all of it

Part two

#transformers #oc #ask box #asks #ask #ask blog #one spark au #transformers au #time line

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420technoblazeit · 3 months ago

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a common viktor mischaracterization that always bugs me is when people try to argue that viktor was this huge zaun activist prior to season 2 because he very clearly wasn't. a lot of the piltover characters weren't and it's easy to understand that given their privileged backgrounds but viktor's relationship with zaun is really complicated and i don't see a lot of people talking about it. i find it incredibly unlikely that he wasn't aware of the choices being made with hextech, specifically the way the hexgates contributed to the growing class divide between piltover and zaun and the choice to reroute the hexgate tunnels towards zaun so that piltover buildings weren't damaged in case of emergency

i don't really think jayce would have made those decisions without him and i think it's more likely that viktor approved those plans and turned a blind eye to the harm it was doing as a concession to ensure that progress on hextech could continue. because otherwise he and jayce wouldn't be able to get the support and funding they needed to do what they really wanted with the hex crystals. and i think that was a huge part of why, once he merged with the hexcore and it became clear that jayce was okay with their technology being used for weapons, he went to zaun to help people. because that guilt had been building up for the past 7 or so years and he was finally seeing the consequences of refusing to acknowledge the societal impacts of his technology

#arcane #viktor arcane #the pig squeals

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 7 months ago

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𖦹 ࣪˖ ◂ To The Future⊹ ˖ ࣪✦

WHAT IF!! | Diana Prince, The Wonder Woman, and her wife had a baby? But the problem is...how?

Synopsis; Diana loved you, and in her love, there was everything you needed: an infinite calm in her arms, a refuge in her words, and a future full of promises they didn’t yet know how to write. Together, without haste, without fear, only with the whisper of a love that grew day by day, building a home that needed no words, just shared glances and fleeting smiles.

Pairing ── Diana Prince x Wife! Reader.

Content. MDNI ── Fluff, Mentions of pregnancy, babys, elements of experimentation, mild angst, themes of family, and emotional vulnerability.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— A flood of posts is coming. Honestly, I've always wanted to write about Wonder Woman x reader (my inner lesbian speaking U.U) — she's my true "Hear me out" moment.

There always comes that inevitable point in relationships when the conversation turns to family. But in your case, we’re not talking about just any relationship. No, you’ve been happily married for three years to none other than Wonder Woman herself. The impossible dream of any average mortal, and here you are, sharing your morning coffee with the Amazon princess while debating whether the coffee should have sugar or not.

Then, one day, you notice it. At first, it’s small, subtle gestures. Maybe she takes you to the park on any random Saturday, and suddenly her eyes shine a little too brightly when a couple with a stroller walks by. “Isn’t it adorable?” she says, pointing to the baby who’s sleeping like it’s dreaming of cotton clouds. Or maybe, while shopping at some store, she stops in front of a mannequin wearing a tiny Wonder Woman costume, complete with a miniature tiara. “Look at this,” she says, holding it up with a smile. “Don’t you think someone in our family would look perfect in this someday?”

And then there’s the direct talk, as only Diana could do it. Straightforward, but with that sweetness that disarms you. “I’ve been thinking,” she says one night while you both watch the stars from the terrace, her hair gently waving in the breeze. “You and I… we could be wonderful parents.” And even though she says it seriously, there’s a playful gleam in her eyes.

But of course, this is Diana, Wonder Woman. For every serious conversation, there’s an avalanche of charmingly chaotic moments. Like that time she taught you how to hold a baby using a sack of rice because, according to her, “a warrior must be prepared for any situation.” Or that other time, during dinner with Clark and Lois, she launched into a philosophical debate about whether their baby should have an Amazonian, human, or Kryptonian name “just in case”—leaving you with your face completely red.

The problem came later, when you both looked at each other one afternoon in the Batcave, in front of a whiteboard full of equations, diagrams, and something that looked like a drawing of a baby with a cape, made by you in a burst of nerves. Yes, that was the tricky part: how.

The conversation with Batman was, in short, awkward.

“Let me see if I understand,” Bruce said, massaging the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You want me to use my resources, technology, and—oh, I don’t know—my few hours of sleep, to figure out how an Amazonian and a human can have a biological child.”

“Exactly,” Diana replied, crossing her arms with the naturalness of someone who had already defeated gods. “Why are you making that face? You’ve done more complicated things.”

“Not with babies involved.”

Meanwhile, you tried not to make eye contact. After all, how do you explain to a man who spent his life as a dark knight that you now needed him for something so… personal?

Despite his reluctance, Bruce agreed to help. But not without conditions. “This doesn’t leave the circle. Not a word to Clark or Barry. Ever.” His look was so severe that even Diana raised an eyebrow, amused.

J’onn J’onzz, on the other hand, was a little more kind when consulted. “It’s a fascinating topic from a scientific perspective,” he said with that alien calm that seemed to come from centuries of Martian patience. “Though I must warn you, interdimensional hybrids aren’t a widely explored field.”

“Thanks for the optimism, J’onn,” you replied, glancing sideways at how Bruce and Diana argued about whether Amazonian genes could overpower normal humans.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of experiments, consultations, and technology that seemed straight out of a science fiction movie. J’onn led the genetic analysis, while Bruce applied his methodical obsession to create a viable procedure. Every night, Diana came home with a detailed report and summarized it for you with a mix of enthusiasm and seriousness.

“Bruce says we might need a Kryptonian catalyst,” she said one day, as if she were talking about what to have for dinner. “Do you think Clark will mind if we ask him for a hair sample?”

By the time everything was ready, you were already used to the strangest conversations of your life. But when the time came, when Diana held your hand while J’onn and Bruce confirmed that their plan would work, you couldn’t help but smile. They had achieved the impossible.

And so, with the help of a grumpy dark knight and a Martian with infinite patience, your dream of starting a family with Diana began to take shape. Because, in the end, if there’s one thing that heroes understand better than anyone, it’s that no challenge is too great when it comes to love.

The months flew by, and with each one, the Batcave became a second home for you and Diana. Every week, you would enter the dark, cold sanctuary of Gotham, where Batman, or more specifically Bruce, waited with an air of seriousness and a look that made you feel like you were participating in a high-risk operation. And in a way, you were.

Diana, although more than capable of facing the universe’s greatest threats, couldn’t help but show a completely human vulnerability when it came to her baby. At first, she tried to hide it, but every time Bruce, J'onn, or worse, Tim, began to review the baby’s growth with that scientific look, her face would tense. Tim, the Robin at that time, was so meticulous that he seemed to enjoy measuring every aspect of the baby’s development more than anyone else, as if he were calculating the exact moment a future superhero might crawl out of the crib and start kicking butt.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Tim said, again and again, checking the monitors as if it were a game. Diana smiled, but you could see her fingers interlacing with Bruce’s, looking for some sign of support. Bruce, meanwhile, kept observing in silence, calculating every possible scenario with a sharp mind, but also a little bit of affection hidden between his words.

“If Tim tells you it’s fine, it probably is,” he said with his voice tone that left no room for doubt, but that, to you, sounded strangely reassuring. He wasn’t used to showing many emotions, but when Diana couldn’t help but bite her lip, he noticed.

Every time Bruce and Tim gathered to review the baby’s growth, she would remain still, as if waiting for a verdict. “Is everything okay? Is this all we hoped for?” she would ask from time to time, even though the answers were already quite clear.

And then, the day came.

It all happened in the blink of an eye: a quick trip to the Batcave, followed by a torrent of emotions that no one could have anticipated. Diana, calmer than you expected, held the baby with a softness that only she could have. And there it was, the little being that had been the center of so many scientific consultations, now wrapped in the warmth of the woman who had carried it in her womb.

“It’s a girl,” Bruce murmured, his deep voice but with a rare warmth. “Welcome to the world.”

Diana’s smile was as bright as the sun. Her eyes, always so firm, were now filled with infinite sweetness as she looked at her daughter, who slept peacefully in her arms.

If it was a girl, things were simple. She could grow up on Themyscira, surrounded by the peace of the island, with the ancient warriors and her grandmother, Hippolyta, to guide her. The aunts would also be there, and they could teach her the secrets of her lineage, as well as her mother’s story. Diana could freely take her to the island and watch her grow in an environment of love and power.

But if it was a boy… the rules were different. Although Diana’s love, yours, and her grandmother’s would be endless, they couldn’t take the little one to Themyscira for now. The island, a place of ancient traditions and mystical protections, wasn’t the best place for a human child at the moment. There were too many dangers and secrets still to be understood, and Diana knew the boy would need a larger, more complicated world before he could be part of that sacred refuge.

When J'onn confirmed the gender, Diana's relief was palpable, and although the joy of holding her daughter was absolute, there was also a slight shadow of concern at the thought of what might have been if it had been a boy.

But as the hours passed and the little being with bright eyes and a peaceful smile woke up, Diana leaned over her, whispering with unconditional love, “Everything will be fine. The world will be ours to give her.”

And as the little girl snuggled against her mother, both knew that no matter what the future held, their family had already begun to take shape. With Diana’s love, yours, and the support of all the heroes around them, the little being would grow up in a world full of protection, love, and adventures that would undoubtedly surpass any challenge.

A/N ── Since I was little, when I lived in a messed-up country, Wonder Woman has always been one of my favorite heroes. I have other heroes I love too, but with Diana, I kneel and pray, no kidding! She’s so gorgeous, especially in those fanarts of Buff! Wonder Woman… God, she drives me crazy, I adore her to the core. It’s like my heart is a suit of armor about to crumble because of her!

#x reader #fem reader #wonder woman #wonder woman x reader #bruce wayne #diana prince #diana of themyscira #diana prince x reader #barry allen #j'onn j'onzz #tim drake #red robin #clark kent #lois lane

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70thlovesong · 7 days ago

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i can't stop thinking about it. just... man. the layers... the contrast between the alliance's militant cleanliness and the messy, warped post-humanity of the skibidi toilets, who, being literal toilets, obviously represent the abject, the repressed, the impolite bodily functions made obvious and undeniable (with an element of implied coprophagia) is obvious

compare the clear, one dimensional ":)" of the cameraman to the tragicomic rictus of the toilet. we are told -- or rather, we infer, given the experimental nature of the narrative -- that the cameramen are the last bastion and defender of humanity -- saved from the toilet plague by institutions of technological superiority and hygieHold o

Hold on a bird just flew into my house

the big dichotomy is also reinforced by the alliance's theme song, "everybody wants to rule the world" by tears for fears, specifically the excerpted lines from the chorus: "acting on your best behavior/turn your back on mother nature". contrast that to the toilet's theme, which is a mashup of a remix as opposed to the tears for fears original presented without alteration: the present versus the past, the numerous versus the singular, the palimpsest versus the xeroxed nostalgia objectoh no

at face value, the series' seemingly uncritical concessions to Futurism, and the general narrative of a militant technocracy, under constant seige, preserving the body politic from a literally diseased population, must be acknowledged and addressed: presented without subtlety or nuance, this construction is, Um, problematic. need i say more. but i believe that DaFuqBoom is not only aware of the undertones, but in fact, is working to ow subvert them, and to implicate the viewer in our surrender to the machine and our revulsion to the base, the "cringe", the corporeal, the coprological -- perhaps, even, the copro-logical as well.

furthermore there's also a level of medium awareness, too, and a moment of subversion in the reveal that "POV cameraman" is, in fact, a distinct character, disrupting and ow complicating the construction of viewer-as-cameraman. we've been had. even the cameramen's facial expressions are mediated, rendered as, not even emojis or bitmojis or even clip art, but text emoticons -- the well known shorthand fashioned from the tools of the keyboard, intended to compensate for the impersonal tonelessness of the medium, and yet introducing new ambiguities between irony and sincerity -- so that, even as they are "humanized" to us, the viewer, we are held at a distance, forced to recognize that what we are watching is media. What else have we ow merely assumed is true of the toilets, their purpose, and their motives, based on our unconscious positioning as viewers?

anyways if you want to take "cameramen good toilets bad" at face value be my guest -- clearly it seems to me you're trobbing yourself of the richness of the text, and possibly capitulating to fraught and, yes, fascist ideals, but no matter -- At Least accept that i am not a fucking "apologist" for anything just because i prefer to explore the relationship dynamic between scientist toilet and g man toilet and take their worldview seriously in my transformative works

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plaidos · 7 months ago

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sorry. it is early in the morning and i falsely equivocated trans man and trans masc. genuine mistake on my part. that other anon wasnt me but the post they referred to was the one i was talking about. its not relevant anymore but i still dont think that my example was that much of a stretch (femboys being an identity generally associated with both gay men and transfemininity) but my point was that they both rub me, personally, the wrong way in similar way. im sorry if it came across as harassment. i hope you have a good day.

to be honest, i don’t have any particular problem with trans men identifying as lesbians — to be entirely frank, i wouldn’t have a problem with a cis man identifying as a lesbian either (and a lot of people do — which is part of the actual asymmetric problem here). what i have a problem with is the systemic community wide resistance to analyse Why this happens and What It Means for the trans/lesbian communities.

the truth is, trans men who identify as lesbians primarily do so because they do not want to let go of the benefits of the social technology of the identity. and part of that benefit to identifying as a lesbian assigned female at birth is nigh-universal perceived authority over TMA lesbians, who are basically always considered to be outstaying our welcome (or close to it).

like, there is a double standard as to which masculine-presenting people with a “complicated relationship to gender” are allowed to identify as lesbians, and that double standard is pretty much entirely based on assigned gender. like there is absolutely nothing stopping somebody who identifies as a cis man having a “complicated relationship to womanhood & lesbianism” and yet i don’t see people tripping over themselves to let femboys into the lesbian community… maybe it’s time we addressed why instead of just blurting “it’s valid to be a trans man lesbian” every thirty seconds

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styllwaters · 2 years ago

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Hailing from the harsh planet of Ettera, Knights are the only sophont in the Zhagaviit system made of two consciousnesses. ---

At last, here they are! Nearly finished with redesigning every Vivere 44 species. These guys are retconned werewolves which I posted about some time ago. You might have noticed I brought back some space unicorn aspects as well! They've been through so many design changes but I've finally settled on something solid.

More information below!

I'll try to keep this concise. Most of this info is introductory biology.

Knights are the only sophonts living on Ettera, a mostly barren planet where survival is tough. Their civilisation is the least advanced compared to others in Zhagaviit, such as Arrows and Sea Crawlers. They were the third species to be contacted by the ZGC (Zhagaviit Galactic Community) followed by Post Humanity. Knights are known for being hardy, efficient, and motivated.

If it isn't already clear enough, Knights are two species in a symbiotic relationship acting as one individual. Helmets and Hosts have an evolutionary history so intertwined that one cannot survive without the other.

The Helmet is attached to the head of the Host, and will remain there for the rest of their life (unless separation happens - but we'll get into that later). In the relationship, their role is vision and dexterity. Since the Host is effectively blind, it is the Helmet's job to guide them. Their hands are also important, being the Knight's primary manipulators. They played a large part in early tool use. The Helmet lacks a mouth, and receives all its nutrients from the Host through a specialised organ not unlike an umbilical cord.

The Host is essentially the main body of the Knight. Wolflike and mammalian in nature, the Host is the Helmet's mode of transportation. Because they need to eat for two, Hosts are omnivorous and will eat just about anything. Although majority of their diet is comprised of meat, they are capable of digesting plant matter and bones. They are highly skilled and effective hunters.

It is in both party's best interests to assimilate as soon as possible. The Host cannot see without a Helmet, and within a few weeks bonding will become impossible. The stakes are higher for a newborn Helmet, because they cannot feed by themselves and will starve in under a week without a Host or an artificial feeder tube. Prior to first contact with the ZGC, Knights did not have the technology for artificial feeders, and infant death rates were high.

So how do two beings coordinate one body? The fact is that once assimilation occurs, they become one being. The Helmet's brain and the Host's brain are connected by millions of nerves exchanging signals. It's complicated, but the best way to describe the experience would be a 'mutual trance' in which full body coordination is achieved. They have shared interests and intentions. However, a Knight can mentally separate the Helmet and the Host, gaining back individuality; they do this for many reasons, perhaps to discuss something among themselves or simply for company. Yet on the whole, a Knight will spend 80% of their life in this 'trance'.

Both Helmets and Hosts have noticeable sexual dimorphism. Male Helmets are called Pikes, and females are called Guards. Pikes are distinguished by their horn, bold stripes, and more prominent crest spines. Guards lack a horn and have less contrast in their thinner markings.

Female Hosts are called Forts. They are larger than males and have a mane of fur on the back of their necks. Male Hosts, Spires, lack this mane.

In Knight society, individuals are usually referred to based on their combination of Host and Helmet. Since there are four sexes involved, there are four possible combinations.

Guard-spire [female Helmet, male Host]

Pike-fort [male Helmet, female Host]

Guard-fort [female Helmet, female Host]

Pike-spire [male Helmet, male Host]

(Knight languages have their own version of pronouns for each, but in English all are referred to as they/them by default. Of course, each individual has their own preferences. Usually a Knight will refer to themselves as we/us).

____

I'll get into Knight social structure, cultures and more in another post! For now, if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask. Always happy to answer!

#vivere 44 #speculative biology #spec bio #my art #art #knights #aliens #speculative evolution #spec evo #xenobiology #artists on tumblr #science fiction #worldbuilding #headworld #its finally DONE

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swordsmithofgondolin · 1 month ago

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Ok so I don't usually get involved in fandom discourse or anything like that but the amount of racism and appropriation in the MDZS fandom has pushed me to my limit, so I'm doing this. This is for fans of both The Untamed and Mó Dào Zǔ Shī.

AUs are cool! I write AUs! Fanfiction is a labour of love and people should write whatever they want, but we have to be respectful of the culture that what ever we are writing fanfiction came from. But people write the most absolutely insane stuff. Historically, it is incredibly frequent that other cultures will steal the parts of Chinese culture and innovations and technology, and then use it while not giving any credit to Chinese people and being racist. This happens all the time today! (It is also what happened to Wèi Wúxiàn. The Cultivation clans hated him, killed him, killed his people, but he was brilliant and they used his brilliant inventions while being absolutely awful to him). If you want to write a Selkie AU, use characters from an Irish story or write Song of the Sea fanfiction. Or use similar stories from the Chinese mythological canon. There are so many Chinese myths about doomed love and animal transformation! Don't even get me started on the angel and demon christian bullshit AUs. I know that a lot of translations of MDZS use the word "demon" to translate either mó or yāo creatures, but they are vastly different from christian demons. This also gets into the other bizarre things that people write with Wàngxiàn's relationship. So many people in this fandom only like it because they want to write dubious consent stuff so they take these incredibly well-written characters with a very loving and trusting relationship and just write...the most out-of-character stuff to appeal to their own sexual fantasies. This ties into appropriation, using these Chinese characters with no regard for their culture or even for who they are as people! This is something that has happened to Chinese culture for centuries, and it is most definately a form of racism! Also, I cannot stress enough how much sex is not the only thing in Wàngxiàn's relationship. Their relationship is mostly about love, trust, shared interests, safety, and sex is just a small part of it. Also, kinks don't define people. Wàngxiàn feel so safe together and trust eachother so much that they are able to share their weird kinks with eachother, but their kinks aren't them. I have a lot more to say about this and the Incense Burner chapter, but that's not what this post is about. I will note something about characterisation, though - Wèi Wúxiàn is not the feminine twink that we make him. He's scary, he's powerful, he fucking killed someone by making her swallow a chairleg. He's terrifying. And his "feminine" qualities actually read a lot more like characters such as Né Zhā or Sūn Wùkōng from Chinese mythology. Also just the concept of "feminine" or "masculine" qualities is sexist and transphobic and terrible. I love gnc Wèi Wúxiàn and I often draw/write him wearing skirts and stuff, but that clothing isn't feminine and I have a lot more to say about this but there isn't time! He's a complicated and very interesting character, not just some western character type that you find on a chart in a middle school English class. Don't even get me started on the characterisation of Lán Wàngjī... Also, I've seen people writing meta about MDZS with Japanese culture and terms. East Asia is not a monolith! Japan has stolen so much Chinese culture and treat Chinese people awfully! Just watch anime to see the racism, and do reaserch about WW2 to learn about the awful things that they did to China and China's ecology and environment and China's people! But most importantly, MDZS is Chinese! Don't write meta about it as if it's Japanese!

The thing that pushed me over the edge to writing this is how so many fanfic writers just take the MDZS characters and put them into settings of mythologies from other cultures, or modern AUs, because they just...don't want to do research about Chinese culture and mythology or don't care enough to do so. This is racist! Y'all need to just take a minute to read the Dào Dé Jīng or Zhuāngzǐ or Wǔjīng or something!

The most prominent way that this misunderstanding of Chinese culture, particularly Dàoism, presents, is how people write/talk about Wèi Wúxiàn's ghost path. An important part of 道 is that there are many, many different ways to define it. Many different paths one can walk. There's also the earlier definition of 道 as a path, a course of discipline and cultivation and study, and the later definition of 道 as something ironic to the original meaning, the opposite of a defined course. The important part is that there are many different cultivation paths, many different 道. We need to read or watch more xiānxiá, rather than just MDZS! The point here is that Wèi Wúxiàn's ghost path is just another form of cultivation, another 道. A brilliant one, too! It is a very effective and kind and empathetic way to deal with all of the jiāngshī/stiff corpses. And his ghost path does not harm his body. I am so tired of it being something that harms him or that needs to be cleansed or something. If you want Wèi Wúxiàn to have health stuff, give him a disability! You can even use my disability headcanons if you want! I headcanon that Wèi Wúxiàn has Reynaud's, POTS, and EDS, and Lán Wàngjī has POTS, Scoliosis, and Lupus. If you have questions about writing these disabilities, you can mention me in a post or something to ask about Reynaud's, POTS, and EDS (I have these, so I can answer questions about them). For other disabilities, just tag them. There will definately be someone in the disabled community here who will be happy to answer questions.

This fandom is so clogged by racism that Chinese people and members of Chinese diaspora are being pushed out of the fandom because we are drowning out their voices and silencing them. Listen! Listen to Chinese people and members of Chinese diaspora! We have robbed them of a fandom that belongs to them and their culture!

Links to some Dàoist texts (there are a lot more that you should totally read and I don't even know if these are good translations or anything but I'm tired right now and my fingers are not happy that i am typing so much because EDS is like that so I'm only going to put these two but I might add more later) -

#mdzs #魔道祖师 #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #cql #cql meta #mdzs meta #陈情令 #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #忘羨 #蓝忘机 #蓝湛 #魏无羡 #魏婴

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artbyblastweave · 1 month ago

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Review: The Refrigerator Monologues

In my ongoing search for prose superhero fiction that doesn’t make me want to bash my own head into a concrete wall until naught but pulp remains, I recently blew through The Refrigerator Monologues by Catherine Valente, with minimalist black-and-white illustrations by Annie Wu. I thought It was reasonably good, albeit undercut by the short format and a strained relationship with its own metatextuality. A conceptual mash-up of Gail Simone’s old Women in Refrigerators project and the presentation format of The Vagina Monologues, the book is a collection of six vignettes narrated by members of the Hell Hath club- a post-mortem support group held in the afterlife for the deceased wives and girlfriends of various superpeople. We hear monologues from pastiches of six characters- Gwen Stacy, Jean Grey, Mera, Harley Quinn, Karen Page, and Alexandra Dewitt.

Across the board, the prose is phenomenal, as are the individual character voices, so that’s already one of the big persistent challenges of prose capeshit cleared without incident. More impressive is Valente’s dedication in constructing what I term a “burner universe-” which is when a parody or deconstruction world builds a setting robust enough that it would have been really compelling as an unironic, unreconstructed pitch. I’ve written before that part of why there aren’t many good original superhero zombie stories is that it’s not really worth it to do a setting’s worth of big-two-style worldbuilding just to trash it with an apocalyptic zombie outbreak; something similar is applicable here, in that Valente could have gotten away with way less work coming up with the characters and powersets, but instead went all-out on, in her own words, “creating an entire superhero universe just to make a point.” The universe she created is visibly written by someone who’s actually enamored with the source material in a way that heads off Ennisian strawmanning. All superhero deconstructions have to strike a balance between inserting ugly real-life dynamics that are conspicuously absent in the source material, and analyzing the fair-cop implications of the stuff that actually is present; half of what’s wrong with comic books, historically, are those conspicuously absent elements, but if you add too much ugliness you run the risk of a decisive victory over a strawman. For the most part, Valente understands exactly when to add additional complications and personal shortcomings to the heroes under scrutiny, and when to just shine a damning light on what’s already present in the mythology; there’s an admirable separation between disdain for the misogynistic writing decisions and disdain for the characters themselves.

To be clear, by no means is the collection perfect- but it did earn enough good will that I can hold off on the serious grousing until the back-half of what's under the following cut:

Part One: the Individual Vignettes

Paige Embry is Dead: Introduces the book’s pastiche of Gwen Stacy, who acts as a cryptkeeper-style host of sorts for the rest of the book, providing introductions for the other protagonists before handing off the mic. Paige Embry is a materials engineer who inadvertently gave her college boyfriend super speed while giving him a tour of the lab, and proceeds to do a lot of the behind-the-scenes scutwork necessary for his career as “Kid Mercury” to take off; after her two-faced mentor steals the same technology to become Kid Mercury’s arch nemesis, she’s killed while trying to intervene in their blowout fight out of a sense of responsibility for the entire situation, punished by the universe for daring to step outside her ordained role. Paige actually has very little in common with Gwen Stacy beyond the fact that they were both thrown off a bridge to their deaths, but that, in itself, is a form of commentary. The fact that adding any traits or agency beyond “The hero’s girlfriend” puts you sufficiently beyond the popular perception of OG Gwen Stacy is a decent indictment of the writing choices surrounding her. Outside of drawing attention to that, the story is most interested in transposing the invisibility of women’s labor into the superheroic context, where it isn’t usually present; Kid Mercury isn’t a vicious shitheel, the story goes out of it’s way to make clear Paige was with him for a reason, but he’s also recognizably thoughtless about how much he’s leaning on Paige to be able to do what he does. Behind every great writer, a wife watching the kids. Behind every great superhero, a materials-engineer who knows how to sew a costume and come up with a snappy name. The final beat of interest here is that Paige narrates the story from within a big-two-typical revolving door afterlife, but Kid Mercury, pointedly, has never even tried to pull an Orpheus. Spider-Man exists in a universe where the X-Men can’t stay in the ground for more than two years but Gwen Stacy stayed dead; at first, this was because dead actually meant dead editorially at the time of her death, the revolving door being a later development; and later, because her death was too iconic a beat to undo. In a setting where you can’t just point to those editorial constraints and be done with it, Kid Mercury’s failure to kick down the doors to the afterlife is allowed to raise some interesting characterization questions about whether she’s worth more to him emotionally dead than alive. 10/10, would not be surprised if the rest of the collection flowed from this.

The Heat Death of Julia Ash: The book’s pastiche of Jean Grey; Julia Ash is a star student and token girl-teammate under the (gender-swapped) Xavier pastiche until she gets infected by an alien intelligence known as Chardibys, which supercharges her abilities and turns her into, basically, the only member of her team that matters in a fight. Subsequently she runs afoul of (and ends up in an abusive relationship with) a reality warping villain who’s the anthropomorphic personification of editorial retcons and behind-the-scenes creative tug-of-war, who engineers her initial “Dark-Phoenix” style crashout and then kickstarts his own redemption arc amongst her former peers- the kind every X-Men villain eventually gets- by using his powers to “solve” the problem he created by locking her away in comic book limbo, with reality being unable to decide if she’s alive or dead, culpable or innocent, herself or a puppet for an alien intelligence wearing her skin. The fact that the story is primarily about how the writers can’t make up their mind on what Jean Grey’s deal is, does, unfortunately, make it hard for the story to make any other point in particular; it’s a story about how male egos can’t tolerate a woman being the team powerhouse, until it isn’t, and it turns out that their concern was actually completely warranted, or they weren’t actually concerned at all. It’s a story about how Xavier is a manipulative POS who uses child soldiers, until it isn’t. It’s a story about how Phoenix’s mass murder is inevitably understated by the narrative, until it isn’t. It’s a story about how female characters are judged infinitely harsher than male characters for their crashouts, until suddenly it objectively was the Worst and Most Destructive Crashout ever, that also Didn’t Actually Happen. It’s deliberately confused because it’s about how the source material is confused, and it’s one of the better examples of how when the collection is weak, it’s often a reflection of how the referent storylines are weak. 8/10. How dead is Julia Ash, at this exact moment in time?

The Tragical Comedy or Comical Tragedy of Pauline Ketch: Follows the setting’s Harley Quinn Pastiche, Pretty Polly; an troubled rich kid who ends up forcibly institutionalized after her father’s abuse drives her to a string of retaliatory arsons. There, she falls in love with Mr. Punch, the setting’s Joker analogue, and, having previously inferred Not!Batman’s identity from having grown up in the same wealthy circles, she wedges her way into Punch’s good graces and inner circle by holding the information over his head. After a years-long criminal and romantic partnership she comes to trust him enough to divulge the information; having gotten what he wanted from her, he immediately drowns her in the bath.

This was, unfortunately, the only story in the collection I actively disliked, simply because it’s the only one that feels flat-out redundant to the source material. Mad Love, the definitive story involving Harley Quinn, is already about how Harley Quinn is projecting love and deep political interiority onto an abusive shithead who doesn’t care about her beyond his ability to use her to get at his rival, and she doesn’t even die at the end of that story! You have invented new bad things that don't actually exist in the source material! She barely had any characterization until Mad Love spelled out the tragedy of this dynamic, and most of what came later was predicated on her escape and elevation from it- all of which was already well underway by the time this came out, and given how familiar the rest of the collection is with the source material, it’s genuinely really odd to me that she wrote it this way. The Mad Love retread is fighting for space with a couple reasonably interesting but inevitably underdeveloped ideas. Batman is a finance bro whose “war on crime” is actually a thinly veiled gentrification initiative? Cool idea, but if the story is too much about that, now it’s a Batman story and not a Harley Quinn story. The asylum is drugging all of the captured supervillains into a dazed stupor rather than invest in any kind of directed treatment plan? That’s actually got legs as a criticism of psychiatry- but it’s telling that Polly is recast as a patient in this dynamic when her referent character would have been complicit in the systemic abuse. The closest thing to a new idea is a one-paragraph exploration of the idea that Polly was picking targets based on leftist/feminist sensibilities while blinding herself to the reality that Mr. Punch only cared about making enough ruckus to draw not!Batman’s attention. That’s not nothing. But it would be better if it were more than a paragraph! I’ll give this one 4/10- the saving grace is that Polly is a fun narrator. I’ll bump it up a few points further on the grounds that I might generally be overcompensating here out of my disgruntledness with Harley Quinn’s overexposure. I’ll end with this, though- I find it telling that Polly is the only character in the collection whose referent figure isn’t actually on Gail Simone’s original list.

The Ballad of Blue Bayou. Concerns Bayou, former punk rock musician turned Queen of Atlantis- the only narrator who, rather than actually being dead or similarly incapacitated, is instead periodically visiting the afterlife to try and retrieve her infant son, who was killed in a dustup between her boorish husband Not!Aquaman and an evil Shark guy. This entire thing turned out to be a reference to a specific Aquaman storyline where this actually did happen to their son and Mera “went crazy from grief” over it, which I didn’t know because I predictably and stereotypically know jack about Aquaman lore- but in a vacuum I’m more than prepared to accept that the writers fucked the dog on it. So, that’s deconstructive point one- that the writers are grotesquely uncharitable towards a mother’s grief. Deconstructive point two, and to some extent what I’d consider the meatier one, is that “superpowered mermaid Queen of Atlantis” is already an entirely functional pitch for a superhero, but she somehow ends up arbitrarily subordinated to her husband, a half-Atlantean who’s been involved in Atlantean affairs for maybe a few years at most. This leads into deconstructive point three- the idea that Aquaman, as typically constructed, would be an engaging novelty for people on the surface but a tiny fish in a big pond if he actually spent much time in Atlantis proper, where everyone can do what he does, and his resentment over this makes him an absentee husband and father. Overall pretty strong, although I do think the baked-in Orpheus angle is gesturing at a serious limitation of the post-mortem-support-group framing device; only so many of the referent characters are actually dead. 8/10 for being the second piece of cape fiction to play Futurama’s Atlanta/Atlantis pun as a deadly-serious element of the worldbuilding.

Daisy Green Says I Love You. Follows a pastiche of Karen Page who, after cracking under the stress of being the girlfriend of Daredevil-pastiche The Insomniac, moves to another city, gets into prostitution, then porn, then heroin, and then dies. This one is interesting to me because it carries the least overt animosity towards its pastiche hero. The Insomniac is portrayed as a perfectly nice guy,(even in the other stories where he cameos!) who never really does anything to ruin Daisy’s life aside from his lifestyle (characterized as uniquely unavoidable compared to the other superheroes) acting as a massive, massive stressor. Daisy characterizes the Insomniac as a “luck vampire,” ruining the lives of everyone he gets near inadvertently, but her life doesn’t really collapse in earnest until after they’ve been estranged for years; this reflects Karen Page’s seven-year absence from Daredevil’s book until she emerged in dire straights to kick off the events of Born Again. Her proximity to Daredevil is the metatextual reason this happened to her, but it’s basically disconnected from anything that Matt Murdock actually did. Matt Murdock isn’t really the one on trial here; Frank Miller is, along with every other writer who’s thrown a member of Matt Murdock's supporting cast into the meat thresher while he looks on, dumbfounded and without recourse. The real meat of the vignette seems to be an attempt to provide some interiority to the Page-analogue, creating a plausible backstory for a beat that had little behind it aside from a desire to shock and provoke. Karen Page got into adult films and hard drugs because Miller thought it would be shocking, gritty and realistic; Daisy Green got into adult films and hard drugs out of a combination of economic necessity, a failed acting career, poorly-managed attempts at self-actualization and poor coping mechanisms in the face of the death of her parents. Dating a superhero is something she puts a lot of blame on for her life circumstances but on another level it’s just another kinda shitty thing that happened to her, not the first and not the last; a story similar to Born Again is presumably going on in the background but that’s not what we’re centering right now. Call this one 7/10: not necessarily the strongest of the bunch but it’s gesturing at, and tinkering with, a very real dynamic; points off because I’m not actually sure whether or not we’re supposed to take Daisy’s “Luck Vampire” theory at face value or not, and I think the story suffers if we are. This isn't the first time that I'm going to say this, but you can only get so metatextual before you aren’t saying anything about anything.

Happy Birthday, Samantha Dane. This is the big one- the book’s treatment of the woman in the refrigerator herself, Alexandria DeWitt. Aspiring photographer Samantha Dane is the long-term girlfriend of Chiaroscuro, a graffiti artist who finds an enchanted homemade pin-on button that allows him to bring his art to life. He joins the Avant Garde, a superhero team consisting of other people who found totemic art pieces granting them powersets themed after various artistic mediums. Together they fight crime, which puts pressure on his relationship with Samantha, who holds leftist-flavored ideological objections to superheroes as a concept and resents being the only one of the two with an income stream. Eventually she gets murdered by the villain of the piece and stuffed in the fridge as psychological warfare against her boyfriend. And that’s the ballgame.

This one is interesting to me. It’s the books’ biggest example of the aforementioned “burner universe” effect; the plot that Samantha is on the periphery of is genuinely something I’d read a full series about. Chiaroscuro is an extremely informed and creative spin not just on the powerset of Green Lantern, but on the characteristics of Kyle Rayner specifically, whose gimmick amongst the Earth Lanterns has always been how his day job as a comic book artist informs his constructs. The Avant Garde have unique and compelling powersets, and the switch from the emotional spectrum to a conceptual spectrum based on different art movements is a clever one. The conflict of the story that intersects Samantha’s life-and kills her-is against Six Figure, a magnate who can force anyone to follow through on the terms of a deal that they shake on him with; a personification of the difficulty of trying to create art in a capitalist context, A figure who understands art perfectly well but only as a stepping stone to juicing it as aggressively as possible; the embodied spectre of both the allure and the loss of autonomy associated with selling out. It’s a strong pitch! I’d read this comic! But a vulnerability of the story being so short is that there isn’t really room to recreate the infamous refrigerator beat without, you know, recreating the infamous refrigerator beat. Sam sits at the periphery of the story, she has some concerns, she gets killed and stuffed in the fridge. She has significantly more interiority about what’s happening to her, sure, but at the end of the day she’s still just getting unceremoniously killed and stuffed in the fridge. If you’re of the opinion that this kind of story beat is inherently a problem in need of correction, the only real solution is to stop telling stories where it happens.

There’s a little more going on than that, though. There’s a sub-theme of cosmic punishment- an idea that Sam meets the fate that she does because of her lack of faith in the superhero genre; she gets swatted not just because the girlfriend needs to die for angst, but because the girlfriend had the temerity to try and poke holes in the story structure:

And then, of course, speak of the devil, one month later a wall street billionaire with significantly more power than what Jay has pinned to his fucking coat has stuffed the one remaining working artist in the story into a fridge. Because there are two kinds of postmodern superhero stories- the kind that Sam thinks she’s in, where superheroes are inherently authoritarian figures who do nothing but reproduce the power structures they claim to resist, and the kind of story that she’s actually in, where the author jazzes up their pet social issue with superpowers and apocalyptic stakes. Her boyfriend’s condescending attempt to “protect” her caused her to guess wrong, and deprived her of the information she needed to defend herself, and by saying this she called down the hammer on her own head.

Or at least, that’s the story she strings together while she’s bleeding to death in the fridge. The consequence of getting the unreconstructed beat from the victim’s perspective is that a lot of her narration consists of a scramble to claim any agency over her situation- even if it’s through some mistake that she made, even if it’s just thinking about things that are nicer than what’s currently happening to her- despite the fact that she’s in a narrative that’s inimically hostile to her agency. It’s genuinely kind of a fantastic beat. Back up to 10/10, forget that I said anything negative.

Also, the framing device for her story is her welcome party upon her arrival to the afterlife. She’s pretty damn certain she’s the next Paige Embry, the next supporting cast member doing more for the hero’s character development dead than alive. Let’s hope there’s room for her to be wrong about the kind of story she’s in a second time.

Part 2: And Then What?

Probably the component of the book that I liked the least, after Pretty Polly, is the ending vignette; The six narrators gathering in joyful solidarity, celebrating their collective escape from the, quote, “hackneyed, predictable tales, steaming on without us full speed ahead.” I think this section is slick prose but a pretty good example of how leaning too heavily on metatextuality to support your project can fall flat. Because first of all, you created this whole setting and clearly put no small amount of work into doing so, so leaning into the idea that these were all “Hackneyed, predictable tales” is kind of a self-own. You, the author, had agency over that. Second of all, at least two of these stories- Julia Ash and Bayou- rely on the sense of a situation in progress, something yet to be resolved, and the entire framing device is the afterlife as a physical locale that people come and go from- are you sure there was nothing more interesting to do with these characters, aside from rehashing a greatest hits collection with a little more nuance and calling it a day? That’s the vulnerability of the vignette structure- none of these can be a launching off point to something bigger and better than what they're attacking, there’s only really room for a slightly more involved recreation of exactly what’s under critique, with the consolation prize of everyone at least being, uh, happy in comic book heaven? Alright. Five of the six stories have enough else going on- imagery, prose, voice- that this doesn’t sink the entire thing, but that shrug, that failure to move beyond relitigating, is easily my biggest critique of the project as a whole.

Even sticking within the existing constraints of the project, there are several characters who I would have liked to see Valente’s take on within this framework. Barbara Gordon is the standout omission from the piece; the object of the apocryphal “cripple the bitch” quote from Len Wein, the perpetual discourse battle regarding the empowering portrayal of her disability or contemporary lack thereof. Scarlet Witch would have been interesting, her 2004 breakdown having since overwritten all else to do with her character in the popular imagination. Since Marvel Rivals made it topical again there’s the issue of Invisible Woman’s turn as Malice; The Venture Brothers already took a pretty mighty swing at the underbelly of the 1960s nuclear family gender politics of The Fantastic Four, but that was with the delightful lack of tact characteristic of that show. All of these are a non-negligible part of why I was so hard on Pretty Polly's inclusion actually. I kept thinking, okay, the next one will be Barbara Gordon. Surely the next one.

I’m not sure there are enough iconic slam-dunks floating around for a second collection. I think that fridging discourse tends to get lost in the weeds incredibly quickly; people keep trying to build coherent schema for what does and doesn’t count, gesturing at a bunch of high-profile beats that are definitely misogynistic in some way but then overplaying their hand by trying to unite them in some way beyond the misogyny that often doesn’t quite fit. Frank Miller’s treatment of Karen Page has all the hallmarks of his typical misogyny, but Matt rescues her at the end of that arc and they reconcile- a damsel-in-distress story where the distress is grindhouse misery porn instead of getting tied to the train tracks. She didn’t die until she sacrificed herself taking a blow meant for Matt in Daredevil (1999) #5. Does her agentic action disqualify that as fridging? Or the fact she was an active participant in the fight a page previously, nearly getting one up on Bullseye via trickery? Or is the only relevant factor that she’s dead and it’s sad? Pantha getting her head punched off alongside a dozen of her male teammates in Infinite Crisis doesn’t have an overt gendered component- but does the initial gender imbalance of the superhero population make her status as C-list fodder a problem, beyond the storytelling problems innate to C-list Fodder? What’s the line between “gratuitous” suffering and just having a tragic backstory on par with a male hero? Did Martha Wayne get fridged, or is that completely beside the actual concern- female characters who you think had more interesting things to do in the story than die who get the axe? Semi-related bugbear, I find it kind of odd that Simone’s original list mentions Invisible Woman’s miscarriage (that’s true to life! That’s a topic worthy of discussion if you’ve got the chops to handle it!) and not any of the weird gender politics surrounding Malice. Of course, Sue never died during any of the Malice stuff. Just had her inoffensive “real” personality hammered back into her, again and again.

We could be here all goddamn day. The only productive way that there has ever been to cut this knot is to point to the specifics of each situation and drill, baby, drill- X writing decision by Y Author is misogynistic for Z reasons. And that is, ultimately, what I like the most about this collection- it drills. It isn’t generalizing, it doesn't decontextualize for the sake of rhetorical convenience. It’s intimately familiar with the characters under discussion, their publication histories, what was hinky about each specific writing choice and why. Gwen Stacy’s death was, in context, a genuinely subversive storytelling beat with a mid execution that’s since metastasized in the Spider-Man mythos because the comics have run ten times longer than anyone imagined they would, and that’s had weird storytelling implications. Comic authors fall back on “female instability” as an explanatory factor uncomfortably often, Karen Page is one of roughly two women that Frank Miller knew how to write even before he went off the deep end, Jean Grey is in an abusive relationship with editorial that undercuts her capacity for her stories to definitively mean anything, and the specific thing that happened to Alex DeWitt always would have been gross even if the plot beat had languished in obscurity instead of becoming an evocative shorthand. Pretty Polly is there, I guess.

#the refrigerator monologues #thoughts #meta #reviews #effortpost #comic books #women in refrigerators #experimenting with longer-form reviews #If you'd like to see more like this like and subscribe! or whatever

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