#im like halfway through writing the second chapter

[thecourtfinchster]

once I get out of editing hell and publish my Cerulean Chronicles fic about overcoming cycles of trauma and learning how to come to terms with healing, it is OVER for you hurt/comfort bitches

[gorbo-longstocking]

that epic moment when youre actively being stalked but also you couldnt give less of a shit

[lordsardine]

.

[all-consuming-sand]

i should probably work on my fix right now...

[xoxosierralane]

| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

✎ from sierra: hello hi there, my first time posting a fic on tumblr let’s hope i did this good..! and i also hope you guys enjoy this little chapter and lmk if you would like another, im also open to any ideas and writing tips. also ty to @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary & @bueckersbitch for some tips when i asked they def helped, you guys are lovely also check them out 🌺

✎ synopsis: when an overworked pre-med student wakes up late for class, the last thing she expects—aside from the existential spiral mid-lecture—is to be roped into tutoring UConn’s star point guard, Paige Bueckers. Paige is charismatic, cocky, and somehow always talking. The reader is sleep-deprived, sarcastic, and trying desperately to avoid any and all distractions. But when tutoring sessions turn into unexpected walks home, avoiding Paige becomes impossible. She’s not just a classmate—she’s a slow, sneaky problem. And worse? She lives next door.

✎ warnings: language

There are few sounds in this world more horrifying than your alarm going off thirty-five minutes after your class already started.

The second my eyes fly open, I know something is wrong. It’s that eerie, sun-too-bright, birds-too-loud kind of wrong. That creeping, soul-leaving-my-body realization as I blink at my phone screen and see the time:

9:53 AM.

Class started at nine. I should be halfway through pretending to understand biochem pathways by now, not halfway to a heart attack in bed.

I launch out of my sheets like a woman possessed, nearly tripping over the half-folded pile of laundry on my floor and banging my shin on the corner of my desk. (Why do dorm room desks always have the sharpest edges known to man?)

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” I mutter to myself, pulling on the first pair of jeans I can find and a hoodie that may or may not have toothpaste stains on it. “You’re only, like, an hour late. People have survived worse.”

My hair’s still in the braids I did last night, thank God, because if I had to fight edge control and lateness at the same time, I would’ve just dropped out on the spot. I grab my bag, shove in a half-closed notebook, and toss a granola bar in my pocket like it’s some kind of sacrificial offering.

By the time I get to the lecture hall, I’m fully out of breath and lightly sweating. Cute. Nothing says “serious STEM major” like showing up late and looking like you just ran a 5K.

I try to sneak in, pulling the door open as quietly as possible (which means it creaks like it hasn’t been used since the Civil War), and immediately feel a hundred pairs of eyes swing in my direction. My professor pauses mid-slide.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head down as I scurry to the only open seat in the second row, of course. Because the back row? The safety zone? Taken. God has favorites, and I’m clearly not one of them.

I sink into the seat and pretend I didn’t just make a grand entrance. The girl next to me—blonde, tall, looks suspiciously like someone who could dunk on me if given the chance—glances over with a raised brow and the tiniest smirk.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice warm, a little teasing. It’s got that slightly drawn-out edge to it, like she grew up saying “pop” instead of “soda.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in mock defense but doesn’t stop smiling. Great. A morning person with cheekbones. Just what I needed.

I turn back to the lecture, trying to catch up on whatever enzyme he’s ranting about. Paige—yes, Paige Bueckers, UConn’s golden girl, sitting next to me like this is her seat or something—keeps glancing over at me every few minutes, like I’m the entertainment for the day.

Which, fine. I probably am. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The lecture drones on, a blur of chemical structures and way too many acronyms. My brain’s already in fight-or-flight mode, and I’m trying to copy notes from the slide like my future depends on it—which it kinda does, because if I bomb this class, there goes med school, and if I don’t go to med school, then what? Sell overpriced vitamins on TikTok? Start a podcast about burnout?

I sink lower in my seat, hoping to disappear entirely.

“Alright,” the professor says, tapping his remote like it owes him money. “Can anyone explain the mechanism here?”

Silence. Beautiful, holy silence. For a second, I think we might all get away with it.

Then—

“Maya?”

I freeze. My neck actually creaks when I turn my head up to look at him. “Sorry?”

He smiles like this is fun for him. “The mechanism. For the rate-limiting step of glycolysis.”

Of course it’s glycolysis. Of course it’s this unit. I glance down at my notes, which may as well be scribbled in a dead language, and I swear my soul briefly exits my body.

Okay. Think. You’ve studied this. You’ve done flashcards at 2 a.m. like a responsible, sleep-deprived adult. You can do this.

“…Hexokinase?” I offer, which I immediately realize is wrong because his eyebrow twitches.

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

I want to melt into the floor. I want the Earth to crack open beneath me and swallow me whole like a Greek tragedy. Why would you call on someone who was just 50 minutes late and visibly unwell?

I drop my gaze to my notebook, which now has a sad little doodle of a frowning mitochondrion in the margin, and let myself mentally spiral.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to give up and open a dog café somewhere in Portland. Maybe academic success is a capitalist scam designed to break me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Maybe—

“You were close,” a voice whispers next to me, low enough that only I can hear. “It’s phosphofructokinase.” I glance over. Paige’s lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

Oh. So she’s not only annoying and smug—she’s smart, too. Fantastic.

I give her a blank look, then scribble it in the margin like I knew it all along. I don’t thank her. I’m not that gracious yet.

The professor moves on. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slouch back into my seat.

I don’t even know how Paige knows that answer. I swear she’s never said a single academic thing in class before—usually just nods like she’s vibing through the lecture, and now suddenly she’s a glycolysis expert?

I glance at her again. She’s leaned back in her chair like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Her hoodie sleeves are pulled over her hands and she’s tapping a pencil against her notebook, looking out the window like she’s half-listening, half daydreaming.

God, I hate her.

Not really. Just enough to feel mildly personally attacked by her existence.

By the time the professor finally wraps up, my brain feels like someone stuck it in a microwave on defrost. Half-melted, barely functioning, and emitting a faint hum of defeat.

I’m already halfway through mentally mapping my route to the dining hall—food, nap, forget this day ever happened—when I hear the worst possible words.

“Maya, could you stay back for a second?”

I freeze with my laptop halfway into my bag. No. No. Please no. My stomach drops, already bracing for the we’re concerned about your academic performance speech. Or maybe he’s just gonna roast me for being late. Publicly. Again.

Next to me, Paige doesn’t move. Which is weird because usually she’s the first one out the door, bouncing off to whatever practice or photoshoot or press interview she’s contractually obligated to pretend she enjoys.

“You too, Paige,” the professor adds casually.

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

I glance at her. She shrugs, and somehow even her shrug is smug. Like she already knows what this is about and I’m the one being dragged into something against my will.

Once everyone else filters out, the room goes quiet in that awkward way classrooms do when it’s just you, your mistakes, and the person paid to evaluate them.

The professor folds his arms. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Paige has been… struggling a bit to keep up.”

I blink. Paige?

She doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts her weight to one leg and tilts her head like, yeah, and?

“She came to me earlier,” he continues, “asking for extra support. And I mentioned you, Maya.”

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

“Yes.” He gestures vaguely, like this makes perfect sense. “You’ve got one of the top quiz averages in the class. And I know you don’t have a lot of free time, but I thought you might be willing to help.”

I open my mouth to respond, and nothing comes out except a confused squeak.

Paige, meanwhile, is suddenly all charm and dimples. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she says sweetly, looking at me like I’m the answer to her prayers instead of the barely-holding-it-together girl who almost cried during a glycolysis question.

I stare at her. Then the professor. Then back at her. This is a setup. Has to be.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “I guess I could… help out. A little.”

The professor claps his hands once, like this was the easiest part of his day. “Great. Work out whatever schedule makes sense. Maybe start after the next lecture?”

“Sounds perfect,” Paige says, and I swear there’s a glint in her eye. Mischievous. Knowing.

I nod numbly, the weight of this decision already settling on my shoulders like a second backpack full of regrets.

As I head for the door, I mutter under my breath, “This is going to end badly.”

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

“Nothing,” I lie, faster than a reflex. “See you later.”

She grins, following me out with way too much pep for someone allegedly struggling. “Can’t wait.”

And I suddenly remember: this is the same girl who walked in late the first week, said “yo, do we need the textbook for this?” in front of the whole class, and then somehow got a laugh out of the professor.

God help me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the library, clutching three textbooks and a syllabus I plan to set on fire. This day has already been long enough, now apparently, Paige “needs a little help” with some of the material. And apparently, I am just the student for the job.

I hate when people say “it’ll be good experience.” It always means work I don’t want to do for free.

The librarian waves at me as I step in—Ms. Marie, always with the peach-colored cardigans and peppermint candies. “Back again?”

“Like a bad habit,” I mumble, shooting her a smile. “Just grabbing some stuff for tutoring.”

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

“Trying not to cry in public,” I answer, and she laughs like I’ve said something adorable instead of tragic.

I spend way too long in the aisles, gathering books and stalling. Mostly thinking about how good I’m gonna sleep when I get back to my apartment. Seriously. The second my cheek hits the pillow? Instant peace. Probably coma-level sleep. I should be studied for science. Sleep is my love language. Sleep is the one thing in my life that hasn’t betrayed me.

I’m still mentally composing a love letter to my bed when I round a corner and see her—Paige, standing near the checkout desk, talking to one of the guys from the men’s team. He’s smiling like he thinks he has a chance. Good luck with that. Paige Bueckers is gay as fuck.

I snort before I can stop myself, just a short, soft laugh—but she hears it. Her head turns. Our eyes meet.

Oh.

She looks surprised. Not mad, not even curious, just… like she wasn’t expecting me.

And now I’ve made eye contact. Like a dumbass. I quickly duck back behind the shelf, gripping a biochem book like it’s a shield.

Great. Just great. Nothing says “competent tutor” like spying on your student and laughing at her across the library.

—

I give it a minute before circling around the long way and heading to the study room Hanes booked for us. Small, quiet, lots of windows. I stake out the seat closest to the door in case I need to make a dramatic escape.

Paige walks in a few minutes later, all long legs and blonde hair and that basketball-player stride—like she owns the space without trying to. She doesn’t say anything at first, just drops her bag and slides into the seat next to me.

I brace myself. Here we go.

She pulls out a notebook, then a pen. Then nothing. Just sits there.

I glance at her, waiting for her to do… something. Say something. Start. Breathe.

“Are you gonna, like… open the textbook, or…”

“I was letting you do your thing first,” she says, like I’m the one who showed up five minutes late and smelled like citrus gum and lavender hand cream. Her voice has that easy, confident rhythm to it—Minnesota smooth with a little edge, like she grew up chirping boys on the blacktop.

I give her a look. “My ‘thing’ is desperately trying not to cry while re-reading the same paragraph seven times.”

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward exactly, but quiet enough to make me weirdly self-aware of how close our chairs are. I pull out my laptop to have something to do with my hands.

“So,” I say, flipping to the study guide, “Professor Hanes said you’re struggling with the last few sections. You’ve looked at the review packet?”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair a little too casually. “Kind of. I just—I don’t know. I get the gist, but some stuff doesn’t stick.”

“That’s usually how it works when you don’t study.”

She raises a brow at me like she wasn’t expecting me to have teeth. “I do study.”

I raise mine right back. “Instagram Reels don’t count.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s either amusement or offense. Could go either way with girls like her.

“You always this friendly?”

“No,” I deadpan. “Usually I’m meaner.”

That gets a laugh out of her—low and genuine, like it surprised her. She leans in slightly, chin propped on her hand.

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, flipping a page. “Hanes kind of voluntold me. Said it would be ‘good practice.’”

“Bet you were thrilled.”

“Overjoyed. I love giving up my one free evening to explain gen chem to someone who probably uses Gatorade as a chaser.”

Another smile from her. This one lasts a little longer.

“You always this funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mutter, but my mouth won’t quite stop twitching.

We get into the material slowly—me talking through concepts, her asking questions here and there. She’s actually more focused than I expected. Still fidgety, still Paige Bueckers in all her tall, confident, knows-people-are-watching energy—but she’s trying. I can give her that.

Halfway through, she lets out a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face. “Okay, but why are there so many exceptions to every rule? Like, who made these up?”

“Science,” I reply. “Also colonialism.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not wrong.”

Another beat of silence. Then she asks, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

She whistles, low. “Damn. That’s sick.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. If you enjoy stress-induced migraines and disappointing your family.”

Paige grins. “Bet your mom’s proud of you.”

“She is,” I admit, softer now. “But I also think she thinks I sleep more than I do.”

Paige’s voice is light when she says, “You don’t strike me as a slacker.”

“I’m not,” I say, yawning. “But if I had one wish? It would be to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. Maybe forever. I love sleep. Like, I would marry it. I’d elope with sleep to another country and never text anyone back.”

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

“That’s survival,” I correct, grabbing a pen to tap against her notes. “Now stop stalling and write that formula down before I cry.”

She leans in again, not writing yet. Just watching me. “You kinda mean.”

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

We keep working, but the space between us softens just a little. There’s something about the way she shifts a little closer when I’m showing her something, or how she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer. She’s still full of herself, but in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and pay attention.

And then there’s the eye contact. God. Paige Bueckers and her Olympic-level commitment to staring directly into my soul.

Like—I’m trying to explain the electron configuration of potassium, and she’s looking at me like I might be the answer to something she’s been trying to solve for years. Icy blue eyes, lashes curled to the heavens, a little swipe of mascara like she knew she’d be making people nervous today.

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

It’s honestly kind of rude. Intimidating. Possibly illegal. There should be a warning label or something: DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH PAIGE BUECKERS UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO BE HYPER-ANALYZED AND POSSIBLY SEDUCED.

Because I swear—I swear—the way she looks at me? It’s not just eye contact. It’s eye-to-future-entanglement contact. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me out of my panties with just her stare and that stupid smirk she keeps trying to hide behind her hand.

Focus. I need to focus. This is chemistry. Not chemistry-chemistry. I’m not gonna be another gay kid that fails a class because I couldn’t stop thinking about some pretty basketball player with really good hair.

No offense to everyone else who’s fallen into that trap. (none taken)

“Okay,” I say, tapping my pen against my notebook and not looking at her eyes again, “that’s ionic bonding, which means we’re finally done with chapter four.”

Paige stretches her arms above her head with a small groan, the hem of her hoodie lifting just enough to flash a sliver of skin. I look away instantly, like a respectable person. Like someone not currently battling the urge to spiral into a gay panic over five seconds of midriff.

“Thank God,” she sighs dramatically, flopping back in her chair like she just ran drills for two hours. “You know, I think I actually learned something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am surprised,” she grins, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re kinda scary-smart.”

I blink. “Scary?”

“In a good way,” she adds quickly. “Like, in a ‘you could probably build a robot army and take over the world but choose not to’ kind of way.”

“…Thanks?”

She smiles like she means it. Like maybe that was a compliment in her language. And for some reason, it sticks with me.

I start gathering my things, stuffing pens and half-crumpled notes into my backpack like the burnt-out academic I am. “Well, we’re scheduled again next Thursday unless your Coach pulls you for something.”

Paige doesn’t move to leave. She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, watching me with that same annoyingly intense gaze.

“You always study here?” she asks casually, like she didn’t just spend two hours fighting for her life over basic chem.

“Sometimes,” I reply, zipping up my bag. “It’s quiet. And the librarian doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

She shrugs. “Ehh usually with the team. Or, like, wherever has food.”

I hum, trying to keep the conversation from stretching too long. I’m not great at lingering—especially not with people like her. The kind of person who walks into a room and owns it without even trying.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, already planning my post-study nap in vivid, loving detail, but before I can escape—

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

Not because it’s weird. But because I hadn’t expected it. Most athletes don’t even remember the names of their TAs, much less offer to walk them out of the library like it’s some sort of… soft exit interview.

I glance at the clock. It’s getting late. But also, she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth lingering around.

“Sure,” I say. Casually. Like my heart isn’t already doing cartwheels.

She grins, standing to her full height (good holy 6ft..), and my only thought as we walk side by side toward the doors is God help me, I might be in trouble.

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

The night air hits us as we step out of the library, and it’s just cold enough to make me regret not grabbing a hoodie. Of course, Paige doesn’t seem bothered at all. She walks like she’s immune to weather. Or like the wind parts just for her. Probably both.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkwardly so. My favorite kind.

Then, Paige starts talking.

And when I say talking, I mean talking. Like she hasn’t spoken to another human being all day and I just unlocked the floodgates.

“So, like, I’ve had the same pair of slides since I was fifteen, right?” she says, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “They’re disgusting. Like, actually offensive. I think they’ve developed their own bacteria strain at this point. But I can’t get rid of them. They’re like emotional support shoes. You ever have something like that?”

I blink. “Uh…”

She barrels right past my lack of response. “And then Aaliyah tried to throw them out once when we were on the road and I almost tackled her in the hotel hallway. She was like, ‘Paige, they smell like shit.’ But they don’t. They smell like loyalty.”

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

Not because I don’t want to. But mostly because what?

I nod along, mostly to be polite. Or maybe out of shock. I’m not really sure.

She keeps going. “Also, can I ask you a question? Why do all chemistry textbooks weigh as much as small toddlers? Like, what are they putting in there? Guilt? Disappointment?”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which unfortunately only fuels her further.

She talks about basketball. Then her best friend’s dog. Then how she’s still mad Chipotle took her favorite salsa off the menu. She has opinions on everything from cafeteria chicken to the superiority of Apple Music over Spotify (she’s wrong, but I let her have it).

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

I listen. Mostly because I’m stunned by how easily she fills the space between us, how her voice softens when she gets excited and how, even when she’s rambling, she makes it feel like you’re part of the story.

It’s… unsettling.

I don’t do people like her. I don’t get people like her.

And yet here she is. Walking next to me. Talking like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

And then, as if this night couldn’t get any weirder, she slows down in front of my building.

I stop too.

Paige pauses, looking at the entrance. Then looks at me. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, pointing to the left. “Top floor.”

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

She grins, pointing to the right. “That’s my building.”

I stare at her for a second. Then glance up. Then back at her.

This cannot be real life.

“You’re telling me we’ve lived next to each other this whole time and this is the first time I’m finding out?”

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

She’s still smiling like this is the best coincidence to ever happen. Like fate just personally delivered her a win.

I just shake my head, digging my keys out of my pocket. “Well. Thanks for the walk. And the verbal TED Talk.”

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

I turn to head inside, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

She salutes me with two fingers, still grinning, then turns and jogs up the steps to her building.

I stand there for a moment, key still in hand, trying to process everything. The tutoring. The talking. The proximity.

This is going to be a nightmare.

I let myself into the building, already craving sleep and silence and maybe a three-day nap. But even as I make it upstairs and fall face-first onto my bed, one thought keeps bouncing around my head like it’s got a key to the place:

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

[nayiana0]

Quiet Until You | 7

⋮ ⌗ ┆analysis : you had everything under control—your grades, your goals, your walls. but when Choi San, the school’s troublemaker, gets assigned the seat beside you .. control is the first thing to go. he talks too much. smirks too often. And somehow, when detention throws you two into each other’s orbit for real, the tension gets harder to ignore—and so do the feelings. she was quiet. until him.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ genre : slow burn, fluff/angst, romance, enemies to lovers.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ warnings : explicit content - fingering , bathroom sex.. ect.. lots of angst.,(healed with some fluff), anxiety, healing.

wc : 11.1k.

a/n : crazy bathroom scene all i can say is WOW and then we hit that awkward little distance right after?? because feelings?? accountability?? yeah we’re growing now. slowly but surely. character development is in the air AND we're finally starting to introduce new ppl from here yayy im really enjoying writing this thanks for reading!!

also if theres any mistakes sorryy

══════════════════════ ✧. ┊⋆ ★

*Chapter 7: Don't Ruin This**

You’re curled up on the end of San’s bed, half-scrolling through your phone, half-listening to him mumble something under his breath while fixing his speakers for the tenth time today. The bass kicks, then cuts off. Again.

You don’t even look up when your phone buzzes—until it buzzes again. And again.

It’s Rina.

Rina: i KNOW ur at eli’s Rina: but listen Rina: party tonight. jacksons’ place. Rina: bring ur boyfriend or ill unfriend you Rina: im serious

You smirk, tapping out a response.

You: he’s not my boyfriend anymore yk this Rina: yet You: shut uppp Rina: 10pm. dont be late

You toss your phone onto the bed and look up. “Hey.”

San’s crouched on the floor, sleeves rolled up, a speaker wire in his mouth for some reason. “Mm?”

“There’s a party tonight.”

He spits the wire out. “Whose?”

“Jackson's.”

He raises a brow, stands, and stretches. “That guy who always wears turtlenecks in the summer?”

“That’s the one.”

He groans playfully. “Alright, I’m listening. What’s the occasion?”

You shrug. “It’s Rina. She probably made one up.”

He smirks. “And she wants us there?”

“Specifically said bring your boyfriend.”

San blinks. “Wow. She’s bold.”

“She’s not wrong.”

He pauses, eyes on yours, just for a second too long. Then he clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck. “So… uhh.. are we going?”

You stretch your legs, pretending to be casual. “Only if you wear that black shirt I like.”

His lips twitch. “Thought you said I wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t request a little eye candy.”

He chuckles, walking over to his closet. “You’re lucky I look good in everything.”

You roll your eyes. “You're so delusional.”

He throws a pillow at you without turning around.

While he’s picking out his outfit, you grab your phone again and text Rina.

You: we’re coming 😮‍💨 Rina: YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Rina: pls look hot i’m begging You: lol always do

When he returns, dressed halfway—shirt unbuttoned, sleeves still rolled up—he grabs his keys and says, “Alright. Let’s get you home so you can pick something dangerously hot to wear.”

You give him a look. “Dangerously hot?”

“I plan on driving you and getting jealous of everyone else seeing you. It’s only fair,” he says, holding the door open with a smug grin.

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “Shut up and drive.”

He chuckles, tossing you the aux cord as you both head down the stairs. “You pick the vibe. Just don’t blame me when I crash the car looking at you too long.”

—

San parallel parks like it’s a competitive sport, one hand on the wheel and the other lazily resting on your thigh like it belongs there. He throws the car in park and glances over at you, grinning.

The second you’re inside, he drops onto the edge of your bed with a dramatic sigh, legs spread, arms back, like he’s trying to take up all the space.

He watches you move toward your closet, eyes following every little thing like he's got no plans to look away.

"You're not wearing that to the party, are you?" San's voice was a blend of amusement and disbelief. You looked down at your outfit, a simple crop top and pants that had seen better days.

"What? It's comfortable," you protested, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

"You're beautiful, but this isn't going to cut it. Not for tonight." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he rummaged through your closet, tossing outfits onto the bed.

Your phone buzzed, it was Rina telling you to hurry up. "Looks like we're out of time," you sighed, grabbing the first dress that caught your eye. It was tight, short, and a color that made your skin glow. "Fine. Happy?"

San stepped back, giving you an appraising look. "Perfect," he murmured. "Now, let's go make an entrance."

—

The party was in full swing when you arrived, the bass thumping through the walls. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and the chatter of a hundred voices. You clung to San's hand as he led you through the crowded room, feeling the heat from the bodies around you.

"Let's play a game," he suggested, nodding towards a group huddled around a table. But when you got there, you saw the look of disappointment in his eyes. There wasn't an empty seat to be found.

"It's fine," you said, but he was already scanning the room. "There's nowhere to sit."

Without missing a beat, he said, "You can sit on my lap." He grinned, and you found yourself nodding in agreement. 

You settled onto his knees, the warmth of his body seeping into you. The game began, and you were soon lost in the laughter.

But then, you felt something else. Something that you couldn’t ignore pressing against your thigh. You glanced at San, and his eyes met yours.

The atmosphere shifted, charged with an electricity that made your heart race. He whispered something into your ear, his voice low and urgent.

"I'll be right back," he said, standing up. 

You watched as he made his way through the crowd, his hand still lingering on your arm. You barely could hear what he was saying over the noise of the party, but you knew you had to follow him.

As he disappeared into the bathroom, you took a deep breath and counted to five. 

1 2 3 4 5

Then, you stood up and followed him. The music grew fainter as you approached the bathroom door, the only sound the beat of your own heart.

You pushed it open and stepped inside.

San was waiting, his back to you, the room spinning slightly from the dim light and the anticipation. He turned, and before you could say a word, his lips were on yours. 

His hands found your waist, lifting you onto the counter with surprising strength. The coolness of the bathroom counter sent a shiver down your spine, and you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer.

His whispers were hot against your skin, “You’re so beautiful” he said and you felt yourself blushing.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every inch of your skin, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a soothing caress. His hand drifted under your dress, and you gasped as his fingers grazed the edge of your panties. 

The fabric was already damp with your arousal. He groaned into your mouth, the sound sending a thrill through your body. He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, "You're so wet for me."

You gasped as his fingers found your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body. "Let me take care of you." His touch was feather-light, teasing, making you squirm.

And then, with a gentle tug, your panties were pushed aside, and his fingers slid inside you. Your eyes rolled back, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. 

The sensation was overwhelming, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you.

You had no idea where this was leading, but you didn't care. You were his, and he was yours, in this moment of passion amidst the chaos of the party.

San's eyes never left yours, watching as your pupils dilated with each stroke. He knew exactly what he was doing, his thumb circling your clit while his two fingers curled upwards, reaching for that sweet spot deep inside you. 

"More," you moaned, arching into his touch. 

His fingers grew bolder, stroking and teasing until you were panting, your hips rising to meet his hand.

"Come for me," he whispered, his voice a dark, seductive command that sent you spiraling over the edge.

He watched your reactions, the way your breath hitched, and your body tensed up.

"San–fuck–I cant–," you moaned, your voice muffled by his hand.

His eyes darkened with desire, and he whispered, "You can take it, baby. Just let go."

He was right, you could feel yourself reaching the brink of your orgasm. You tightened your legs around his waist, urging him closer.

“San,” you whispered.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a gentle coax. "Let go, baby." And you did, completely. 

Suddenly, his movements grew more intense, his eyes never leaving yours. He found your G-spot, and your whole body jolted. 

You were so close, your breaths coming in short gasps. His fingers moved faster, the sound of them disappearing into your wetness echoing in the small bathroom. "San," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders.

 "I want all of you." And with that, he slid down your body, his mouth finding your center. His tongue was warm and insistent, tasting you, savoring you.

The world around you seemed to fade away as he continued, the pressure building until you couldn't hold it back any longer.

You threw your head back, and a scream almost tore from your throat as your body convulsed with pleasure. 

San's hand shot up to cover your mouth, stifling the sound as you came, your legs shaking with the force of your orgasm.

He held you there, his eyes never leaving yours, as your body pulsed around him. It was almost too much to handle, but you didn't want it to end. His touch grew softer, more gentle, as he felt your climax begin to subside.

When you finally caught your breath, you looked at him, a mix of surprise and satisfaction on your face. 

He smiled, his own arousal clear through his pants. "I want more," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. And in that moment, you knew you'd give him everything.

But as your legs trembled against his body, you whispered, "I need a break. I-I can’t take anymore" It wasn't a rejection, just you admitting to the overwhelming sensation passing through you.

San shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours, "You can," he assured you, his voice a soothing balm. "You can take it all, baby." and kissed a trail down your neck. 

He could feel your heart hammering against his mouth as he reached your breasts, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your dress.

Keeping his eyes on yours, and without breaking contact, he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms tight around his neck, face in his neck, and you felt his hardness press against your center. 

You thought he'd give you the break you'd requested, but instead, he reached down and pulled his cock out of his pants. It was thick and heavy, the tip glistening with precum. 

You stared at it, your eyes wide, as he positioned himself, your body already preparing for him. "San, I can't," you whispered, but his only response was to lean in and kiss you again, his tongue delving deep into your mouth.

And then, without warning, he slipped inside of you. You gasped as he filled you up, your legs shaking as you took his length. The suddenness of it was almost too much, but the pleasure was intense, making your toes curl. 

He didn't stop, didn't give you a chance to adjust. He just held you there, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, his kisses growing more desperate with each stroke.

You felt the walls of the bathroom cool against your back as he pushed into you, hard and deep. 

His hand muffled the sound of your moans, mixing with the music from the party outside. 

The sensation of him inside you was intense, the feeling of fullness and desire threatening to consume you entirely.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered in your ear, “You okay?”

You nod, lips parted, barely able to speak.

“Use your words, baby.”

“I’m good. I just—” You swallow.

And then he slammed into you, not even letting you finish your sentence, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the small space. 

You could feel yourself getting closer, the pressure building once again. "Don't stop, please" you begged, your voice barely a whisper. 

And he didn't. He thrusts harder, faster, his own whimpers becoming louder, until you were both lost in the moment, stumbling on the edge.

You felt the second orgasm crash over you, even more intense than the first. San followed you over the edge, his body tensing as he came, filling you up with his warmth. He held you there, inside of you, as you both rode the waves of pleasure.

When it was over, you slumped against him, boneless and satisfied. He rubbed your back gently, his eyes filled with love. "You're mine," he whispered into your ear, “All mine,” and you had no doubt that it was true.

He slipped out of you, his cock glistening with your arousal. He chuckled softly, a teasing flicker in his eye as he set you down gently on wobbly legs. "You were being pretty loud," he said, his voice a mix of affection and amusement. You felt your cheeks heat up, remembering your cries of pleasure.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen lips, and whispered, "But, the way you took it all, the way your body responded to me... it was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard." 

With tender strokes, he began to clean you up, using a warm cloth to wipe away any evidence of what had just happened. 

His touch was gentle, careful, as if he was worshipping your body. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, feeling a sense of belonging that was hard to avoid.

He tossed the cloth aside and pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms strong and reassuring around you. 

"I can't get enough of you," he murmured into your hair, his voice filled with a raw need that made your heart race. You knew he meant it, and that knowledge was intoxicating.

Pulling back slightly, he kissed your forehead, his eyes searching yours. "Ready to go back out there?" he asked. 

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of excitement and a bit of anxiety. You'd just had the most intense sexual experience of your life in a bathroom at a crowded party, and now you had to face everyone with a secret smile on your face.

He grabbed your hand and led you out, but as you stepped out,

Rina was there, her eyes wide and curious. "What the fuck happened in there?" she yelled over the music, a look of curiosity spreading across her face.

You blushed, feeling the heat of San's gaze on you. He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. "We had a little... accident," he said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction that had you rolling your eyes. "I'll tell you about it later," you whispered.

Rina winked at you, her gaze flicking down to your disheveled state and back up to your flushed cheeks. "An accident?," she said, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. 

But she didn't push, instead grabbing two drinks from a passing tray and handing one to each of you. "Cheers to ‘accidents’," she said, clinking her glass against yours.

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter, music, and stolen glances.

Every time you felt his hand on you, whether it was a gentle squeeze of your thigh or a possessive grab of your ass, you felt a jolt of desire shoot through you. 

And every time you caught his eye, you knew he was thinking about the bathroom, about what he'd done to you and what you'd done to him.

It was a secret that only the two of you shared, a secret that had bonded you in a way nothing else ever could.

But as the night grew late and the party began to wind down, you found yourself looking around the room with a sense of melancholy.

You didn't want this to end, didn't want to go back to the reality of your life. You wanted to stay here, forever wrapped up in this world of passion and desire that you'd found with San.

But all good things must come to an end, and as the last guests stumbled out, you knew it was time to go. San leaned in, whispering in your ear, "Let me take you home." And with those words, he led you out of the party and into the night.

—

The silence in the car is so loud, it’s almost unbearable.

Was this just a one-night stand, or was it the start of you two starting something again?

You stole glances at him as he drove, his focus on the road firm. 

San’s hands are gripping the wheel tighter than usual, knuckles faintly white against the leather. The only sound is the soft hum of the engine and your heartbeat thumping in your ears like it’s trying to remind you something just happened.

You sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest, staring straight ahead. Your mind’s reeling—replaying the way he looked at you just minutes ago, the way his breath hitched, the heat of his hands on your waist, the way you felt when he was inside you, the way you both crossed a line without saying a single word about it.

It’s quiet for a beat too long before you finally ask, 

"Are we okay?" you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

San's gaze flicked to you briefly before returning to the road. "Okay?" He echoed, his tone low and gruff. "Yeah, we're more than okay." His hand reached out to squeeze your thigh reassuringly. "Tonight was... intense."

You swallowed hard, the heat from his touch searing through your skin. "Yeah," you managed to reply. "But, I mean, are we good? Like, after the party?"

He took a deep breath, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "Look," he began, his voice earnest. "What happened between us tonight, it wasn't just about the party. It was about us, about what we've been building."

He then taps the steering wheel with his thumb, jaw tight. “I’m just—trying to figure out if that meant anything to you or if I’m insane for thinking it did.”

The car goes still again.

You swallow hard. “Of course it meant something.”

He turns toward you at a red light, the streetlamps casting shadows across his face. “Then why do you look like you want to disappear?”

You drop your gaze, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. “Because.. I’ve never done anything like that before, at a party, in a bathroom. It’s just... a lot to process, you know?”

He breathes in slowly, nods once. “I get it.”

A pause. His knuckles flex on the wheel again.

“But I’d be lying if I said I regret it.”

Your breath catches.

You stare at the road ahead. “I don’t regret it either.”

It’s quiet again, but this time it’s different. He exhales slowly, like he’s releasing something that’s been pressing down on him. His voice softens.

"But we can take it slow," he says, his voice soothing. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

You nod, feeling a weight lifted from your shoulders. "I just don't want things to get messed up again.”

San squeezes your thigh. "Neither do I, but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

There's a brief silence as he pulls up in front of your house and then he says.

“Can I walk you up?”

You think about it. About everything that’s happened. About what it could mean if you say yes.

You glance at him.

“Yeah. You can.”

And that’s enough for now.

—

After everything that happened that night — the chaos, the tension, the party, the quiet car ride home — you’re finally in your room. The moment your back hits the mattress, you groan into the pillow.

San’s standing near the door, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck like he doesn’t know if he should leave or sit on the floor or maybe just combust right there. You peek up at him through sleepy eyes.

“Are you gonna just stand there and watch me fall asleep?” you mumble, voice muffled by your comforter.

He gives a quiet laugh. “I was gonna leave. Let you get some rest.”

You shift, rolling onto your side to face him fully. “Noo… don’t leave yet.”

He pauses, lips parted, surprised at how small your voice sounded — like the night wore you down just as much as it wore him out. You give him a half-hearted pout, then reach a hand out toward him like a sleepy toddler begging for five more minutes.

“Just... stay a little.”

San hesitates only for a moment before crossing the room. He sits down at the edge of the bed, then lets out a soft sigh as you scoot closer to him, resting your head against his side.

“You’re really tired,” he says gently, brushing some hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering closed. “But I feel better with you here.”

Your voice is so quiet it almost disappears into the room, but he hears it. Every word.

He shifts carefully, lying back on the bed next to you — not under the covers, just hovering close enough to keep you safe. He keeps one arm under his head, the other resting across your waist as your hand slides across his chest like it belongs there.

“Just for a little,” he murmurs.

But neither of you moves. Not for a long time.

Eventually, your breathing evens out and he watches your chest rise and fall slowly, your face soft and peaceful. 

He swallows hard, like there’s something stuck in his throat — some emotion he isn’t ready to say out loud yet.

He leans down just a little and whispers against your hair:

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a while, everything feels quiet.

Safe.

—-

The next thing you know, you’re jolted awake by the sun peeking through the curtains. You blink a few times, squinting in the light, and realize you’re still in your party dress — the same one that had been pushed up around your waist hours ago in the shower. Your cheek is pressed against something warm and hard. San’s chest.

You sit up slowly, the fabric of the dress sticking to your skin. He’s asleep, one hand on your hip, the other curled loosely around your back. His breathing is deep and even, his eyes closed.

You look down at his hand, the way his fingers curl around the fabric, and you wonder what the hell is going on. 

Was that all real? Did you actually just have the best sex of your life in a crowded party bathroom and then come back here and fall asleep with him in your bed?

You take a deep breath and lean back against the headboard, watching him sleep. 

The room is quiet except for the sound of his breathing and the distant chirping of birds outside. You can’t remember the last time you felt this alive.

But then, as you shift, trying to get comfortable, you wince. Every muscle in your body feels like it’s been stretched to its limit. You’re sore in places you didn’t even know existed. You touch your throat gently, the skin sensitive from where he was kissing you all over.

You’re sore, yes, but in a deliciously good way. It’s a reminder of the night before, of his hands on you, his mouth on you, his body inside you. You bite your lip, feeling the butterflies in your stomach.

You groaned and rolled over, “Oh my god,” you mutter, barely above a whisper, blinking at the ceiling. “I’m sore.”

From beside you, you hear the soft rustle of sheets and a familiar sleepy grumble.

“Mm?” San’s voice is rough and low from sleep, the kind that scrapes at your skin in the best way. “You good?”

You nod, then shake your head, then nod again. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... sore.” You wince as you sit up, the fabric of your dress sticking to your skin.

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you gently. "It’s not my fault," he said, his voice low and filled with amusement. "You were like, 'harder, harder,' the entire time. I genuinely didn't know you had it in you." 

The memory of your desperate pleas echoed in your mind, making you blush even more.

San's hand drifted down to your waist, his touch light but electric. "But seriously," he said, his smile fading into concern. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" You shook your head, the soreness feeling almost like a badge of honor.

"No, I'm fine," you assured him. "Just a little..." you groaned as you tried to move your legs to show that you were “fine.”

He winced at that, his expression turning serious. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his thumb stroking your skin in a soothing pattern. "I didn't mean to be so rough." 

But you could see the excitement in his eyes, the thrill of knowing he'd been the one to leave you feeling this way.

"It's okay," you said, your voice still hoarse, "I–I liked it." And it was true. You had liked it, every single moment of it. 

You liked the way he took control, the way he made you feel like you could take on the world. You liked the way he looked at you, like you were the only person who mattered.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "I'll be more gentle next time," he promised, his voice filled with a dark promise that had you squirming with anticipation.

"But just remember, when you scream for more, you're the one who's going to be walking funny the next day."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. "You’re annoying," you said, snuggling closer to him. 

And as you laid there, the warmth of his body surrounding you, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You shifted a bit and felt the soreness again.. “Ugh, I need a warm bath. And Advil.”

“I can get you both,” he offers, already starting to push the blanket off himself. “You stay. I’ll run the bath, bring the meds, and then you can keep pretending like you hate me.”

You flop back into the pillows dramatically. “Oh, I do hate you. But you’re kind of useful when I’m injured, so…”

He pauses at the edge of the bed, looking back at you with a small grin. “So I’m your personal nurse now?”

“More like my villain with occasional acts of kindness.”

He leans down, hands braced on either side of your face, eyes locked with yours. “You keep calling me the villain,” he murmurs, voice low. “But you’re the one who said, ‘don’t leave,’ remember?”

Your breath catches just a little, and your fingers curl into the sheets.

He doesn’t kiss you — not yet. He just brushes his nose against yours, close enough to feel it, then pulls away with a teasing smile.

“I’ll go run your bath now.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky, and watch as he slides out of bed. The sight of him in the early morning light, shirtless and the muscles of his back and shoulders ripple as he moves. 

And just like that, he’s gone.

—

The bath helped.

Kind of. You’re still moving like someone’s grandma, but at least you don’t want to cry every time you stand up. San made a smug comment about “taking care of you” and you threatened to drown him in your lavender body wash.

Now, your house smells like eggs, toast, and something vaguely cinnamon-y. Your kitchen isn’t big, but he somehow makes it feel lived-in, natural. He’s wearing sweatpants, your pink fuzzy socks (because he couldn’t find his own), and your “That’s Hot” Paris Hilton mug is in his hand like it’s always belonged there.

You hobble into the kitchen and lean against the counter.

He glances over his shoulder, smiling. “You alive?”

“Barely,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “What is that? It smells good.”

“French toast,” he says, proud. “And scrambled eggs. And one sad slice of avocado that I tried to make look fancy but... yeah. No promises.”

You blink. “You made me French toast?”

“I made us French toast,” he corrects, placing a plate down on the little table.

You both eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, your bodies still slightly buzzing from everything that happened last night. It’s not awkward. Just... charged. Like the air knows.

After breakfast, you curl up together on the couch, his arm around your shoulder, your cheek pressed to his chest. The TV plays some tv show in the background, but neither of you are really watching it.

Then he speaks.

“I really did have fun last night,” San says softly.

You look up at him, surprised. His eyes are already on you, gentle and unreadable.

“Yeah?” you murmur, teasing lightly. “Which part?”

He rolls his eyes with a small laugh, cheeks tinting a little pink.

“You know what part,” he murmurs. 

You feel your heart thud a little harder in your chest.

“I liked it,” he continues, voice a little quieter now. “I missed us like that.”

You don’t say anything right away. 

He looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry. Then, without warning, he leans in and kisses you. 

It's a deep, possessive kiss that takes you by surprise, his tongue slipping into your mouth like he owns it. 

You taste the sweetness of the syrup on his lips, and for a moment, you melt into him, your body responding to his touch.

But as he pulls away and starts kissing you again, a nagging discomfort starts to creep in. 

You're not used to this level of affection in the morning light, especially after what happened the night before. You're not sure if you're ready for this, if you can handle the intensity of his desire.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice a low murmur against your skin as he kisses you all over, his hands roaming freely across your body. You feel a pang of guilt for not matching his enthusiasm.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him. "Nothing," you say.

He raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "That look on your face isn't nothing," he whispers, his voice thick with unspoken promises. "Tell me whats wrong.."

You nod, unable to lie. "Its nothing, really." Your voice is a barely-there whisper, a confession in the early morning light. "It's just... a lot."

San's gaze softens, his thumb still tracing circles on your cheek. "What's a lot?," he says gently.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "Everything," you admit. "Last night, the bathroom, the party, the... everything. It's just so much to take in."

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. "I know," he says softly. "But we don't have to rush into anything, okay?"

"Then why does it feel like you are rushing this, San?" you say.

He sighs, his arms tightening around you slightly. "I'm not trying to," he says, his voice earnest. "But when I'm with you, I just want to... devour you. I can't help it."

You laugh, the sound a little forced. "That's a bit dramatic."

He smiles, leaning in to kiss you again. "But true," he murmurs. His hand slides up your thigh, under your oversized t-shirt, and your body responds immediately, heat pooling between your legs.

"San..." You say his name like a warning, but your voice is breathless.

He looks at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Hmm?"

You bite your lip, "I just... I need a minute."

San pulls back, his hand still resting on your thigh. The room is silent for a moment, the only sound the distant hum of the TV.

You can see the uncertainty in his eyes, the hope warring with the fear of rejection.

He takes a deep breath and says, “I know this is sudden, and maybe it’s too soon, but I can’t ignore how I feel about you anymore.”

He shifts his weight, his hand still resting on your thigh, his thumb tracing little circles that make you squirm. “I know last night was intense, and maybe it scared you, but it just made me realize how much I want this. How much I want you.”

“San... I—”

You want to tell him that you feel the same, that you've been craving this connection since the moment you reconnected with him again, but the words stick in your throat.

You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I just... I need to know that you're not going to hurt me again," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "We broke up because you cheated, and I... I don't know if I can just ignore that."

"You think that's all I am? A cheater?" He spits out the words like they're venom. "Is that all you see when you look at me?"

You flinch, his tone cutting deeper than you expected. "No, I—"

"You really think that little of me?" He stops, whipping around to face you. "You think after everything we just shared that I'm going to do that to you again?"

You look at him, feeling a knot form in your stomach. "I don't know," you admit. "I just need some time to process."

San's chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths, his eyes searching yours for any hint of understanding. "Fine," he says, his voice tight. "Take your time."

He grabs his phone off the coffee table and walks out of the room, leaving you feeling small and vulnerable on the couch. The silence that follows is deafening.

After a few moments, you hear the muffled sound of the front door closing. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You knew this was a possibility, that your past with him would come back to haunt you, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

—

The next day, you find yourself in class, trying to focus on the professor's lecture. But your mind keeps drifting back to the party, to the feel of his hands on your body, and the way he looked at you when he said those words. 

You can't help but feel a twinge of sadness when you realize he's not sitting next to you, not whispering sweet nothings in your ear to distract you from the boring slides.

You scan the room, searching for his huge form in the sea of students. When your eyes finally land on him, you notice he's sitting a few rows ahead, his back to you, surrounded by his friends. 

The professor drones on about the finer points of quantum mechanics, but your mind is elsewhere.

You're aware of the weight of his silence, the unspoken tension that hangs between you like a dense fog. 

Every time you shift in your seat, you expect to feel his eyes on you, but when you glance up, his gaze is firmly planted on the whiteboard, his expression unreadable.

You try to focus on the lecture, scribbling notes that make no sense, your hand shaking slightly. You feel bare and exposed without his usual banter to anchor you, the warmth of his leg pressed against yours.

Finally, you can't take it anymore. You gather your things, whispering an apology to the professor as you make your escape. Your heart pounds in your chest, your eyes searching for the familiar comfort of San's gaze. But he's not looking at you. He's staring straight ahead, his jaw set in a firm line.

You make your way to the restroom, feeling the weight of his eyes on your back like a tangible force. The coolness of the tiles under your feet is a stark contrast to the heat of the room you just left. 

You lock the stall behind you, sliding down to the floor, your breaths coming in short gasps. You're not sure if you're more upset by the argument or by the sudden distance between you.

Once you compose yourself, you return to class, but the lecture might as well be in a foreign language. You're lost in thought, trying to piece together what happened, what you said, and what you could have done differently. You can't help but feel like you've ruined something that was just getting better.

After what feels like an eternity, the class ends. You take a deep breath and make your way to the door, avoiding eye contact with San as you leave.

"Hey," he calls after you, his voice tight with unspoken words. You stop, your hand hovering over the doorknob, your heart racing.

You turn around, and he's standing in the doorway, the light from the hall casting a halo around his frame. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for an answer. "What's wrong?" he asks, his tone softer than before.

You take a shaky breath, your eyes filling with tears. "I don't know," you admit, your voice breaking. "I just... I don't know..."

San closes the distance between you, his hand reaching for yours. "What don't you know?"

You look down at your intertwined fingers, his warmth seeping into your cold skin. "I don't know if I can do this," you murmur. "You left me in the cold again, San."

His eyes search yours, a storm of emotions brewing. "You told me you needed space," he says, his voice a hoarse whisper that echoes in the empty room.

You nod, trying to hold back the tears. "I know, I just..." You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I miss you."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. San's eyes widen, and he takes a step closer. "Miss me?"

You nod, tears spilling over your lashes. "I miss us," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "I miss feeling safe with you, feeling like I could trust you with everything. 

I miss the way you used to look at me, like I was the only thing that mattered."

San's expression softens, his hand squeezing yours. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. "I know I hurt you, but I've changed."

You sniffle, looking up at him. "Are you sure?"

San's eyes never leave yours. "I can't change the past," he says, his voice steady. "But I can promise you that I'll spend every day making up for it."

You bite your lip, the doubt still lingering. "How do I know you won't hurt me again?"

He steps closer, his thumb wiping away a tear that trails down your cheek. "You don't," he admits. "But I'll do everything in my power to prove to you that I've changed. That I'm not that person anymore."

You search his eyes, looking for any trace of the old San, the one who shattered your heart into a million pieces. But all you see is sincerity, raw and unfiltered. "I want to believe you," you whisper.

San nods, understanding the gravity of your words. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and steady. "I know you do," he says. "And I'll give you every reason to."

For a moment, you stand there, the air between you crackling with unresolved tension. Then, he pulls you into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around you so securely it feels like a cocoon. You melt into his warmth, your body fitting against his as if it were made to.

He whispers into your ear, "I'll show you, okay? I'll show you every day."

You nod, your heart hammering against his chest. This is the first step to rebuilding what was lost. 

He pulls away slightly, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are intense, searching your face for any doubt. "I'll be there for you," he says firmly. "No matter what."

You lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own.

 "Okay," you murmur, the word a whispered promise.

He smiles, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Let's take it slow," he suggests, his thumb brushing away another tear. "We'll start over, build it up again."

You nod, feeling a flicker of warmth in your chest. "Okay," you murmur. "Let's try."

San's smile widens, a hint of relief in his eyes. "Good," he whispers, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He pulls you closer, holding you tightly, as if afraid to let go.

You both stand there for a moment, the silence of the empty classroom surrounding you like a blanket. Then, with a deep breath, you pull away, wiping your eyes. "I should probably go," you murmur.

"Yeah," he agrees, his thumb still lingering on your cheek. "But can I see you tonight?"

You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting slightly. "Yeah. Why not?"

San's smile turns genuine, the tension in the air dissipating like mist under the sun. "Good," he says, his thumb tracing a path along your jawline. "How about we do something... casual tonight?"

You nod, the weight of your decision still pressing on your chest. "Yeah," you murmur, thinking of a way to ease back into the comfort of your friendship. "How about a skincare sleepover?"

San chuckles, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "A what?"

"A skincare sleepover," you repeat, your voice a bit more steady. "We can hangout, do face masks, and just... be

San's smile softens, understanding the underlying meaning of your words. "Sounds perfect," he says, his thumb still caressing your cheek. "Just you and me."

You manage a small smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. Maybe, just maybe, this could work. Maybe you could have him back in your life without the fear of heartache.

The rest of the day is a blur of classes and half-hearted attempts at small talk with friends. Your mind keeps drifting back to the conversation with San, his promise to be there, his willingness to take things slow.

—-

When you finally get back to your house, you find yourself eagerly preparing for the skincare sleepover. You lay out an array of masks, scrubs, and creams on your bedroom floor, creating a makeshift spa setup. The sight of it brings a genuine smile to your face. It's simple, but it feels like a step in the right direction.

San arrives right on time, a bag of snacks in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. The gesture surprises you, a sweet reminder of the thoughtfulness that once drew you to him. He looks at the spread on your bathroom floor, a smirk playing on his lips. "You weren't kidding," he says, setting down the bag and the flowers.

 "It's just... I wanted it to be nice," you explain, arranging the pillows and blankets on the floor.

"It's more than nice," he says, his eyes lingering on the flowers. "It's... sweet."

---

10 minutes later

You sat cross-legged on your bedroom floor. San sat behind you on a pillow, warily holding a pink headband.

“You expect me to wear this.”

You looked at him. “Yes.”

“Y/N, this has cat ears on it.”

You giggled. “You’ll look adorable.”

He narrowed his eyes but slipped it on anyway. “You better not take pictures.”

“No promises.”

You squirted cleanser into your hand and reached forward. “Okay, hold still.”

San leaned back, frowning. “Wait, wait, you’re not putting that on my perfectly smooth skin.”

“San—”

“I have elite skin. I don’t need—”

“Pleaaaaseee.” You crawled forward onto his lap, straddling him without thinking twice, pouting dramatically, hands on his chest. “You agreed to this. Just let me do it.”

He swallowed, hard. “Y/N—”

“Just a little. You’ll look so good. Trust me. Like glowing.”

He stared at you, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stubborn.”

He sighed, finally relenting. “Okay. Fine. But not too much.”

“Yay!” You clapped your hands and gently massaged the cleanser onto his cheeks. “See? Doesn’t that feel nice?”

He winced. “It’s cold. Oh my god, it’s so cold. I feel like I’m being baptized.”

You laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m literally shivering.”

After you wiped off the cleanser, you pulled out your favorite sheet mask and raised your brows. “Ready?”

He blinked. “What’s that?”

“Collagen + Vitamin C.”

“Are you trying to make me 16 again?”

“You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”

You pressed the mask onto his face, smoothing it down. He sat there stiffly, arms crossed.

“You look like a soggy tortilla,” you giggled.

“Glad to know I’m sexy,” he muttered under the mask.

Then you leaned in close, placing tiny cucumber slices over his eyes.

“Wait, wait—what are you doing now—Y/N—”

“Shh. It’s part of the experience.”

“I can’t see—”

You grabbed your phone and took a selfie, the flash lighting up the room. “Looks perfect for the Instagram.”

He grabbed your phone. “This is never seeing the light of day.”

“Or maybe it will be your profile picture?” You winked, trying to keep the teasing light.

He rolled his eyes. “If you want to scare off all my potential suitors, go ahead.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “I think you’re pretty irresistible, even with cucumbers on your face.”

San’s arms wrapped around you, his hands resting on your hips. “You’re so flirty.”

For a moment, the air grew thick with something unspoken. Your laughter faded into a soft smile. You could feel his breath against your neck, the warmth of his body.

“Thank you for this,” you murmured, your voice serious. “For giving us this night, for giving me a chance to trust again

San’s hands tightened slightly. “Thank you for giving me the chance to make it up to you,” he said, his voice equally soft.

You leaned back, looking into his eyes. They searched yours, looking for something. You didn’t know what it was, but you hoped he found it.

Then, he leaned in, the cucumbers falling off his face, and kissed you. It was gentle, almost, pure, but it held a world of promise in it. A promise of a future together, of a love that had survived the storm.

The kiss grew deeper, and you found yourself leaning into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, his hands moving up to cradle your face. The scent of the cucumbers mixed with his cologne, creating a strange but comforting scent that was all San.

When you finally pulled away, you both had masks on your faces, but the look in his eyes was clear. He wanted you, but he was going to wait, to prove himself to you. And maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself be loved by him again.

The rest of the night was filled with laughter, movies, and the occasional comedy of trying to get snacks without ruining your face masks.

It was the most relaxed you had felt in ages, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you could do this. You could have him back in your life without the fear of heartache.

—

The room had gone completely still. The kind of silence that only hits after midnight—when the air is thick with the weight of sleep, and voices instinctively lower, like speaking too loudly would disturb something sacred.

You were curled into San, your head rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. His hand was tucked beneath the fabric of your shirt, fingers splayed across your lower back.

He wasn’t asleep, though. 

You could tell by the way he absentmindedly dragged his fingertips up and down your spine, pausing every now and then like he was thinking. Like there was something heavy in his mouth he wasn’t sure how to say.

“San?” you whispered into the dark.

“Mm?”

“Are you okay?”

He nodded slowly, cheek brushing the top of your head. “Yeah. Just thinkin’.”

You tilted your head up a little to look at him. His lashes fluttered, gaze unfocused, lips barely parted.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, quieter this time. 

“Everything,” he said finally. “And nothing.”

You frowned. That didn’t sound good.

“What’s everything?”

He sighed. “This. Us. What it means.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat suddenly thick. “And what does it mean?”

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling against yours. “I don’t know. I just know that I don’t want to mess it up again. I don’t want to lose you again.”

The words hit you like a soft punch to the gut. A gentle, painful reminder of the history between you two.

“You won’t,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. “How can you be so sure?”

You took a shaky inhale, your heart racing. “Because I’m here. And you’re here. And we’re...trying. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

He nodded, his thumb tracing a pattern on your back.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy, Y/N. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

The sincerity in his voice was like a warm blanket, wrapping around you and chasing away the cold.

You leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling his body relax against yours.

“I know,” you whispered. “And I am. Happy, I mean. With you here. Like this. It’s...it’s really nice.”

San’s smile was a warmth that spread through you, his eyes crinkling in the low light. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s perfect, actually.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “Okay. That’s all I need to hear for now. We’ll figure out the rest together, okay?”

You nodded, feeling your eyes start to droop. The comfort of his arms, the safety of his embrace, was drifting you to sleep.

—

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks quietly unfolded into a month. Somewhere along the way, things with San began to feel like breathing again—natural, unforced.

 What started as lingering glances and hesitant conversations turned into full, uninterrupted afternoons together. 

You started spending more time at his place, and him at yours. There was no need for labels or heavy conversations about “what are we.”

It was just the two of you—falling back into each other, piece by piece, like muscle memory.

The skincare sleepovers had become a ritual now. A safe little corner of the weeknd where you’d sit on your bathroom floor, clay masks on, music humming softly in the background.

He always complained about how cold the under-eye patches felt, but he never once skipped them. “For the glow,” he’d say with a wink, and you’d laugh until your stomach hurt.

One of those nights, your mom came to visit again. Your dad couldn’t come because he was on a business trip. 

Her voice lit up the space as she entered your apartment, arms already open for a hug. “I brought way too much food,” she announced dramatically, even though she always did.

She immediately noticed San’s shoes by the door.

“Oh,” she smiled, brows lifting. “He’s been here a lot lately.”

You tried to play it cool. “Yeah, he, uh… helps me carry the groceries sometimes.”

But of course, your mom was smarter than that. She just gave you that look—the one mothers give when they know everything without needing to ask.

Later that evening, she pulled you aside while San was washing dishes. “He really looks at you, you know?” she whispered, nudging you lightly. “Like he sees the whole world in you.”

You couldn’t respond at first. Because hearing someone else say it out loud—someone who didn’t even know the half of what you two had been through—made it real in a way you weren’t expecting.

You glanced toward the kitchen, where San was humming to himself, sleeves pushed up, your mom’s Tupperware stacked in a neat little tower next to him. 

And for a fleeting moment, the chaos of the last few months faded away.

Everything had changed… but in the best way.

—

Saturday night

The front door’s already open when San knocks, and he hears your mom call from the kitchen.

“San? Come in!”

You come jogging down the stairs barefoot, hair still half-damp from the shower. “She’s making us clean,” you whisper, making a face.

Your mom pokes her head out from the kitchen. “She’s lying. I just asked for help setting up the backyard—figured you two might want to sit outside instead of hiding upstairs like vampires.”

The three of you step outside with iced lemonades in hand, the sun golden and soft. 

Your mom's dragged out a bunch of old throw pillows for the patio and set up a little Bluetooth speaker that plays low jazz, and there's a plate of cut-up fruit already on the table.

“You two just sit, I’ll bring the rest of the food out,” your mom says with a wave of her hand.

San watches her with quiet admiration. “She’s amazing.”

“She raised me, so yeah,” you say, nudging him. “She's like… the calm in my storm.”

He glances at you and says softly, “You’re the storm?”

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Don’t act surprised.”

Later That Day: After Lunch

The three of you are sitting outside still, the table littered with empty plates, sun beginning to dip behind the trees. Your mom leans back in her chair and sighs. “You know, I wasn’t sure about you at first, San.”

He coughs awkwardly, sitting up straighter. “Oh…?”

She shrugs. “But I see the way she looks at you. How you talk to her. You’ve been gentle with her lately. I can see that. And if you're gonna be in her life again, I’m glad you’re choosing to show up as a better version of yourself.”

You’re quiet, eyes flicking over to him.

San swallows, genuinely moved. “Thank you. I’m… really trying.”

“I know,” she says. “Just don’t forget that trying means being consistent. Especially when things get messy.”

He nods solemnly. “I won’t.”

Later, after your mom’s gone inside and you’re left sitting in the dimming light, you lean your head on San’s shoulder.

“She’s never said anything like that to anyone before.”

San rests his head lightly on top of yours. “She believes in you.”

You pause. “And you?”

He exhales. “More than I ever have before.”

—

You’ve gone upstairs to grab something, leaving San alone in the kitchen with your mom. She’s washing a few dishes, the faucet running low and the hum of a late-night breeze moving through the screen door. It’s calm. Comfortable. Then she speaks, quietly:

“She loves you, you know.”

San looks up from his untouched glass of water, caught off guard. “…She does?”

Your mom glances over her shoulder, gives a soft smile. “I’ve known her her whole life. I know when something’s real. Even when she tries to pretend it’s not.”

San looks down at his hands, fiddling with the ring on his middle finger. “I’m trying not to mess it up this time. I don’t think I could take losing her again.”

She dries her hands and leans against the counter, watching him with quiet patience. “So what are you two now? Friends? More than that?”

Before San can answer, you come back downstairs holding your phone. “Okay, I finally found the photo of Rina in that ridiculous—”

You stop.

Your mom arches a brow. “Just wondering what you two are. Friends? Dating?”

You blink, heart skipping a beat. “We’re—”

And before you even register the intention behind your words, the truth just slips out.

“…Dating.”

San looks up at you slowly, surprised.

You freeze. “I mean—we didn’t really—um—”

But your mom just smiles. Not smug. Not judgmental. Just warm.

“It’s okay,” she says gently. “It’s good to be honest. At least with yourself.”

You glance over at San. He’s still looking at you with that open, careful expression—like he’s waiting to see if you’ll take it back.

But you don’t.

You sit down next to him and slide your hand over his, fingers intertwining naturally. Like they were always meant to fit there.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter this time. “We’re dating.”

And San smiles—wide and a little disbelieving—before ducking his head and letting out a small laugh of relief.

Your mom just exhales, softly. “Good. Now that we’ve all stopped pretending… who wants dessert?”

================================================

Two Days Later

It rained. A lot. Enough to cancel the plans you didn’t even really make.

So he came over.

You laid in your bed, Netflix low on the screen, the storm tapping lightly on your window. He laid behind you, arm loosely around your waist, tracing little circles on your side with his thumb.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured.

You smiled into your pillow. “You’re just saying that because it’s warm and you don’t wanna get up.”

“Also because I love you. That too.”

You turned to face him, cheeks warm. “You’re saying that again now?”

He shrugged. “I never stopped. Just… forgot how to show it.”

You tucked your head under his chin. “You’re showing it now.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Good.”

You both ended up sprawled on the couch, your mom walking in with a towel on her head, raising an eyebrow.

“Again?” she said, eyeing San’s shoes on the floor.

“Movie night,” you replied.

San waved. “Hi, Ms. Y/L/N.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. “Don’t be too loud.”

The movie had long since ended. The soft hum of the credits rolled in the background, blue light flickering over both of your faces. 

You were curled into San’s chest on the couch, the blanket pulled up to your chin, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders. His fingers were stroking your arm without really thinking.

You could tell he was getting sleepy. You could feel it in the way his chest rose slower, the way his hand moved more absentmindedly.

Then, quietly, he said it.

“I should head out soon.”

You didn’t respond at first. You just pressed your face deeper into his hoodie, like if you stayed still enough, he wouldn’t leave.

He sighed, gently brushing your hair behind your ear. “Y/N…”

“Don’t go,” you murmured, voice muffled against him.

He smiled softly. “You know I have to. I can’t crash here again, your mom probably thinks I live here by now..”

“I know,” you pouted, finally looking up at him, your lips turned down and your brows scrunched. “I just… I don’t want you to go. I don’t know, I just—when you’re here, I feel better.”

San looked down at you for a second, and something in his expression softened completely.

“Y/N…” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “I feel better when I’m here too. With you.”

Your hands tightened in the fabric of his hoodie, your eyes a little glassy. “I’m being clingy, huh.”

“No,” he said immediately. “You’re being honest. And maybe a little dramatic.” He smirked gently, then kissed your cheek. “But I like it.”

You rolled your eyes and tried to hide your smile, wiping under your eye quickly before he could call you out. “You better not ditch me at school.”

He stood slowly, stretching a little. “Never. I’ll see you tomorrow. First period.”

You walked him to the door like always, but this time your steps were heavier. Your arms wrapped around yourself instinctively.

San turned back at the door, one hand already on the knob, and looked at you like he didn’t want to leave either.

Then, quietly, he said, “Come here.”

You stepped into him and he wrapped you up in the tightest hug, his hand on the back of your head, holding you like he knew you needed it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against your hair. “Just going home. I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

You nodded into his chest, still holding onto him.

He pulled back just a little. “And if I don’t get at least two texts from you tonight, I’m showing up with a megaphone outside your window.”

You laughed, finally letting go.

“Go,” you said, nudging him with a small grin. “Before I make you stay and deal with my mom kicking your ass.”

He gave you one last kiss on the temple, eyes lingering on your face like he wanted to memorize it.

Then he was gone.

And you stood there in the quiet, already missing him, already waiting for tomorrow.

================================================

You were halfway to class when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

San: meet me in the 2nd floor girls’ bathroom. rn.

You stared at the message, blinking. You typed back fast.

You: ??? You: wtf?? that’s the GIRLS bathroom??

No reply. You groaned. You should’ve known he’d pull something like this. And you hated that your heart was racing with excitement.

You darted down the hallway, checking to make sure no one saw you as you slipped into the second-floor girls’ bathroom.

San was already in there, leaning casually against the sinks like he belonged. Hoodie up. Mischief in his eyes.

“SAN” you whisper-shrieked. “You cannot be in here. What if someone walks in?!”

“So what?” he smirked, pushing off the counter. “Nobody’s in here but you and me. I wanted to see you.”

You gave him a look. “You couldn’t wait ‘til lunch?!”

“No,” he said simply. “Come here.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist before you could protest and pulled you in, pressing a slow, warm kiss to your lips. You gasped into it, hands instinctively grabbing his hoodie.

“San—”

“Mm,” he hummed, ignoring you as he kissed you again, this one a little deeper, a little needier. His fingers were tracing circles on your lower back. “I missed you.”

You giggled breathlessly, breaking away just enough to talk. “Stop, seriously. I have to get back to class. I’m gonna be late—”

“Don’t care,” he mumbled against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

“San…” you tried, but your laugh betrayed you. “Please.”

He finally let you go, exhaling dramatically like it physically pained him. “Fine. Fine. Go learn about the mitochondria or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wrong class. That was last year.”

He grinned and turned to walk away—but then suddenly spun back around, grabbed your face gently, and kissed you again.

You made a noise of protest and clung to the front of his hoodie. “San—!”

“Just needed one more,” he whispered, smiling against your lips. “Okay. Now I’m done.”

He turned and strutted out of the bathroom like he hadn’t just committed a minor felony.

But the second he opened the door—

A girl from your math class stood there, frozen, clutching her lip gloss and staring wide-eyed.

“What the fuck?” she said, blinking at San, then at you behind him.

“Wrong bathroom,” San said with a crooked grin, throwing his hood up and running down the hallway like a criminal.

You yelped and dashed out after him, covering your face. “Oh my God, oh my God—”

San slowed down just enough to turn around and offer his arm. “Let me escort you to class.”

You smacked his arm but took it anyway, laughing and panting. “You are the worst.”

“And yet,” he said, dropping you off right outside your classroom, “you still can’t get enough of me.”

You looked up at him with flushed cheeks, heart still racing. “You’re not wrong.”

He winked. “See you after class, pretty girl.”

And just like that, he was gone — casually walking out like nothing had happened

—-

after school

“Are you coming over?” you asked San as you walked out of school together, your bag slung lazily over your shoulder, the sun still warm in the late afternoon.

“Nah,” he replied, stretching his arms behind his head, making his biceps flex on purpose. “I gotta hit the gym today.”

You groaned, dragging your feet like a child. “Ughhhh, why are you always working out? I swear, you don’t do anything else. Gym freak.”

He smirked, clearly amused. “Why don’t you come with me then? We’ll stop by your place, then mine, grab clothes, and go together.”

You blinked at him. “Hell. No. I am not working out with you. Your workouts are probably pure torture. I will literally die.”

“Oh no,” he grinned, walking backward in front of you. “You have to now. You said it. We're going.”

“I never said yes!”

“Yes you did, spiritually.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

“Sexy,” he winked.

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

Masterpost Next

[just1cefor4ll]

—You’re the type of person they write rock songs about

modern!au Viktor x fem!reader warning. not proof read,

part seven || part eight || epilogue

A/N. ugh only one more chapter :(( i love how this turned out tho so its okay :D

‘From the day you arrived,

I’ve remained by your side

In chains, entombed.’

Viktor didn’t sleep at all. He had tried—closing his eyes, shifting positions, even pulling the blankets over his head in frustration—but his mind refused to quiet down. Every time he thought he might finally drift off, the same thoughts dragged him back under, looping over and over until exhaustion settled deep in his bones. By the time his alarm clock read 5 AM, he gave up entirely. There was no point in fighting it anymore. Moving sluggishly, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, lingering in the silence of his dimly lit dorm before deciding to just get ready for the day. Maybe keeping busy would help, or at the very least, keep him from thinking too much.

He was halfway through pulling on a sweater when his phone buzzed.

His breath caught. His pulse jumped. Was it you?

Without a second thought, he reached for his phone, nearly knocking it off the bed in his rush. But as soon as he saw the screen, the anticipation drained from his face.

Just the group chat. His friends, awake at an ungodly hour, spamming messages back and forth.

Viktor let out a slow breath, staring at the screen for a moment before opening the messages. He shouldn’t be this disappointed. He shouldn’t have expected anything in the first place.

But he did.

——————————————————————————

[j.talis] Vi did you hear Y/n and the others are playing at your dads bar tonight?

[losttvi] No way… it’s almost like….. he’s my dad.. and… hold up a REAL shocker… powder is my sister?!?!?! who is apart of the group?!?!?! and they tell me these kinds of things…..?!?!?!!?

[j.talis] LMAOAOAOA

[j.talis] jump.

[mmedarda] its 5:17 AM can we not start this rn?

[vik.tor222] agreed

[losttvi] WELL WELL WELL

[j.talis] LOOK WHO THE CAT DRAGGED IN

[mmedarda] and suddenly they’re besties again

[vik.tor222] .

[j.talis] where have you been man? you haven’t updated us in like 2 days

[vik.tor222] nothing’s up, ive just been busy

[losttvi] busy cuddling with y/n haha

[j.talis] WHAT

[vik.tor222] im not even gonna ask how you know that

[mmedarda] spoiler alert: powder

[j.talis] AND?? WHAT HAPPENED AFTER?????

[vik.tor222] I went to my dorm when Powder got back anddd I confessed

[mmedarada] viktor..

[losttvi] HAHAHHAHAHA nice joke, but I don’t like jokes

[j.talis] wait you fr confessed?

[vik.tor222] why is that so hard to believe???

[mmedarda] maybe because the both of you have been blindly dancing around each other for WEEKS?? maybe even months?

[j.talis] ^^

[losttvi] ^^

[vik.tor222] okay what were you even talking about? her and the others playing a show?

[losttvi] yh powder told me yesterday that we should come

[mmedarda] sounds fun, after this week i really need to get away from campus

[j.talis] ugh same

[losttvi] where does this man get this attitude from

[mmedarda] no idea.

[losttvi] okay anyway losers i need to go get ready, meet at our usual spot at 8

[mmedarda] okayy :))

[j.talis] kk

[vik.tor222] alright

——————————————————————————

Viktor walked to the usual meetup spot, adjusting the strap of his bag as he went. His thoughts were a mess, tangled up in the unread message sitting in his phone. Jayce was already there, leaning against a bench, scrolling through something that made him snort. Vi showed up a minute later, hands shoved into her pockets, moving like she had nowhere important to be. Mel arrived last, perfectly put together as always, sipping her coffee like she wasn’t about to walk into an 8 AM class.

"Alright, we ready to go?" Jayce asked, tucking his phone away as they started walking toward their first lecture.

Viktor wasn’t really listening to whatever conversation was happening around him. His mind kept circling back to last night. He’d stared at his screen for what felt like an eternity before finally sending the message. ‘I love you rockstar.’ Then he’d stayed awake far too long, watching for a response that never came. And now, hours later, still nothing.

Jayce nudged him, dragging him back to the present. “You’re awfully quiet. You die inside overnight?”

Vi smirked. “Nah, he’s just in crisis mode. Y/N still hasn’t responded, huh?”

Viktor sighed, rubbing at his temple. “No.”

Mel hummed. “She probably just hasn’t seen it yet.”

“Or she’s thinking,” Jayce added. “That’s a good sign, right?”

“Or she’s ignoring him,” Vi said, grinning when Viktor groaned. “Kidding. Probably.”

The conversation moved on, but Viktor couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his stomach. The day dragged. His classes, usually something he could lose himself in, felt twice as long. His engineering problem set was a disaster of half-finished equations, his physics lecture went in one ear and out the other, and every spare second between classes was spent checking his phone. Nothing.

By dinner, he felt like a frayed wire, running on caffeine and anxiety. He picked at his food while the others ate, barely listening. Vi elbowed him at one point.

"You keep looking at your phone like that, people are gonna think you’re waiting for a text from your mom.”

Viktor exhaled a weak laugh. “Maybe she’s the one rejecting me.”

Mel sighed. “It’s not a rejection until she says no.”

Jayce nodded. “And tonight’s your chance to talk to her.”

Right. The show. He’d been so wrapped up in overthinking that he hadn’t considered the fact that he’d be seeing you in person. The realization made his stomach flip. What if you acted normal? What if you pretended like he hadn’t said anything? Or worse—what if you avoided him?

“Let’s go,” Vi said, standing up and stretching. “Doors open soon. You ready, lover boy?”

Viktor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He wasn’t ready at all. But there was no backing out now.

The bar was already full of energy by the time they got there. The low hum of conversation mixed with the distant sound of the band setting up on stage. Vi led the way through the crowd with practiced ease, Jayce close behind her. Mel walked like she belonged anywhere, unfazed by the dim lighting and the heavy bass from the speakers. Viktor, on the other hand, felt like his nerves were going to eat him alive.

He spotted you almost immediately. You were on stage, tuning your guitar, fingers moving over the strings with effortless precision. His stomach did something unpleasant at the sight—something between excitement and absolute dread.

“You gonna go say hi?” Jayce asked, following his gaze.

Viktor swallowed. “I—”

Before he could come up with an excuse, Powder spotted them from behind her mic stand. “Hey! You guys made it!” She waved, then nudged Ekko, who gave them a lazy salute from where he was setting up his bass.

And then—because fate was clearly cruel—you looked up. Your gaze landed on the group, and for one painfully long second, Viktor swore you were looking right at him.

Then, just as quickly, you looked away.

“Damn,” Vi muttered under her breath, catching the moment. “That’s rough, buddy.” Viktor exhaled sharply. “Thank you, Vi. Very helpful.” Jayce clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe she’s just focused on the show.” Mel studied Viktor’s expression, then said, “Or maybe you should stop assuming the worst and wait until she actually talks to you.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one standing here, feeling like an exposed wire sparking under too much pressure.

The lights dimmed slightly, signaling that the show was about to start. People around them started cheering, moving closer to the stage.

Powder tapped the mic once, then leaned in with a playful “Hello?” Her voice echoed through the speakers, and she chuckled before straightening up. “Alright, let’s try that again—hello, everyone!”

The crowd responded with cheers, and she grinned. “Tonight’s a little different. Special, even. And why, you ask? Because I’m handing over the mic—for a song, at least.” She shot a glance over her shoulder before turning back to the audience. “You’ve heard them before, but only through the six strings of a guitar that could probably set this place on fire if it wanted to. But tonight, they’re stepping up in a new way. Give it up for Y/N!”

The room erupted into cheers as you stepped forward, guitar slung over your shoulder. You adjusted the strap before approaching the mic, fingers idly running over the strings as you tested the tuning. The familiar weight of the instrument steadied you, the energy of the crowd buzzing around you like electricity in the air.

You gave a small nod to the band, and in the next breath, your fingers moved, pulling the first notes from the strings. The sound rang through the bar, rich and steady, the kind that made people stop mid-conversation just to listen. The crowd quieted just enough to catch the shift in atmosphere, anticipation thick in the air. The sound of your guitar lowered just a bit— but you were still playing as you started to speak. “This song is dedicated to a special someone who has made me feel special over the past few months.. and last night they really won my heart.” You smile, making eye contact with Viktor who could only blindly stare while his friends squealed like teenage girls at your words.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you.”

“Cause I know that you feel me somehow.”

“You’re the closest thing to heaven that I’ll ever be.”

“And I don’t want to go home right now.”

Your voice rang through the bar, strong and steady, weaving through the melody like a heartbeat. The song was yours—every chord, every lyric. And somehow, every note felt like a direct line to Viktor, like you were speaking to him in a language only the two of you understood.

The crowd swayed, caught in the moment, but Viktor sat frozen. His heart was in his throat, his mind barely able to keep up. He had spent the entire day convinced he had ruined everything, that maybe he had overstepped, that maybe you didn’t feel the same way.

But now? Now, you were standing under the stage lights, singing to him.

Jayce let out something between a laugh and a gasp, smacking Viktor’s shoulder hard enough to jolt him. “Dude, are you breathing?” Vi had both hands in her hair, grinning like she was watching a scene straight out of a movie. “Oh, this is insane. You’re actually winning right now.” Mel simply smirked. “And to think, you spent the whole day suffering.”

Viktor barely registered them. His entire world had narrowed down to you.

And then you looked at him. It wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t just scanning the crowd. It was intentional. Direct. Like you were making sure he knew.

And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, you smiled. A real, soft smile, like you knew exactly what this was doing to him.

“And I don’t want the world to see me.”

“Cause I don’t thinks that they’d understand.”

“When everything’s made to be broken.”

“I just want you to know who I am.”

Viktor felt something in his chest pull tight, so overwhelming it almost hurt. His pulse was a hammer against his ribs, his fingers twitching at his sides, his entire body struggling to process the fact that this was real.

The song carried on, the melody washing over him, and for the first time all day, the weight in his chest lifted.

You had answered him.

Loud and clear.

As the song came to an end and the rest of the set ended, his mind was everywhere. “So are you going to do something or do we have to call her over here?” Jayce nudges him, giving him a smirk. “Nah let’s wait to see if he can turn any redder.” Vi laughed as Caitlyn only shook her head in amusement. She however spoke up along with Mel. “Viktor you should really go get her, she’s literally given you the most obvious answer and you’re sitting here like an idiot.” Caitlyn exclaims, putting a hand on her forehead. “She’s right Vik, go get your girl.” Mel smiles, finally seeing her close friend get his ‘happy ending.’

And with that it was like Viktors legs stopped listening to him— leading him towards the stage as if he were hypnotised with some weird spell you were emitting into the air. He stopped just at the edge of the stage, tilting his head slightly. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

You laughed softly, shifting your guitar strap so it rested more comfortably. “A little.” Viktor exhaled, shaking his head. “You could have just texted me, you know.” “I could have,” you admitted, sitting on the edge of the stage. “But this was more fun.” You whisper, leaning in close to his face with a close eyed smile.

His heart stuttered. His hands clenched at his sides, not out of nerves, but because if he didn’t do something, he was fairly certain he was going to combust. “Since when have I had a song written about me in that head of yours?” He asked with soft smirk, flicking your forehead. You shrugged, pretending to count. “Hm, would it surprise you if I told you ever since the café gig?” He chuckled, shaking his head.

Viktor swallowed hard, then—because this entire night had already gone completely off the rails— “So. Does this mean I’ve officially won your heart?” He asked, hands snaking up to your hips, pulling you a bit closer.

You pretended to consider it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I’d say so.” You smirk and let him lean in for a kiss but then—

“Ew can y’all not do this right here?”

Powder’s voice echoed through the bar— a few people turning to look in your direction as you watched Viktor’s brows furrow with annoyance. “Didn’t you all beg me for months to just go for it?” Viktor said with slight anger in his voice— the wasted opportunity poking at his heart. “Yeah, but not right in front of us?!” Powder exclaimed, putting a hand on her hip.

You smiled in amusement, giggling even— “How about you and Ekko making out in our dorm almost everyday when you first got together, hm?” You tease, earning a few comebacks from both Ekko and Powder while the rest laughed.

You leaned towards Viktors ear and whisper; “Let’s get out of here?” You half ask before getting up, leaving an annoyed but proud Powder on the stage. As you pulled him toward the door, Powder cupped her hands around her mouth. “This isn’t over, Y/N!”

You tossed a playful wave over your shoulder, not even bothering to turn around.

The bar doors swung shut behind you, muting the sounds of laughter and music inside. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bar, and for the first time all day, Viktor finally felt like he could breathe.

You squeezed his hand, glancing at him with a small smile. “So? Was this worth the wait?”

Viktor exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.

“Absolutely.”

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

taglist: @erica2024 @lolixsstuff @skullmvncher @startingtoloveyou @astarionapologist @th3stup1dcat @fiveperrcent @fadedpinkpen @noxturnalmoth

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Forty-Five: The Crowned Menace at Breakfast

So, there might be ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY NINE CHAPTERS. Put your best socks on and get your most finest reading glasses, its going to be a long road ahead. I have loved writing every second of this story, and although very self indulgent, i hope you are loving it as much as I am. Im up to chap 63 with editing. They're coming sooooooon!

Enjoy! And don't forget to tell me what you think!

Ps: im already running out of images.

_____

The next morning came quickly—too quickly, considering the previous night had been an emotional sneak-attack double feature from both Zoro and Sanji.

You rolled out of bed with your usual grunt, still half-asleep, hair wild from tossing and turning, limbs aching in that oddly satisfying way after a long day of laughter and chaos.

You didn’t even think about it. Didn’t look in the mirror. Didn’t remember the flower crown still tangled in your hair like it had taken root.

And so, you trudged up to the galley like a sleepy gremlin… Wearing a crooked mess of daisies, clover blossoms, and a few crumpled petals dangling behind your ear like some kind of forest deity who also punched sea kings for fun.

You pushed open the galley door with a yawn. “Morning.”

Every single head turned.

A long beat of silence.

Then: “PFFTHAHAHA—” Usopp immediately faceplanted into his cereal. Sanji dropped the spatula. Zoro choked on his tea. Luffy pointed and yelled, “YOU’RE GROWING FLOWERS!” Robin set down her book, eyes sparkling. Nami looked up with the most evil, satisfied grin known to mankind.

You blinked, mid-step, confused. “What?”

Nami reached into her bag, pulled out a tiny mirror, and wordlessly held it up.

You stared. Stared harder. Then groaned like your soul had left your body.

“…I forgot,” you mumbled, rubbing your face. “I forgot it was there.”

Sanji, heart-eyes activated, swooned. “You look like a magical nymph who could punch me through a wall and I’d thank you.”

Zoro coughed into his cup. “She looked better yesterday. You had less dirt on your face then.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, dropping into a chair and resting your head on the table. “I was hoping today would be normal.”

You were trying to pretend it wasn’t happening, but Nami had already walked around the table and stood behind you with a glint in her eye.

“Hold still,” she said, fingers already reaching for your head. “What are you—hey, no—”

She started gently picking the flowers out, untangling them from your hair with surprisingly delicate care. “I’m not letting you eat breakfast looking like a possessed field spirit,” she said, voice amused but kind.

Robin chuckled. “It was charming, in its own chaotic way.”

“Not helping,” you muttered into your arms.

Chopper climbed up on the bench beside you. “Ooooh! I can help! Your hair’s kinda knotted in the back.”

You didn’t even argue. You just sighed. “Fine. Groom me like one of your wild jungle creatures.”

It was strangely… relaxing.

Nami’s fingers combed through with the ease of someone used to hair maintenance, occasionally murmuring “how did this even get in here” as she removed stubborn bits of grass. Chopper used a soft brush and a comb from his med kit, careful not to pull too hard.

Your eyes were half-lidded by the time they were halfway done. Zoro was watching from across the table, smirking just slightly. Sanji looked like he was holding back tears. Usopp whispered, “We’ve domesticated her.” Luffy tried to plop a second flower crown on your head and got swatted.

Eventually, Nami pulled the final daisy loose. “There. You're free.”

You sat up, hair fluffed, dazed from the gentle care. “…Thanks.”

Nami grinned. “Anytime, flower queen.”

You flicked a piece of toast at her. She caught it with her mouth like a smug little goddess.

And as you started breakfast, cheeks a little warm and heart a little full, you realized something:

You’d almost forgotten what it was like to be taken care of without asking.

And gods, did it feel good.

You, now free of your floral crown (RIP, daisy halo, 2025–2025), were quietly chewing on toast, hair freshly brushed and stupidly soft thanks to Nami and Chopper’s impromptu salon session.

You could feel it too—every time you turned your head, strands floated against your skin like they were silk. It was both deeply unsettling and weirdly comforting.

Sanji placed a new cup of tea in front of you with a little flourish. “For the queen of the garden,” he said smoothly.

You gave him a deadpan look. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Not unless you make me,” he said with a wink.

“Don’t tempt me,” you warned, sipping your tea. (It was perfectly sweetened. Of course it was.)

Across the table, Zoro stared at you for just a second too long. You felt it.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Zoro grunted. “Nothing. Just... you look different without the crown. That’s all.”

You squinted. “Better or worse?”

He shrugged, picking at his rice. “Neither. Just… less like someone possessed by forest demons.”

“Wow,” you muttered. “So romantic. Your words make the flowers bloom.”

Sanji leaned in, eyes glittering. “I think you look radiant either way.”

Zoro snorted. “You’d say that if she was covered in mud and blood.”

You smirked. “He has said that before. I distinctly remember it.”

Sanji huffed, crossing his arms. “I meant it. You looked powerful.”

“See? That’s the difference,” you said, pointing between them. “Zoro insults me into flustering. Sanji compliments me until I short-circuit.”

Nami, walking past with her coffee, smirked. “And somehow, you like both.”

You coughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Robin, not looking up from her book, casually added, “She once said she’d let Nami ‘break her ribs and call it love,’ so I don’t think subtlety is really her strong suit.”

You choked on your toast. Chopper patted your back. Sanji almost dropped his plate. Zoro just stared at you like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Luffy, chewing noisily beside you, looked up. “Wait, is this like the thing where she said she’d let Nami ‘step on her neck if she asked nicely’?”

“LUFFY!” you howled.

Nami sipped her coffee with the calm of a queen who already knew her power. “You’re all obsessed with me. I’m not even mad.”

Later, as the plates were cleared and Luffy and Usopp started chasing each other around the ship with forks for no reason at all, you found yourself lingering on deck.

Zoro had ended up beside you again—like he always did. Not saying much. Just being there.

“You were good with them,” he said after a while, nodding toward the shore.

“The kids?”

“Yeah.”

You shrugged. “They were easy. Didn’t expect anything from me. Just wanted to play. Kinda nice, y’know?”

Zoro nodded. “They liked you.”

You side-eyed him. “…You did too.”

He smirked. “Shut up.”

You grinned and bumped your shoulder into his, just enough to nudge him slightly off balance. “You’re still one of my super best friends, you know.”

“Tch.” But he didn’t move away.

And somehow, that said more than anything else.

[summercourtship]

striking a match (jonathan's pov)

to celebrate the two year anniversary of Stay to Burn (Only to Drown Instead), have Jonathan and the Reader's first meeting from his perspective (a flashback from chapter ten).

Thank you all so much for the love and support you have shown this fic from the beginning. This is the last thing I will write for this fic, and I'm so happy to have been able to share it with you all! <3

word count: 1482 | warnings: mentions of fear play, allusions to stalking/unhealthy behavior, sexual allusions

read on ao3 | stay to burn masterpost

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He doesn’t remember the first time he saw her, but he remembers the first time he noticed her. Truly noticed her, not the half-second shift in his attention that happened when she was turning in an assignment or affirming her attendance with a raised hand. 

Jonathan had been lecturing, a half-rhetorical question hanging in the air. In classes like Introduction to Psychology, classes that were taken by nervous freshmen and uncaring upperclassmen who needed an elective, it was practically an uphill battle to get any interaction from the class. Nothing like the upper level classes where people were practically tripping over themselves to earn his praise, hoping that they would impart enough of an impression to use him as a reference in their future endeavors. No, in this lower level class that he had been forced into teaching during the winter semester, no one really wanted anything but the three hours of course credit.

He held back a sigh when no one moved to answer his question, disappointed but not surprised. 

But then her hand shakily extended into the air. He stopped halfway through his sentence, eyebrows raised in acknowledgement as he nodded towards her. Her voice wavered slightly as she started speaking but it quickly steadied, becoming more confident as she delivered a concise answer to his question that proved she hadn’t just been paying attention to his lectures but had also been doing all of the readings he had assigned, even the ones he had expected everyone to ignore. 

When she was finished, her voice trailing off as she lost her confidence, he blinked once before nodding. 

“Good.” He was genuine in his compliments and noted with a hint of satisfaction how her lips parted slightly at the praise. Interesting. He filed that information away in his mind, to be utilized later if needed. 

During the rest of the lecture, he found his gaze returning to her. She was often looking at her notes, scribbling furiously to keep up with his fast paced lecture style. But a few times, he managed to catch her eye and held the contact for a few seconds. She was always the first to break, looking back at her notes. 

She came up to see him at the end of class that day. No one ever came to speak with him at the end of class. 

Jonathan looked up at her when he noticed her in his periphery, his gaze flitting between her face and the way she clutched the quiz he had handed back in her hand like it was her only lifeline. She clearly wasn’t here to talk about it, her grade had been pretty good. No notes from him, good or bad.

She swallowed, nervous.  

Her anxiety was palpable in the air between them. Delicious. 

“Hi, I just wanted to introduce myself, um, I know it’s a bit late in the class to be doing that because people typically do it like, the first day, but I just wanted to let you know that I really appreciate the class and it’s been giving me some piece of mind knowing that everything in my head is just… im, in my head.” She trailed off, cringing slightly at her rambling. It was clear that she hadn’t actually thought about what to say.  

Not wanting her to run away, he smiled as warmly as he could. It seemed to relax her slightly, her shoulders dropping a centimeter from where they had been practically pressed against her ears. 

“I’m glad to be of help,” he said. He fully expected her to leave then, content with his acknowledgment. But she continued, surprising him again. Not many people can surprise him. 

“The events at Gotham Square Garden just really… um, pardon my language, fucked me up.” She gestured to her head, laughing slightly. But he could see past her carefully constructed ease into the truth of the matter: she was desperate for connection, and desperate for someone to tell her it was going to be okay. 

Well, he could provide one of those things in his own way. 

“Were you there?” He looked down at this folio, both because he knew she probably didn’t want to be stared at and to not give her the wrong idea that he was staring at her, judging her. She wanted someone to listen to her, not judge her. 

He could be that person.  

“Sadly.” But she didn’t elaborate more than that, perhaps feeling like she had talked too much already, which in turn only increased his own desperation to know more about what was happening in her head. 

Interesting. Despite the voice in his head telling him to not bother, he could feel himself slowly becoming more and more intrigued by the disheveled girl in front of him. She was no longer just a student to him, but a curiosity. 

“Anyway, thanks again. I look forward to the last little, um, bit of class.” 

He watched her turn, before calling her name before he could stop himself. It was against both of their best interests to make this anything more than a conversation after class between a student and their professor. 

“Why, exactly, are you taking this class?”

“...Did I do something wrong?” He almost groaned from the way he could hear her quickened breath at his question. Would it always be this easy to get a reaction from her? Could he desensitize her to the smaller stressors in life and see how she really reacted when something terrifying happened? (The thought of her, in Gotham Square Garden, panicking, was almost enough to force him to sit down to hide his slowly growing arousal. He quickly banished the thought.) 

“Answer the question.” He looked up at her, immediately noticing how her breath stuttered when their eyes met. She reacted so well, doing everything he would want from her. 

“I wanted something to do over break. It sounded… interesting.” She was lying. While Jonathan may not be too great at actually communicating with people (this conversation was just evidence of that, considering how he was only a few sentences into it and he was already imagining her begging on her knees), he knew how to read them. And the hesitation as she spoke told him that she was making up a reason as she talked. 

It wouldn’t take a detective to figure out why she had taken the class after everything she had said about Gotham Square Garden. It was an attempt to figure out what was going on in her own mind after a uniquely traumatizing event. That, combined with her obvious desperation for conversation and connection, told him enough about her current mental state.

She had no one and she was suffering. It was like she had been gift wrapped and placed on his desk, like she had been made just for him.

“The introductory classes are hardly interesting.” He smiled like he was letting her in on an inside joke. “If you wanted something interesting, take a look at some of the classes being offered next semester.” 

She blinked, once, like she was surprised.

“Oh! Okay. Yeah.” 

Then, because he was afraid he was going to say too much if she stayed for longer, he dismissed her with a wave. She turned and practically ran out of the lecture hall. 

Quickly, he turned back to his papers, slipping them into his bag and following her path out of the room. If anyone had asked him why it seemed like he was rushing, he would just say he had a meeting to get to, not that he watched to catch another glimpse of her as she walked away. He watched as she disappeared in the crowd down the hallway, resisting the urge to continue following her. 

Jonathan was sorely disappointed when the spring semester rolled around and she wasn’t in his class. Part of him knew it was a good thing-- he had much more important things to do than fixate on a random student. But he replayed that first meeting in his head many times, the way that her anxiety had been so evident on her face enough to fuel nights of fantasies. She was beautiful when she was afraid.  

Because what is anxiety if not a low simmering constant source of fear? But oh, how he longed to see more than just petty anxiety from her. He wanted to see true, genuine fear on her face. He wanted to know if she would freeze, or try to run away, or even fight it; if she would cry or scream in the face of something truly terrifying. He wanted to see her lip tremble, her limbs shake, her eyes filled with a desperate need to escape.  

And when she walked into his classroom in the fall, he decided he wasn’t going to let her get away from him again. 

[kinki-cami]

Nah because i would FLORISH being an independent in affini society

Like first off, im not isolated immediately that brings me up by like 45% like i can go see that forest, hang out with the (hopefully not going to bite me or give me rabies) animals pet some squirrels say hi to the hummingbirds, i can go into public and walk around, id honestly probably start skipping bc thats what ive imagined so far considering i wouldnt be as depressed as i am now

Secondly, FULL customization of what i wear just be able to look how i want without fear, probably wear my denim look but with some extra like, an ACTUAL denim skirt that looks nice, maybe makeup if i was feeling up to it

Thirdly, just exploration. This is pretty much the miscellaneous second of this post. Because theres probably no money (i assume i need to do more research) before i get to that i fuckin love research i would know every fuckin affini custom by year 5, anyway because of presumeably no money, fake shop at the mall bc hell yeah fuckin love the mall its like a mini city, youd go in like you were going to the mall and like fake "check out" with like a fake credit card or something and yahh fun but also id just like go get coffee, possibly some matcha, skip around town wearing heels WITH my denim outfit, looking all fuckin cute, go see the plants (not affini like houseplants like mint) fuck id grow some bleeding hearts, some mint, make sure to pick up plant food, bc even tho i CAN do it in the hab unit, its more fun leaving to pick stuff up, it gives you a sense of accomplishment like "yahhhh i did something today 🥰 (its a crime theres no 'fist pump' emoji, i swear there are more useless emojis than practical ones)" and because i wouldnt be in one location for 6+ hours a day (excluding sleep) i would have time to do things that i WANNA do, like finish that pokemon book that im only on kakuna out of pecharunt. And i could drink my coffee/tea and go to the game store and play magic with peoples or pokemon, i could go play some dnd, write my damn books, skip around in heels bc skipping is happy but i wanna wear heels soo yahhhh

Yeah i may occassionally get harrassed but like if im polite and express boundries im sure theyll leave me alone or at least relatively along

By the way im going based off of the two stories ive read so far aight, so if this is very biased aight. Too bad i need to read more. But also like, i can express myself two 2 stories ok? Like a girl can fantasize anyway back my fantasy

Eventually id want an affini to adopt me but like, god id be pretty happy without drugs theyd need to actively make my life miserable to make me want the drugs, like, damn. Also with the number of times im cursing in this post any and all affini rp blogs are gonna be like "stop fucking cursing little indie" and to be fair i dont like cursing at people the only time i do is when im expressing myself or am pissed off i never call anyone curse words because its mean and i dont like being mean 🥺

Uhh and i think thats all my thoughts god i had Sadistic glee read the bonus chapters of hdg a bit ago anyway gotta gp finish those, then go finish the other one that im halfway through then go read more, if anyone has any not emotionally wrecking stories feel free to send them via asks or something like i dont wanna see characters despairing but i dont mind seeing their personality erased, as long as the struggle isnt super visible or is minimal

[lunarleonardo]

hello people of tumblr dot com! It is lunarleonardo. I have encountered a bit of a Situation and I need the people's help

So after whump week, I figured I needed. A bit of a break. 73k words is a lot to write in a single month, not to mention the posters!! So! i wrote my shadowvanilla stuff and now I miss my danganronpa yaoi :( That's where my Situation comes in.

I have three fic ideas up on the ideas board, but I dont really know... which one to write first ^^" I'll put a more detailed explanation for each one but if you dont care about my yapping then

i'll be back in a week to see the results. to those of u stopping here byeeeey and thank you for your vote ^.^ !!!

to those who are reading ahead Oh Boy here we go.

The first option is actually titled "turning in circles", a reference to this glorious song. In Stars and Time reawoke my love for time loops so now I want to do it again! But worse! If you want to see Shuichi die a lot then this ones for you. And if you want to see him go insane, this one is also for you because both of those things happen XD Bonus points cus its a saiouma fic ^o^ i miss writing saiouma

The second one, despair blackeneds, is really just its placeholder name. It's a bit more of a personal fic that explores some faaar darker themes. It's basically me shaking my own hand and telling myself to hold nothing back. ^^" It is a gen fic, no ships. If you're a Kaito superfan you might want to step back from this one because he isnt the greatest in this! nor are any of the other blackeneds! The idea is that Kaito's execution fucks up the simulation, and sort of brainwashes all of the blackeneds into being. despair. you can probably see where this is going >_> sorry kaito

The third one is the shakiest of the bunch and i dont have as much for it yet. Its not a sequel or a prequel or anything it just has a similar setup to m5 because 1. im running out of Situations and 2. i like seeing my favs in the same situation over and over again. It's a saiouma fic, because of course it is @w@ And it has many whumptivities. think if love letter, heaven given hell, and motive 5 fused into one. and also it wasnt tsumugis fault. more on that at 11

I dont want to get too spoilery with it but turning in circles does have the most content (´ﾟωﾟ｀) I'm halfway through chapter 1 and boy is there a lot of art. because i hyperfixated on the song "play my way" by jakeneutron for 3 days and i wasnt normal about it. I bought fucking amanda the adventurer 2 because of it okay i dont want to talk about it

anyways thats all :P Im hoping to write all of these at some point, i just need a pointer to which one i should write first because im indecisive xD Thank you guys!! And have a nice night everybody !!!! (*ゝω･*)

[celestie0]

so your insecure about your smut I hear ? if it makes you feel better I still mentally jerk it in memory of the following:

kickoff chapter 6 particularly when reader’s collapsed over the sink and gojos still on his knees behind her just WATCHING and then when their eye fucking eachother in the mirror and readers hand is reached behind to grab the back of his head THATS SO SEXY

the tension in chapter 8 i know there was only a proposition of smut but when it was stripped away I think that’s when I fell in love with the series because the slow burn is just everything - disclaimer I don’t jork it to that I just like the scene

The duration of kickoff chapter 11 couch scene 👌. My stomach does the thing every time, dry humping is elite, and the high school in love-ness between them 😭I’m throwing up

THE IHM SNEAK PEAKS

I refuse to believe you think those are bad as well like tf???? And not just the lazy morning sex that had me bust a load but the death row meal comment??????? Making out while doing calculus in his head so not to get a boner???? And for someone who’s not a fan of dirty talk like babe come on, the way you capture all the different sexy aspects of that sexy man like the vulgarity had me HOT and then his dumbass down bad-ness just UGh the need to put a baby in him right now

anyway that deserved its own paragraph but then obviously there’s works with smut as the actual premise

L&L specifically the bj scene I think you awakened my praise kink with that one - btw will we ever get a part 2 because I’m pretty sure that plan fell through but just letting you know I’m all up for seconds, no pressure if it’s not a part of ur agenda though

Round the clock.

actually hold up let me elaborate on these above two points in my full opinion because I really want you to understand this, the tropes/pairings/dynamics which your brain births are so fucking hot that the smut scene is instantly made good even if it’s not your most proud part of the writing process, this links to the common knowledge which ihm reader preached in the recent chapter- men will get hard to anything - but unfortunately it’s not so easy as a woman, personally that’s why I tend to resort to reading cause there’s nothing more psychologically immersing and of course the point of fanfiction is we’re already in love with our husband gojo so just add a little sexy lore ie. older, boxer, babysitter and babe I’m already halfway there cause of the quality of your ideas and writing, smut is only part of the experience and it’s not necessarily the most important

Last but not least that one domestic drabble you wrote I know it’s kind of a pwp moment but the position wifey reader and toji did it in omg and when he called her a slut and when he had her cockdrunk and babbling and begging for a baby 😫✋

honorable mention because like I said smut isn’t everything: the scene where ihm Gojo is shirtless fixing the kitchen sink and drinking oj from a mug and then when he picked up reader while she’s in a measly silk gown … yeah I jork it to that😔

in conclusion ur smut makes me horny🙂 so I think your sufficiently successful in achieving its primary purpose, please don’t be so hard on yourself and I hope you can learn to find more self satisfaction in these parts of your work where you lack confidence and see it in a better light

<333

ok hi anon im back! lol

first of all thank u sm. some people might think a fanfic author would desire a good dicking down from their favorite fictional character and a blunt shortly thereafter. but no. THIS is all a fanfic author truly wants.

HAHAH no but in serious you’re so sweet to point outtt these little details i could sob :”) i was cheesing so hard in the morning when i read it haha!!

i always forget the kickoff ch6 party bathroom scene happened xd sometimes i get thrown into a state of shock when i remember i wrote it. and that’s the thing!! i was so excited n giddy to write it bc it was back when i didnt think too hard about my writing haha. somewhere along the line i just became so self conscious ab smut :( but anywho yes the couch scene in kickoff ch11 had me screaming while i was writing it i was so excited to eventually post it so i’m so happy you enjoyed ittt aaa :”)

STOP bc i have SO much smut planned for ihm 😭😭 ranging from borderline crack smut to passionate lovemaking loool i can’t wait to get to those parts of the series but ouf yea them insecurities be haaaaard. i think i just don’t see a lot of representation of the kind of smut i like to write in the fandom very much so it gets me second guessing 🥲 like idk i like dirty talk but it has to be kinda on the nose?? like the whole part where ihm gojo says the thing ab doing calculus in his head so he doesnt get a hard-on 😂😂 like idk it’s so cute n hot to me in my head but it’s kinda niche to my preferences haha

sorry i’m rambling but like ugh same w the morning sex scene i wanna get to that part sooo bad but i just hope i don’t second guess that scene once i get to it 😩😩 bc oh my the way my coochie was clenching the whole time while writing it LOL i sob

aw yeahh i was supposed to do a pt2 for l&l but hmm i kinda got bored of the concept. it was my first major oneshot smut n like aaa i like it but :0 i think it does stand good alone as just one part

thanks my dear :”) i agree i think…well, i have a hard time giving myself credit for anything usually haha, but i do think that the character dynamics i created outside of i guess the smutty stuff rlly helps? i guess its kinda like a buffer when i get into writing smut bc im like oh yknow even if this isnt the hottest thing my readers have read i hope that they enjoy it bc they like my versions of gojo xd so you’re so sweet for validating me on that HAHAHA

also stooooop i love that scene in ihm. the one where he picks her up effortlessly while she’s on all fours in her grandma nightgown on the floor 🤣🤣 idk if this is so hyperspecifically arousing but like the thought of sporty muscular gojo having just come back from a run n he’s manhandling vintage silk nightgown-wearing reader while she’s has barely awoken from sleep is so cute n silly n hot to me. sorry it sounds like im jerking myself off here but i just love ihm gojo sm honestly i would like to fuck him until his balls look like raisins :/

anywhooo you’re too sweet. like seriously. and i saw your follow up ask, an hour?? imma sob. i’m saving the link for this ask to look back on whenever i feel bad ab my smut writing abilities!! or just writing in general. i fear u may have saved me anon LOL i haven’t felt this excited to write smut in a while! i appreciate you :)) much love!

[glitchedoutpxie]

hi! i looked at ur pinned post out of curiosity and i was js wondering how youre able to write that many different fics? like im currently writing one thats on ao3 and sometimes i struggle a little (HAHAH i hadnt updated it for a month until yesterday lmaooo) to js write that. so how do you handle all of those and still update it consistently?

Henloo my second ask in one day MOM IM FAMOUS!!!

Well, while I do update all of them, it is by no means consistent 😭 the thing with adhd is that not only are motivation bursts unpredictable, but that I NEED the variation/task rotation so my brain doesn't get bored, so it's kinda inevitable for me to jump between projects, and I kinda stopped fighting it ig..?

This sometimes means waking up with what i call ✨a hyperfixation flare✨ on one fic, working an entire month to pump out 25 chapters for it while the others stand in line, or write one chapter for each fic throughout one week. I'm really just working with my adhd.

For example, Soft Muscle (25k words in total) was written, believe it or not, in 2-3 days due to a hyperfixation flare after i started watching 2003 tmnt. Stopped on a cliff hanger. Haven't updated since 23rd May.

I used to update my Ghost fic regularly, but as I got more immersed in my Bayverse tmnt fic, I sidelined it to finish the first arc. Last update was on 14 May and I'm only halfway through the next chapter.

My König fic is, unfortunately, on hold due to lack of engagement, even though I do have it planned out n all. I do have plans to post on ao3 and try to revive it, but it's not a priority. I'm more emotionally invested in other projects.

Which brings me to the last (and maybe most important) variable: emotional investment!!

Again, as an ADHDer, I'm going to prioritize the most emotionally rewarding tasks. That usually means whichever fic has the characters I'm most attached to at the moment, or if a specific scene is living rent-free in my head, that's what gets written.

Sometimes it's a ship. Sometimes it's dialogue I need to get out of my system. Other times, it's just whatever characters are making my brain go brrrr that week. So yeah, if im not emotionally locked in, even the best outline in the world won't push me to write the thing.

Currently I'm most fixated on Masks Off, my bayverse fic, so all projects have been on hold for the past month until I finished the first arc (30k words) few days ago, and now I'm back to working on my Ghost fic, occasionally jumping to the 2003 tmnt one, etc. 🌈 Task rotation 🌈

Progress is slow and unpredictable, but it's still progress, and I'm proud of my different brain for finding a way that works. I hope this explains it (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[t3ag3rs]

g e n s o - 1 2.

a/n: lol so um i barely know how to write fight scenes, so we're starting this chapter like halfway through the calvary battle. we'll start from where monoma steals bakugous headband bc why notttttt

"change of plans... we're getting rid of all these extras.." bakugou seethes looking down at his palms. 

you let out a gulp, "be rational bakugou... even if we do- we have to be careful.. we dont know their quirks..." you state looking up at him.

"shut it genso! im always rational! now get them kirishima!" he growls staring at them menacingly. kirishima rushes forward, "you think youre so tough?!" you grunts before winding back to send an explosion only for monoma to block it.

bakugou grunts turning around quickly to recieve a explosion right to his face. monoma chuckles amused, "no wonder you love this quirk so much..!" he says before hitting kirishima quickly.

"he can copy quirks!" you yell up, quickly figuring out his quirk. bakugou grunts in response sending another explosion at him only for him to block it using kirishimas hardening quirk.

"ah..! looks like we have a smart one here!" he grins. you narrow your eyes getting ready to speak up, when another 1-b student stops you all with his quirk. you look down to see kirishimas leg stuck by some substance. 

"genso! mina! hurry and get rid of it!" commands bakugou as he stares at monomas team running away, "we're loosing them!" 

you and mina both work to burn the substance as quickly as you could. finally, you managed to free his leg "done!" you announce. 

before you could collect yourself kirishima starts running causing you to snap back into reality, "hey extras! get back here!" yells bakugou, sending himself flying forward. 

"sero, get ready to catch him!" you instruct quickly trying to run as close to him as possible so there would be a less risk of him to fall. you look at bakugou to see him stuck in a bubble of some sort, "cmon bakugou!" you state frustrated, "i thought you said you were gonna win! stop holding back for fucks sake!" you yell.

you see bakugou winding his hand back and blasting a explosion at the bubble causing it to burst. you let out a grin as bakugou grasb some of the headbands around monomas neck. "sero- now!" you yell rushing forward to meet him halfway.

kirishima lets out a grunt as bakugou lands back in his original position with a thump. "we're not done yet! im not finished till i get all our points back from that copycat bastard!" he rages. 

"elbow guy, tape him!" he instructs moving to the side to let him do so. "raccoon eyes! leave some acid in the direction we're going!" he says lifting his leg. "genso- use your air to push us forward quicker!" he grunts as kirishima glides over minas acid easily.

quickly the other team tries to protect themselves by creating another barrier, "not so fast!" you yell bounding them with earth to stop any of them from moving or using their quirks. 

bakugou grins predatorily as he snatches the last headband off of monomas neck. "now we're going for deku and half n half..!" he glares looking at the ice covered area.

the timer blares as the last 10 seconds start being counted down. you move your hands up turning the ice to water and throwing it down behind you. suddenly, bakugou goes flying again. okay seriously.. this guy has some real issues with communicating... you grit staring up at him.

"times up!!" announces present mic over the speakers. 

bakugou lands face first on the ground as you all slow to a stop. you stifle a laugh at the sight of him sprawled against the ground before bursting into laughter along with your other teammates. 

you all run up to him as you control your laughter, "you okay..?" u chuckle only to see him beating his fist against the ground repeatedly.

you hear present mic announce the teams moving on. "looks like our leader isnt exactly all that fond of the fact we ended up in second.." kirishima sighs grinning a bit. you giggle a bit at the sight of bakugou throwing a tantrum.

"you know in some ways he reminds me of a toddler who didnt get the toy he wanted..." you remark, smirking to yourself slightly. kirishima shakes his head in amusement as you and him both pull bakugou up to his feet. "bakugou stop whining... at least we made it to the last round. now you actually have the chance to win.." you fold your hands across your chest, meeting his gaze.

"whatever.." he grunts not acknowledging you and walking away. 

"time for a lunch break!" screeches present mic as all the students start clearing the arena.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you quickly rush into the ua gym after eating. letting out a quick sigh, you lean against the wall for support. "fuck, fuck, fuck... its obviously gonna be 1v1 battles between the last couple of students.." you groan slumping down and slowly closing your eyes. 

you turn your head slowly looking at the cheerleading costume in your hand dejectedly, "do we really have to do this...?" you whisper to yourself before standing back up to go change into it, grabbing your pom poms on the way out.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you stand next to uraraka and all the other girls readying yourselves to come out into the arena. "arent these clothes a bit too.. revealing..?" you question trying to pull down the skirt that barely covered your butt.

"i tried my best to make it somewhat better than the other cheerleading outfits, but this was the best i could get.." sighs yaoyorozu apologetically. 

you let out a slight smile, "hey.. its alright.. its just for a little while.. i can manage" u smile reassuringly. 

you all walk out as you lower your head in embarrassment, feeling the crowd and students stare. standing against the wall you realize denki and mineta had tricked you all. you let out a gasp as you meet bakugous widened eyes. quickly you look away, cheeks reddening slightly in the process. "this is so embarrassing..! im gonna kill those two when i see them!" you mutter.

you turn and see them two giggling in the corner, "you perverts! im gonna curb stomp the two of you until you cant tell whose who!" you rage, turning red in both embarrassment and fury.

"well.. we might as well not waste yaoyorozus creation and just use them to the best we can- besides theyre pretty cute!" exclaims hagakure happily.

"hell no" you deadpan, "im not feeding into those two perverts delusions" you grunt throwing down the pom poms and walking up to the other students who made it to the final round. 

you mutter to yourself angrily standing in the middle of the crowd hearing how the final matches are gonna be separated. you turn feeling someone staring, only to find bakugou behind you avoiding your gaze with slightly flushed cheeks.

you widen your eyes turning to the front blushing, no.. theres no way hes staring at me.. its just the light! im seeing things! you think shaking your head slightly to rid yourself of the thought.

you look up to see who your first opponent would be. you let out a sigh of relief, "oh.. aoyama.. thatll be a easy fight.." you smile, before rushing off to the other girls as they set up the new arena. 

"cmon y/n! cheer with us!" chuckles uraraka throwing you pom poms and jumping. you let out a small smile "fine..." you grin before joining them. 

"y/n! you seem like you know how to tumble, got shorts on under?" mina asks playfully as she readies herself next to you.

you let out a grin, "you know me too well!" you laugh before counting down and rushing forward doing a roundoff into a back handspring beside mina, landing cleanly with a exhilarating smile. the crowd goes wild and cheers you all on with claps and praises as you smile waving up at the crowd with your pom in hand.

"okay this is actually pretty fun..." you admit blushing a bit in embarrassment. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you sit up in the class 1-a section having changed out of your cheerleading outfit. looking down at the arena, you get ready to spectate izuku and shinsos fight. you let out a cheer as the two walk out, "lets go izu!!" you yell clapping.

cmon izuku.. dont let all that training go to fail now.

previous parts: pt. 0 0 / pt. 0 1 / pt. 02 / pt. 03 / pt. 04 / pt. 05 / pt. 06 / pt. 07 / pt. 08 / pt. 09 / pt. 10 / pt. 11 next part: pt. 13 / pt. 14 / pt. 15 / pt. 16

☆taglist! @katszumi @coolgirl458

[kwills91]

As usual, pick one or more of the emojis below that is assigned to one of my WIPs and for each emoji I will write 3 sentences and send them out. There's an extra buddie fic on the list because i can't help myself (although i actually started that one a while ago and got caught up in other things)

Capped at 1000 words per request.

Jayvik

🎮 - Modern/College/You've Got Mail AU - Jayce and Viktor are both postgrad students who view each other as rivals thanks to the prejudices they hold, and find solace in friendships they have forged online that remain mostly anonymous. Jayce is the first to discover that his rival and his friend are one and the same, and he has no idea how to navigate it.

Currently working on chapter 1

🔬 - Modern, older, second chance AU - inspired by @arctvros gorgeous artwork: 15 years following a lab accident that tore their partnership apart, Viktor returns to Piltover to ask the council for funding in his research toward treatment and preventative measures for the ways The Grey continues to affect Zaun. When the council votes against it, Jayce suggests that he use Hextech Industries resources since he is still a co-owner of the company and together they discover the ways in which they have changed in their time apart might be the very reason they are able to come back together to build something more than what they had before.

Currently working on chapter 1

Buddie

💔 - Stick Season Album fic - Forced to confront a part of his past he'd rather forget, Eddie decides to drive through the night to El Paso to be open with Christopher once and for all. However, halfway there he gets into an accident leaving him trapped and stranded and hidden from view of the road and Eddie must face all of his past demons and traumas to realise that there's a future waiting for him where he can finally be happy.

Currently finishing off chapter 4

💚 - Concerned/jealous Buck freak4freak fic - When Eddie comes out as gay and starts dating a man, Buck becomes concerned (and, yes, a little obsessive) about the fact Eddie keeps showing up with marks. The rest of the team attempt to put his mind at ease and Eddie's reasons seem plausible enough, but Buck can't shake the sick feeling he has in his stomach, much to his own boyfriend's annoyance. When Eddie shows up to Buck's apartment with bruises on his neck that look distinctly finger shaped, Buck has no choice but to confront him, but when Eddie explains that they are a matter of taste, Buck's concern quickly turns to jealousy and an eager to prove he can match Eddie's freak better than anybody

Started writing

🫄 - Buddie omegaverse bitching fic - During a call, Eddie discovers that the fantasy he's had of being the omega he'd always felt like rather than the alpha his family always seemed so proud for him to be, Eddie takes steps to make that happen. When he discovers that the only way to achieve the change is through being "bitched" by an Alpha, who else would he turn to than the only other Alpha Eddie knows he can trust completely to not mock him: Buck.

Currently finishing up chapter 1

📨 - Epistolary Where Rainbows End/Love Rosie AU - Childhood Friends to Lovers spanning from the age of 7 to 30s told in notes, texts, postcards, emails, IMs, letters, cards, invitations, etc in the style of Where Rainbows End (the original title of the book that Love, Rosie is adapted from). A series of heartbreaks, missed chances, not actually unrequited love, and an eventual happy ending

Currently working on chapter 2

Steddie

🚬 - One Foot In Your Bedroom - Steve and Eddie meet following the events of season 2 and their turbulent relationship forms and breaks and forms and breaks until the aftereffects of Vecna's assault on Hawkins forces them to figure their shit out and be open with each other once and for all. It won't be easy, but it might be worth it.

Currently working on chapter 7

No-pressure tags: @rainbow-nerdss @mojowitchcraft @entanglednow @cal-daisies-and-briars @j-j-k

@aa-lionheart @missyousofar @prettysophist @henswilsons @evanssbuckley

@bilosan @fruitandbubbles @thelikesofus @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @namesnamesandmorenames

[ao3feed-superbat]

Fuck Marry Kill Justice League crack fic

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Xj87Orl by YotmanSimcard Justice League play fuck/marry/kill. No one knows each other's identities apart from Martian Manhunter due to mind reading, and Batman knows Shazam is not an adult yet. Unfortunately, some members give some of each other's secret identities as options for the game. This is ultimately a superbat fic, though many other characters get a lot of screentime. This fic is not based on a specific comic or movie or series or game, just my personal versions, halfway through genuine headcanons and funniest version of them I could imagine. Words: 1646, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: DCU Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Multi, F/M, M/M Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Oliver Queen, Barry Allen, Diana (Wonder Woman), Billy Batson, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), J'onn J'onzz Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Other ships i haven't decided on, but they're background ships, so who cares - Relationship Additional Tags: Crack Treated Seriously, Top Bruce Wayne, Bottom Clark Kent/Top Bruce Wayne, Bottom Clark Kent, no beta we die like men, Everyone is Bisexual, Crack Fic, Crack Fic turned Serious, Polyamory, i have a personal vendetta against catwoman, im going to reference every random character i can, ok ill stop with the long very specific tags now, im so sorry, im sorry yall, Collar play, Collars, Kryptonite Collar, Masochism, pain play, Sadism, lube is necessary, please lube your characters i beg of you, nevermind, too much lube, stop please, anyway back to serious tagging, im sorry again, Fuck Marry Kill, probably out of character, Out of Character, the writer is a multishipper, im probably not writing a second chapter, so half of these tags wont make sense, Flash is a fucking bastard, and i love him for it, it is the only reason the plot moves forwards, I have a personal vendetta against selina kyle, i don't know why, I just do, also yes im mentioning it again, at the bottom of the tags, because i misspelt it the first time i typed it and i needed to fix it, im writing this at such a late time, Author Is Sleep Deprived, kill me, kill me please, Justice League Doesn't Know Bruce Wayne is Batman, No one knows each others identities read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Xj87Orl