Hello! I love to write fics about Yakuza, Hitman, and OutsideXbox RPF. My current favorite ships are Kazumaji, BloodyMary, Diana/47, and Jane/Andy and I like to write whatever inspires me. 😊
I often enjoy writing mission fics and/or romantic stories. My latest fics are below:
The Star of Your Sky (Explicit)
Summary:
Grace fears his time with Simon has come to an end.
I’ve created a variety of one-shots and a few series—you can find everything else below the cut!
Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves
Mark of Yendar (Teen and Up)
Iron Lung/Project Hail Mary (Film) Crossover (BloodyMary)
"having a large chest is the beauty standard" no having a large chest is the Sexual standard theres a difference. i can only even be Hot and everything i ever wear will be deemed too sexual for every single situation. tank top shows too much cleavege or side boob a button up is always too busty and a crop top will always show too much skin. having a large chest leads to so much back pain and sexualization and complaining about it makes people go "ahh grass is alwahs greener/you are the beauty standard, why complain?" like genuinely i urge yall to watch anything with a larger chested woman and notice, REALLY notice, that her chest is her entire personality. notice that people critiqing misogynist charavter designs alwayd tend to rally in the statement that large chest=misogny, casting aside the Many Many Many women and people who look like Me and just . have a large chest? and exist? and deserve respect and not to be seen as nothing more than a sex symbol by both sides? idk ikdayy
I wrote some sweet romantic fluff for KazuMaji Week’s Friday prompt! Please be sure to check it out as well as the other wonderful fics from the 2025 collection—I can’t wait to read all of the great stuff people have been posting this week! 🥰
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Fandom: 龍が如く | Ryuu ga Gotoku | Yakuza (Video Games)
Majima and Joryu Kiryu haven't seen each other in years, but they're in sync again so easily as if time had never passed. They know each other so well and they've got each other's backs without question. It's a small moment in an already great scene that means so much to me.
And it means more when I think of this in context with that scene in Yakuza Kiwami:
Obviously, Kiryu doesn't want to kill Majima, and Majima makes it pretty clear on multiple occasions that he loves fighting Kiryu and doesn't actually want him dead, either. But Majima's tanto is such a symbolic thing in their history, and it's beautiful and useful and bloodied and sharp as relationships can be. Both have been wounded by it, both have been rescued by it. And I just love that in Gaiden, it's willingly given back to Majima by Kiryu to defend himself. To me, it reads as another version--Kiryu's version--of Majima's lines from Kiwami, reclaiming a pillar of his past that Joryu can't afford to keep, but Kiryu isn't willing to lose.
"He belongs to me. I'm the only one allowed to kill him."
To instead becoming:
"I belong to him. You're not allowed to take him from me."
You still have time. Time to change your wardrobe. Time to get divorced and married again. Time to change majors. Time to learn a trade from scratch. Time to pay off debts. Time to travel. Time to love and be loved. You still have your whole life ahead. Whether you're 19 or 66. You still have so much time. But you have to take it.
*Image Credit: @bexism, creator of incredible BloodyMary fanvids such as this one
“The star of my sky,” Simon murmurs, caressing Grace’s cheek with a tenderness reserved for beautiful and sacred things. Their lips meet with the same reverence and Grace can’t prove it, but he’s certain that time stops at their touch, that this moment is only theirs and all that is and all that has been and will be is contained to this perfect place with this perfect soul. Never has someone been so loved, never has the want for someone been greater than the bond between them, the need for relief so strong and desperate that Grace doesn’t realize he’s begging for more against Simon’s mouth until Simon tells him to take what he wants, and so he does.
-Excerpt from my fic The Star of Your Sky [BloodyMary, Rated: Explicit]
“Where are you headed?” he asks over his shoulder.
She pauses, her face betraying the true depth beneath the mask. It seems like a polite inquiry between travellers instead of what it truly is: a question loaded with hope, ready to risk the unknown and escape the stifling constraints of their masters.
His ticket says Taipei, hers says Brussels. He knows this, and she knows he hopes that she will say Paris, that she will agree to run away together like they had dreamt so long ago when the cognac flowed and defenses were lowered. Her lips part to answer as she nearly looks over her shoulder to see him, knowing he is there waiting, always waiting so patiently for her.
She knows this, and she knows he must continue waiting.
Her mouth closes and her mask returns. She calmly stands to escape through the terminal, knowing his eyes will linger on her.
The ICA valued discretion above all else. There were strict protocols in place that prohibited “inappropriate” communications between staff, most especially with agents and their handlers. They were to exchange only the necessary information needed for their work and nothing more, a safeguard to keep relationships professional and never too personal. It was a rule all employees were expected to follow, and no team did better to elude discovery and punishment of its dismissal like Diana and 47.
They would meet occasionally and in secret, their topics as sensitive as target intel or as innocuous as Diana’s plans for a summer holiday. It was a habit they formed to defend against Soders and his challenges to their careers, but it also served them well in the Agency’s moments of crisis. They continued to survive on the use of codes they developed over the years, valuing their privacy and safety enough to remain covert even on Agency grounds whenever necessary.
Most common of their codes were through the use of drink orders. They would arrange a time at a location of Diana’s choice for the next exchange of information. She preferred to keep a clear head for delicate matters such as Agency parties or contract discussions, so when she ordered something, she made sure to make it count. If 47 arrived and she ordered an Aperol Spritz, for instance, that meant it was safe enough for him to be seen with her publicly. If she had ordered champagne, that meant he would receive an item drop at the usual place to help with his next mission. Or if he arrived to find her drinking a gin and tonic, then he knew the location was compromised and he would wait for her call the next day.
47 didn’t mind the various tricks of their trade. He came to enjoy the fleeting moments and secrets they shared two or three times a month, drifting through various cities around the world in establishments that were grand or even grungy. He didn’t care where the distance took him so long as it brought him closer to her, and it even gave him enough strength to endure the annual company celebration for the ICA.
The Agency spared no expense for the grand event’s catering and entertainment, with many of their colleagues indulging in fine alcohol and fairly loose conversation despite the clandestine nature of the business. Diana was ever the stunning vision in her blue evening dress, catching the attention of many agents and analysts around her. She received numerous requests to dance from her potential suitors, but it was only 47’s hand that she accepted to guide her to the dance floor. He expected her to speak in code as they glided to the music, knowing they were being watched by all eyes in the room. Instead, she simply talked as if they danced together often, smiling and chuckling at his dry humor, him complimenting her outfit, she appreciating his, and so on. The song ended far too quickly before a brave analyst approached to request her next dance, forcing 47 to walk away reluctantly to avoid making a scene.
He watched Diana visit the open bar sometime later, expecting that to be the moment she would address her invitation to him with one of her classic drink orders. But she surprised him once more when she ordered a Tequila Sunrise, its name and lively color missing from their repertoire of coded messages. He waited until she was nearly finished with her cocktail to approach the bar and order the same, indicating his acceptance of her invitation despite having no idea what the new order meant. She dabbed her mouth gently with a napkin before setting it down and walking away, leaving behind a perfect imprint of her painted lips on its material. He retrieved the napkin when no one was looking and discovered the small matchbook she hid underneath, recognizing the logo advertising a luxury hotel downtown.
47 waited long enough after her exit to make his own, making sure no suspicions would be raised at the possibility of them leaving together. He visited the hotel and found a keycard and message waiting for his alias at the front desk, letting him know that his wife had already checked in and was expecting him in their suite on the top floor. When he entered the room, he found the lights set low and Diana looking out over the sparkling city from the balcony. She seemed unbothered by the cool night air as he appeared in the doorway behind her.
“You came,” she said, smiling over her shoulder.
“You asked,” he replied. He breathed in the alluring scent of her perfume when she approached, reminding him of the pleasant dance they shared earlier that evening. “Is everything alright?”
“You tell me,” she whispered, pressing her lips ever so slowly to his.
He flinched slightly from surprise, but it quickly melted away as he relaxed and returned the kiss he had long dreamed of giving, his arms embracing her tightly as she melted happily against him. He reveled in the taste of Diana, of her drink, of the message he now realized she was trying to send him that evening.
“Stay with me tonight,” she begged, her wish a breathless plea against his lips. He answered with a tender message of his own as he guided her through the threshold and into their bed, sharing secrets and sighs well into the night until they welcomed a beautiful sunrise.
I wrote some more spicy Kazumaji! It’s set in Yakuza 0 and based on What’s Your Pleasure? by Jessie Ware. I absolutely adore these two and adore that song, so the plot bunny was easy to write. I hope you enjoy! ❤️
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Fandom: 龍が如く | Ryuu ga Gotoku | Yakuza (Video Games)
Grace really doesn’t mean to overwork himself. He can’t help that science is incredible and sometimes he just gets excited doing experiments. And sure, occasionally he forgets to eat…or drink…or sleep, ignoring the basic functions of being a human, as Simon calls it. But Simon looks out for him, and Grace knows he’s in for a break when Simon sneaks up on him in his lab, tickling him without mercy once Grace’s hands are free of samples and delicate equipment.
“Oh Si, no no no no no!”
”Nope, you know the rules, Ry! Time to go.”
“But I’m so close to a breakthrough!” Grace giggles in his struggle, nearly kicking a tray out of reflex. “I love you, but if you make me lose all of this work, I swear I’ll—“
Simon freezes, letting Grace slip away.
“Si?”
“You…love me?”
“Oh! Oh shoot,” Grace realizes, his face reddening. “Si, I didn’t—“
“You love me,” Simon repeats carefully. Slowly. Like he’s testing how the words feel on his tongue.
”I mean, uh, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but…” Grace scratches the back of his head in embarrassment.
”But…?”
“Well….I mean, yes. Yes! Of course I do,” Grace blushes, looking away. “I love you, Simon.”
“Ry…”
“And it’s okay, if you don’t feel the same way, I mean. I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything—“
”Ry—”
“—I know we’re the only two humans on Erid—“
“Ryland!“
“—so it’s not like you have a lot of options—MMPH!”
Grace blinks. Simon’s lips are on his, with Simon’s hand gently cupping his neck to keep Grace close. Grace relaxes as he realizes he’s not dreaming, that this is real and true, that he can wrap his arms around Simon and Simon will melt into his embrace, will tilt his head to deepen their kiss. He begins to learn the shape of Simon’s mouth, the talent of his tongue and the warmth of his firm body, how Simon’s eyes twinkle when he pulls away to catch his breath and looks at Grace like he’s his whole world.
“I love you,” Simon murmurs.
“Really?”
Simon answers with action, the best way he knows how. He dives in to press Grace’s smile with his own, consuming him once more, letting his body confirm what his words could not.
