#but i hope it makes at least a little sense!!

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, protected sex, rough sex, fluff & angst.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[12.3k words ]♡― here we are, at the last chapter of gameboy. writing this series has been so much fun and having the opportunity to tell the stories i love to write is a privilege. i hope i don't disappoint you with this ending, that you understand each choice made for the characters. i also hope you continue to support me, this has been so special and welcoming to me, i can't thank you enough for everything. thank you for embracing gameboy, for continuing to read and for all your support. from the bottom of my heart. PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡[part two]♡ [part three] ♡[part four] ♡[part five] ♡[part six] ♡[part seven]

'Cause I'm right here waiting for us 때로는 두려웠어 다신 오지 않을 것 같아서 두 손 꼭 잡은 채 그 어떤 순간이 덮쳐 와도 널 놓지 않을게

After all the chaos, the only thing that made sense was leaving.

So you did.

You shot Hyunjin a text, practically begging him to take you to the bus stop. He didn’t ask questions—he was too pissed off about the whole thing, ranting the entire drive about how it was bullshit that you had to be the one to go. In his mind, Eunji and Mingyu should���ve been the ones packing their bags.

And maybe he was right. But you were exhausted. Your body ached from the tension, your head was a tangled mess of emotions, and honestly? You just didn’t have it in you to fight anymore.

By the time you got back to campus, you had a plan—or at least, a temporary bandage disguised as one. You marched straight to the admin office and spun some tragic, half-true sob story about needing to “regain focus” on your studies. A few forced tears later — maybe slightly real ones— they handed you the keys to a new dorm on the other side of campus.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. You packed what little you had and moved in before anyone even realized you were gone.

And then you disappeared.

One day after another, like clockwork. No calls, no texts, no explanations. Just silence.

Your life has shrunk down to a routine: rehearsals, studying, sleep, repeat.

Hyunjin and Seungmin still tried to pull you out of your self-imposed exile, inviting you to lunch, cracking jokes at rehearsals to get a reaction out of you—but you always politely refused. You weren’t rude, just... distant. Like a ghost of yourself.

Bangchan had tried. Over and over. Messages sent and then deleted, calls he never made, moments of hesitation that stretched into frustration. He wanted to give you space, wanted to respect whatever it was you needed, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every time he saw you, it felt like his chest was caving in.

He’d even asked Hyunjin about you, but the guy was like a vault. Hyunjin wasn’t about to betray you—not even for him. “She’s busy,” was all he ever got. “Leave her alone, man.”

But how could he, when you were right there? When you were always the last to show up at rehearsals and the first to leave, slipping away before he even had a chance to try? It was torture. Watching you go about your life like he wasn’t part of it anymore. Like he never had been.

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

In his bed, between the sheets. In his hands, aching for your touch. In his mind, where your laugh and your voice were stuck on a loop, growing more distant with every passing day—like a dream he was trapped in, running but never getting anywhere.

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

If your eyes ever landed on him in the theater, they flicked away like it physically hurt you to see him. If you spotted him on campus, walking with the boys, you immediately turned your head.

So you buried yourself in anything that wasn’t him. Anything that wasn’t Eunji. Because thinking about either of them was the only thing more unbearable than being alone.

And Eunji—who didn’t even look at you, let alone speak to you. Every time your paths crossed, she barely acknowledged your existence, like you were something rotten in her periphery. A stranger. No, worse—something beneath her.

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

Because you’d believed in her. In you two. In the kind of unspoken loyalty that came with late-night talks, inside jokes, and secrets exchanged under dim dorm room lights. You thought there was sisterhood in that. Something unshakable.

But in the end, it was nothing. A mirage. A mist that vanished the second you tried to hold on.

A few weeks had passed and you were enjoying your own company in the library, an iced coffee and your headphones. You were studying your lines for the next class, until someone took the seat in front of you and your eyes looked up in surprise to see Sohee sitting with her arms crossed.

“Sohee.” you murmured, almost not believing she was there.

Sohee arched her brow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

You blinked, scrambling for words. “I—of course, I do. I just—”

“Disappeared?” she finished for you, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. “I’ve been busy.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Right. Busy. Too busy to text? Too busy to tell me why you packed up and moved to the other side of campus?” Her eyes narrowed. “Eunji won’t tell me what happened. Neither will Hyunjin. Which means something happened, and I need you to stop bullshitting me.”

Your mouth went dry, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, bitter and unspeakable. 

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did? 

Sohee exhaled, her sharpness softening just a fraction. “Look, I don’t know what went down, but I missed you, okay?”

Your heart clenched. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And that somehow made it worse.

You put your headphones aside and took a deep breath, gathering the courage to begin.

So you started from the very beginning. Bangchan, the secrets, then Mingyu, Eunji finding out, all your emotions, the fight between Bangchan and Mingyu, and how completely broken you’d been ever since.

Sohee listened, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief. “That’s... insane. I can’t believe Eunji would do something like that.”

“I know.” You gave a small, bitter smile. “That’s why it hurts.”

“And rightfully so. She had no right to interfere in your life or come at you like that.” Sohee leaned on the table, eyes searching yours. “But please, don’t let this kill your spark. Everyone misses you.”

And you missed them too. All of them. Without exception.

“If you must know,” Sohee drawled, cocking her head with a little smirk, “I’d already kind of guessed there was something going on with you and Bangchan.” 

You shot her a look, but she kept going, unbothered. 

“I just figured you’d spill when you were ready. No pressure. Not my circus.” She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “But seriously… you do like him, right?”

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

Sohee gave you a pointed look, like she could see right through you. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that I guess it doesn’t matter bullshit.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.” She leaned in, voice low but firm. “You’re miserable. He’s miserable. And all of this is because of what? Miscommunication and some high school level drama?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” She shrugged. “You like him. He clearly likes you. But instead of dealing with it, you ran.”

“That’s not fair—”

Sohee held up a hand. “I’m not saying you didn’t have your reasons. I’m saying that if you keep avoiding it, you’re just gonna hurt yourself more. Let things cool down, sure. But don’t wait until it’s too late.”

You stared at her, words caught in your throat. Because the truth was, you were terrified. Terrified that if you faced him, he’d look at you differently. That the damage was already done.

But another, quieter part of you—the part that still remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you like you were it for him—wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late at all.

You were alone in the theater, the crumpled sheets of your solo scattered around you like forgotten love letters. You were dead set on nailing that high note — the heartbreak one, the kind that’s supposed to rip your chest open and bleed on stage. Humming through the first verse, you air-strummed like your life depended on it, lost in the rhythm.

“Am I crashing a rockstar's private concert?” Changbin’s voice broke through your focus, making your head snap up so fast it almost hurt. He was in his basketball jacket, the team logo front and center, and that usual mischievous grin was pulling at his mouth. He stepped closer, then plopped down next to you on the edge of the stage like he belonged there. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine.” You flashed him a crooked little smile as you scooped up the sheets from the floor. “I’ll just pretend you weren’t suspiciously wandering the theater.”

“Busted.” He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? If you hadn’t pulled a full-on undercover mission and vanished from campus, I wouldn’t have to play detective just to track you down.”

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

His smile softened a bit, but it didn’t reach his usual brand of easy humor. Changbin had always been the steady one — loyal to Bangchan, to the whole group really. But right now, there was something quieter in him, like he’d pocketed the jokes for later.

And even though you kept your expression cool, you felt it too — the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying yet. “The guys miss you, you know that, right?”

His voice was casual, but it landed heavier than he probably meant it to. You dragged in a breath, sharp like it might actually clear out the guilt clogging your chest. 

Spoiler: it didn’t. You’d gone ghost on them, the second life got messy, and there was no pretending otherwise.

Before you could open your mouth, probably to spit out some lame excuse, Changbin raised a hand like he could see it coming from a mile away. “And no, before you even ask, he didn’t send me,” he said, shooting you a knowing look. “Didn’t even bring you up. But it wasn’t rocket science, you know? Mingyu stormed off, then Chan showed up looking like he lost a bar or something.”

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He shook his head, like that wasn’t what he came here for. “This isn’t a guilt trip, alright? Whatever Mingyu pulled, he had it coming. Trust me, no one’s crying over him.”

A pause. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

You straightened up, catching the shift in his tone. Less playful, more real. The kind of real that you couldn’t dodge even if you wanted to.

“I’m just—look, I’m just trying to knock some sense into both of you,” Changbin went on, like he’d been carrying this around too long. “I don’t know all the details, and honestly? I don’t need to. But I do know my best friend’s been walking around like the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Your chest tightened, the words slipping past your guard way too easily.

“And I’m not saying this to dump it on you, okay? I swear,” he added, catching your expression before you could speak. “It’s just... he’s a mess. And it’s not just the basketball thing, or the usual stress — it’s you. He misses you. Bad.”

The way he said it — simple, no drama, no exaggeration — hit you harder than any speech could’ve.

And you hated it. You hated that part of you wanted to hear it. You hated that it hurt more than you expected. Because deep down, you already knew.

“I’m only doing this because he’s my guy,” Changbin started, running a hand through his hair like this whole conversation weighed more than he let on. “Chan’s always been the one to clean up after the rest of us, you know? First to show up with advice or some half-baked plan to save the day.”

You tilted your head, a small smile sneaking onto your lips despite yourself. Classic Chan.

Changbin caught it, and his own grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Yeah, exactly. And when he met you? Man, it was like someone turned the lights on in his head. Swear to God, I’ve never seen him like that. He was just... lighter.”

The way he said it twisted something in your chest, but you held his gaze, letting him finish.

“What I’m saying is,” he went on, “even if you two don’t go back to being, like, whatever you were before—” he waved a vague hand between you, “—at least talk to him. He’s stuck in that ‘she hates me, so I better give her space’ spiral, and you know how Chan is. He’ll bury it to do what’s best for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how much that stung. “Wait... so he doesn’t hate me?”

Changbin actually laughed at that, a real, rough-around-the-edges laugh. “Hate you? Please. I don’t think that man has it in him, even if he tried.”

Your fingers tangled together, fidgeting without you meaning to. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “I care about him. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said simply, no teasing this time, just plain fact. “I know you do. And I know you’ll figure this out.”

After a beat of quiet, Changbin pushed himself up, casually brushing nonexistent dust off his jersey like he’d just wrapped up something way more dramatic than a heart-to-heart.

“Thanks, Binnie,” you said, flashing him a crooked smile as he gave you an overly formal little bow.

He started toward the door but paused right at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder with that familiar spark in his eye. “You know I love you, right? But if you mess with my best friend’s heart, I will write the nastiest diss track you’ve ever heard. Full production. No skips.”

That earned a laugh out of you, real and warm. “Gonna throw in choreography too?”

He smirked like you’d just dared him to. “Obviously. Backup dancers and everything."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his voice echoing back as he called out, “You’re not getting off that easy!”

And just like that, you were alone again—surrounded by a whole storm of thoughts you weren’t quite ready to untangle.

You’d swallowed that whole conversation with Changbin like it was a bad shot of cheap tequila — still burning in your chest, still impossible to forget. And yet, life rolled on, dragging you with it while you kept trying to figure out when the hell would be the right time to talk to Bangchan.

Problem was, the whole thing still felt like an open wound — not bleeding anymore, but definitely not ready for anyone to poke at it either.

Sohee was in your new room, fussing with the straps of her dress in front of the mirror. The place wasn’t as roomy as the one you used to share with her and Eunji, but it did the job.

“I talked to Eunji," Sohee said, swiping mascara on with laser focus. "Well — argued is probably the more accurate term. She wouldn’t even let me finish when I tried to tell her she was being a bitch."

You were sprawled across your bed, cozy in your oldest, softest pajamas, like this whole conversation wasn’t tying your stomach in knots.

"I didn’t want you two fighting because of me," you muttered, playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Sohee whipped around, one eye still missing eyeliner but her energy fully charged. “Please. I’m morally allergic to bullshit. What she did was a straight-up foul. And until she figures out how to act like a halfway decent human being, maybe it’s time we put that friendship on ice.”

You sighed, a tangled mess of guilt and low-key relief knotting in your chest. "Yeah, well... it still kinda sucks."

“Everyone’s gotta make their own choices…” Sohee went back to her makeup like it was no big deal, but then spun around again, narrowing her eyes at you. “Speaking of choices… you’re really not going to the game? It’s the final. Literally, everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped onto the pillows like your life depended on it.

“Yeah, hard pass. Not in the mood to humiliate myself in public, thanks.”

“Girl, come on,” Sohee groaned. “This is your perfect excuse to finally talk to Bangchan and fix things. I know he’d love to see you there, especially at his last game this semester.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know… Feels like showing up would just make it worse.”

Sohee snapped the mascara shut like it personally offended her. “Stubborn as hell, I swear. Fine. Just—promise me you won’t do something you’re gonna regret later, alright?”

“I know, I know,” you waved her off, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll figure it out when the time’s right. Go have fun, kiss your boyfriend, and drink an unreasonable amount of beer in my honor.”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, but before heading out, she paused at the door and shot you a final look over her shoulder. “Last chance. Are you sure you’re staying?”

“Yeah. Have fun at the game,” you said, forcing a half-smile.

Sohee shrugged like she’d expected that answer. “Alright… I tried. Don’t say I didn’t.” She shot you a quick grin over her shoulder as she headed out. “Catch you later!”

As the minutes dragged on, boredom hit you like a brick. Your brain was way too wired to even think about running lines for the play. You tried putting on a movie, but you zoned out every five minutes and had to keep rewinding just to figure out what the hell was going on.

That’s when you decided: screw it. Time to hit the campus café and drown your existential crisis in hot chocolate and maybe the most sugar-loaded cupcake you could get your hands on. Comfort food therapy, top tier.

You threw on some cute but cozy clothes, something to shake off the emotional slump clinging to you like a bad ex. Skirt, sweater, your trusty boots — the holy trinity.

The second you stepped outside, it felt like the whole weather system had joined your pity party. What started as a light breeze had upgraded to full-blown dramatic gusts, and the sky was throwing major moody vibes with all those gloomy gray clouds.

The cafeteria was basically a ghost town. No surprise there — most people were off hyping up the basketball final, the very game everyone had been pushing you to go to. But showing up last-minute just to cause a scene was so not your style. If you were going to fix things, you’d do it on your own terms, not crash the party like some soap opera twist.

Inside, the café was warm but dead quiet. The staff looked just as miserable as you felt, probably counting down the seconds till they could ditch work and catch the game too. You kind of felt bad for bothering them. Kind of. But hey, desperate times. Your soul needed sugar before life threw another plot twist your way.

You went for the hot chocolate — obvious choice — and threw in a slice of strawberry sponge cake for good measure. Not exactly a gourmet pairing, but at this point, flavor combos were the least of your problems.

You slid into the table by the window, pulling out your phone like it could somehow save you from your own restless brain. 

Sohee had just posted a story: her, Minho, and Felix, all grins and mid-cheers. Typical. You kept scrolling, letting the endless stream of everyone else’s highlight reel wash over you. Felix, Jisung, and Hyunjin had apparently hit up a barbecue place recently, and yeah — that one stung. Hard. Like a punch right in the ribs, just above where you’d been keeping all your unresolved guilt.

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

The voice snapped you out of your spiral so fast you damn near fumbled your phone like it was evidence in a crime. Guiltily, you locked the screen and glanced up.

Mingyu stood there, iced coffee in hand, wearing that soft, easy smile.

“Hi…” you answered, a little awkward. He hadn’t exactly been on your recent contact list either.

"Can I sit?" He gestured at the chair across from you. "I won’t take up too much of your time, scout’s honor."

You nodded, curiosity getting the better of you. Might as well — it’s not like you were killing it at the whole “alone with your thoughts” thing anyway.

“You kinda vanished,” Mingyu said as he set his coffee down and folded his arms casually over the table. “Haven’t seen you around at all.”

You let out a humorless little laugh, more of a scoff really. “Didn’t exactly feel like I had a choice.”

“I see,” Mingyu exhaled, slow and steady, like he was gearing up to unload something heavy. “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. Honestly. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, coming out swinging at Bangchan like that.” He shook his head, as if still baffled by his own actions. “That’s not me. At all. And I’m sorry for dragging you into the mess.”

Well. That was... unexpectedly nice of him.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected — maybe some half-baked excuse or him brushing it off — but an actual, straight-up apology? Kind of refreshing.

“I should’ve seen it, you know?” He gave a small, hollow laugh. “The way he looked at you... yeah, it was pretty obvious. Can’t really blame the guy.”

There was a flicker of something in his smile, something resigned and maybe a little bit sad.

 “I’m sorry for hurting you,” you added, softer this time.

He shrugged, a wry twist to his lips. “No need. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, right? We had a good run. And well... I guess that’s it.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked, reaching his hand across the table like he was closing a deal.

You didn’t even hesitate — you took it, gave it a firm squeeze. “No hard feelings.”

“Right.” He nodded, like it was the final period of a sentence. Then he got up, grabbed his coffee, and shot you a parting smile. “I—I just hope you’re happy.”

And just like that, Mingyu walked out through the glass doors, disappearing across campus like he was just another passerby in your life. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind him that his words really hit you, settling deep in your stomach like a lead weight.

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

The brutal truth? You had no one to blame but yourself. Every twist, every wrong turn, it all traced back to your own fear, your own hesitation. If you’d been just a little braver — if you’d let people in instead of keeping them at arm’s length — maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you’d be happy.

The cruel part? It took hearing it from Mingyu to finally see it for what it was. It was always you.

Your half-eaten cake sat abandoned on the table, the hot chocolate cooling into something sad and forgotten. Without thinking twice, you pushed back your chair and stormed out of the café, straight into the chaos waiting outside.

The wind hit you like a wall, and then, as if the universe was feeling especially theatrical today, fat, icy drops of rain began to fall — fast and merciless.

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

Your biker boots pounded against the slick grass, water splashing up your legs as the rain came down harder, so heavy it blurred the world into a messy watercolor. But you didn’t care. You weren’t stopping now — not when your heart was finally awake after pretending to sleep for so long.

The gym was all the way across campus, of course it was. Far enough that you were completely drenched by the time the courtyard came into view. Your chest heaved with every breath, burning like you’d sprinted through fire instead of rain. Your clothes clung to your skin, soaked to the bone, and your hair stuck to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck — like the rain wanted to wear you down.

But you kept going. You had to get there. No matter how soaked, no matter how late.

You had to.

You squared your shoulders, puffed out your chest like you had a whole army at your back, and stomped straight toward the gym doors. No hesitation. Okay — a little hesitation. Your heart was doing somersaults in your chest, adrenaline crashing into nerves like they were fighting for control.

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

Only to be greeted by... absolutely no one.

Just the janitor, casually mopping the far end of the court like this was any other boring Saturday.

Your pulse stumbled, like it tripped over itself. No way.

You yanked out your soaked phone, fingers slipping against the drenched screen, and checked the time. Way too late. The game had ended — you’d missed it. They were probably already at some bar downing cheap drinks and yelling over greasy plates of fries, and here you were, a walking raincloud with nothing to show for it.

Your thumb hovered over Sohee’s number, ready to call, beg, something — but before you could hit the dial, a voice cut through the empty court.

“Your plan is to flood the gym or what?”

Your heart flat-out stopped.

Slowly, you turned, every inch of you shivering from the rain and a healthy dose of panic.

Bangchan.

He was right there, leaning against the entrance like he hadn’t just flipped your entire internal system upside down. His hair was a mess of wet strands, some falling over his forehead in a way that should’ve been illegal.

Your mouth went dry, brain buffering like a bad connection.

"I'm... um... a little soaked," you managed, glancing down at yourself and the puddle spreading beneath your feet. A tremor ran through you, part chill, part nerves, leaving your words thin and shaky.

Bangchan gave a quiet, amused breath — almost a laugh, but softer — before he started walking toward you.

It was only then, as he drew closer, that you really saw him. His hair had grown longer, the damp curls now brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face in a way that felt painfully unfair. Draped over his shoulders was a black jacket, the kind that made him look like he’d stepped right off a movie scene.

"What are you doing here?" Bangchan’s voice cut through the hollow echo of the gym, roughened by surprise but threaded with something deeper.

With one simple movement, he removed the jacket from his shoulders and placed it over yours. You gulped, the words knotting in your throat. "I—I'm leaving," you managed, barely above a whisper.

"You're leaving?" His brows pulled together, like the thought alone caused him genuine pain.

Instinctively, you took a step back, clutching his jacket tighter around your soaked frame. Coward. Even now, even with him standing right in front of you, you were slipping into old habits, retreating when you should be reaching out.

Bangchan tilted his head, eyes flicking over your rain-soaked figure. "You really think I’m gonna buy that? After you ran through a damn storm to get here?" His voice was low, rough around the edges, but his gaze was soft.

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself, your breath turning shallow and uneven. "I thought the game was still on," you confessed, your voice small, almost childlike.

"It ended early," he said, his tone softening. "Thunderstorm warning." He gestured toward the windows, where the rain continued to batter the glass in relentless sheets. "Most people cleared out fast. But I stayed behind."

Why? you wanted to ask. But maybe you didn’t need to — his eyes already told you everything you needed to know.

"You stayed," you echoed, almost in disbelief, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

He stepped closer, his gaze dipping to your hands, which clung to his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. When his eyes met yours again, something flickered in them — something deep and quiet, something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Bangchan’s gaze didn’t waver. "You came here for a reason," he said, his voice rough at the edges. "So stop pretending you didn’t."

Your heart twisted painfully, tangled in the unsaid. The truth clawed at your chest, desperate to surface. I wanted to see you. I wanted to stop running.

"I..." But your voice trembled, fragile as glass stretched too thin.

Bangchan’s expression softened, like he could see straight through the façade, like he saw every crack you were trying to hide. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were warm against your chilled skin, and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

"I'm fine," you lied, even as your body betrayed you with a violent shiver.

A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Liar."

"I need to ask you something," you said, your voice tighter than you wanted. "That night on the beach… were you serious? About everything you said?"

His expression twisted, disbelief written all over him. “Really? Really? Don’t waste my time pretending you don’t know.”

You let out a breath, sharp through your nose. Fair enough. But you had to say it, get it off your chest before it ate you alive.

"I messed it all up," you admitted, the words tumbling out. "I kept telling myself I didn’t care what people thought, like I was above all that crap. But it turns out I care. Way more than I should. And that fear? It had me choking on my own feelings."

You risked a glance at him. He was watching you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. No interruptions, no sarcastic quips — just quiet focus.

"I mean, you were— God, you were so good to me," you kept going, voice thick with regret. "And I think I freaked out because I’d already fallen for you way before I let myself admit it. Like, properly fallen. And that scared the hell out of me because I never thought I’d actually… like you. Not like this."

Your throat tightened, a painful lump that wouldn’t go away. "I liked everything. Being around you. Talking to you. Even the way you annoyed me." you smiled softly.

Your eyes stung, tears slipping free, but you kept going like you couldn’t stop. "I hate what I did to you. I hate that I messed this up beyond fixing it. And I know it’s too late... yeah. I get it. I understand."

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, words tumbling out too fast. "I just needed you to know, before I go — I’m sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve any of it."

Your breath hitched, but you met his eyes anyway — full on, no flinching. "I’m so sorry."

Tears blurred your vision as you crossed the court toward the exit, not even bothering to shield yourself from the rain. What was the point? You were already soaked, inside and out.

You let out a choked sob, hating yourself for being such a coward — for always running when it mattered most.

“Wait—” Bangchan’s voice cut through the downpour, rough and almost swallowed by the storm.

You froze, eyes narrowing against the sheets of rain, blinking fast to see through the water streaming down your face.

“Wait," he called out again, sharper now, like the rain itself had finally lit a fuse. "What gives you the right to drop that on me and just walk away?” His anger was written all over him, carved deep into the lines of his face.

"What?" you shot back, breath catching, but the storm swallowed your voice, forcing you to yell just to be heard.

Bangchan raked a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back as he stepped closer, chest rising fast, like he couldn’t breathe right with you this far away. "You’re running," he said, rough and tight. "Running from me. From us. Again."

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

"Everything I’ve done," he said, the words rough-edged and raw, "since the second I met you — it’s been about you. Always you." He caught his breath, like saying it out loud made it real. "Because I wanted you. More than anything."

The confession hit like a punch to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing.

"Since Hyunjin introduced us and you barely noticed I existed," he kept going, like he couldn’t stop now. "Since you breezed right past me without a second thought. Since you crashed into my life and wrecked every single thing I thought I had figured out."

Your heart was beating out of rhythm, too fast for your own body to keep up, like it was trying to outrun the storm — or maybe run straight to him.

"You don’t get to stand there and tell me it’s too late," Bangchan shouted over the rain, his voice tearing through the downpour like it had something to prove. His eyes burned so bright, it almost hurt to look at him. "Not when I’ve been standing here this whole time, heart wide open, just waiting for you to see me."

His chest heaved, rain sliding off him like he didn’t even notice, like all he could see was you. "I’ve been waiting for you," he said, softer this time, but it was the kind of softness that carried weight. Heavy. Unshakable. "So if you want me — really want me — you’ve got to say it. I need to hear you say it."

The storm raged around you, but it felt like the eye of it had landed right here, right between the two of you. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, every muscle strung so tight you could barely breathe.

This was terrifying. This was exhilarating. This was everything you had been too scared to want.

Your lips parted, but for a heartbeat, all you could do was try to swallow the lump in your throat. Then, steadying your breath, you let a small, shaky smile tug at the corner of your mouth. A flicker of defiance, maybe even a little hope.

"Bangchan," you said, your voice rough but sure, "there’s never been anyone else. It’s only ever been you."

There wasn’t a second of hesitation when your lips found his — only the wild, breathless certainty of two people who had run out of ways to pretend they didn’t need this.

The desperation between you felt electric, almost feverish, like your skin couldn’t decide if it was burning or freezing in the rain. You’d never felt anything like it — like the whole world had finally spun off its axis and was crashing headfirst into this moment. Into him.

When his hands, just as cold and trembling as yours, cupped your face like he was terrified you might slip away, you gasped, a sharp breath of shock and longing tangled together. Bangchan made you feel reckless. Young. Like you were caught in the middle of one of those ridiculous romance high-school movies you always scoffed at, the kind where the girl lifts her leg during the kiss — and for once, you understood why.

This kiss, soaked to the bone and laced with every scrap of resentment and longing, felt like proof. Proof that what you had wasn’t just real, but unstoppable.

You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth, fingers fisting in his drenched shirt as the rain poured over you both, careless and wild. And still, beneath the chaos, something pure unfurled in your chest — something terrifyingly beautiful, raw and undeniable.

Bangchan kissed you like he was starving, like he had been starving for you. He deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of you like it had haunted him in dreams and in every quiet, aching moment you’d spent apart.

It wasn’t new, this hunger — you’d felt it before. But tonight, in this storm, in his arms, it felt entirely different. Like you’d finally let yourself give in to the fire you’d been dancing around for far too long.

How you ended up sprinting down the hallway with soaked shoes that squeaked like a bad joke didn’t even matter at this point. Thunder growled overhead like it was personally offended by your existence, and Bangchan was fumbling with the dorm keys like his life depended on it.

“Could you not kill the key while you’re at it?” you shot at him, half breathless, half laughing despite the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

“I'm trying, damn it,” he muttered, jamming the key into the lock with a speed that was both impressive and completely ridiculous.

The door finally gave in, and the two of you stumbled inside, drenched to the bone. The room was dim, only lit by the bruised grey daylight leaking through the window, and for a second, the world just... stopped spinning so fast.

You didn’t even think about it. Your hand found his face like it belonged there — like you were tracing something ancient and sacred, a statue carved by the gods, Apollo himself if Apollo wore wet hair and a breathless grin. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone, and you caught yourself smiling, then sinking your teeth into your lip to hold it back.

Bangchan swore under his breath, like your touch was enough to short-circuit his whole system. He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, then caught your hand in his, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I missed you…” you admitted, your voice low and honest, like the words had been burning a hole in your lungs.

Bangchan’s breath hitched. He caught your hand gently, his fingers wrapping around yours like he was scared you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His eyes — god, his eyes — they searched your face like you were something holy, like every answer he’d ever wanted was written in the curve of your smile.

He kissed your knuckles, slow and passionate, and that tiny gesture nearly undid you. The way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked behind your eyes, not from sadness, but from the insane, overwhelming relief of finally feeling. Like your chest had cracked open and light was pouring in, fierce and free.

And damn, it felt so, so good to finally breathe again.

The best part, freedom didn’t need an invitation — it just showed up, slipped right between you two like it belonged there all along.

And then, his lips found yours. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just there — warm and certain and carrying every shred of doubt far, far away. If those questions still existed, you sure as hell weren’t looking for them.

Bangchan kissed you like he knew. Like he knew exactly how long you’d been waiting for this, and he wasn’t about to ruin it with panic or rush. He was careful, but not shy — calculated without making it feel forced, a perfect balance of hunger and restraint that made your heart stutter in your chest.

This wasn’t reckless. No, this was something else entirely. This felt like he was handling something precious, like you were made of glass and he wasn’t sure if you’d shatter or melt in his hands. Maybe a bit of both.

Your arms looped around his neck, a familiar move, but now it felt charged. You’d always been secretly obsessed with how he towered over you, how his presence alone seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. Like gravity had picked favorites and he was yours.

Without even breaking the kiss, you found the hem of his drenched T-shirt, fingers brushing over cool skin as you tugged it upward. He caught the hint, helping you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere behind him like it didn’t matter — because it didn’t.

The jacket he’d draped over your shoulders slipped to the floor with a quiet thud. Your lips were still tangled in his, tasting rain and fire and something dangerously close to forever. Every brush of your mouth against his felt like a spark in a storm, friction building and building until you were certain you’d catch flame.

You didn’t know how long you’d been kissing him, and honestly? You didn’t care. All you knew was this moment — soaked skin, racing pulse, and the wild, breathless certainty that whatever this was between you, it was finally, finally real.

Before he even thought about sitting down, Bangchan stripped off every soaked, useless layer like it personally offended him. His shirt hit the floor with a wet splat, followed by the rest, and then he dropped onto the edge of the bed like he owned the damn place — which, technically, he did, but still.

You stood between his knees, and for a second, it felt like the air got thinner.

Slowly — painfully slowly, because he had to know exactly what he was doing to you — he tugged your skirt lower, knuckles grazing your skin like it was an accident. His fingers made quick work of your boots, then your sweater, all without breaking eye contact. His gaze had this impossible mix: soft but hungry, steady but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. Like you were some kind of inevitable he’d been waiting for without even realizing it.

Without a word, he curled his hand around the back of your thigh and coaxed you onto his lap, like you were gravity and he didn’t stand a chance. You went willingly — of course you did — knees bracketing his hips, your palms finding his shoulders, solid and warm beneath your hands.

He hovered at your mouth, maddeningly close but not quite there. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, easily teasing you.

His breath skimmed yours, electric and careful, until finally his lips brushed over yours, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. His hands tightened at your waist, fingers sinking into your skin like he needed you closer. Like breathing wasn’t enough anymore.

The room fell into this heady, perfect silence, just the sound of your breathing, uneven and shallow, and the rain tapping against the window like it was keeping rhythm.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried all the weight in the world. “Can we just freeze this?” you asked, your eyes tracing every line of his face like you were afraid it might vanish. “Right here, right now. Forever.”

You felt him shiver beneath your fingertips — or maybe it was you. Hard to tell anymore. His answer was the way he kissed you like yes. Like hell yes.

Bangchan let out a low, rough sound, like you’d just stolen the last ounce of self-control he had left. His mouth trailed along your jawline, barely-there kisses that felt like they were searing into your skin.

Normally, he was the one filling the space with words — teasing, coaxing, making you dizzy with how easily he could wreck you. But tonight, you wanted him to feel it. To really feel it. Not just in his head, but in his bones.

You cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing the damp heat of his cheeks. God, he looked at you like you were the whole damn galaxy — like he’d waited light-years for this exact moment. And you traced your fingertip along his parted lips. He didn’t even hesitate; he kissed your fingerprint like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely louder than the rain tapping at the window — but it hit him like thunder all the same.

He froze, like your words had short-circuited every nerve in his body. His chest rose on a sharp inhale, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “I’ll always be,” you whispered, like a vow only he was meant to hear. 

His eyes softened, something raw flickering in them, right before you kissed him — full of every unspoken promise, fearless and certain, like you were stitching your heart straight into his mouth.

His hands found your waist, grounding you, as he shifted you effortlessly to the center of the bed. His lips brushed your neck, making you shiver all over again.

“My heart is yours,” he said softly, his lips brushing your skin like he was confessing a secret. “I’m all yours.” His words melted into kisses — first at your lips, then your cheek, and finally at that place beneath your ear that made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and a little reckless. He grinned against your throat, like he liked you like this — alive, teasing him back.

For a heartbeat, you just looked at him. At this man who somehow made the world quiet and loud all at once. Like maybe, just maybe, life could actually be this simple.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, his fingers cradling your chin. His gaze dipped to your lips, dark with hunger. “Wanna touch you everywhere…”

His hand slid to the curve of your neck, making your eyes flick up in challenge.

“Make you feel so good,” he added, voice rough with intent.

You bit your lip, settled deeper into his lap, and gave him your signature smirk. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

The kiss deepened, turned heady and hungry, but never rushed. Bangchan’s fingers toyed with the side of your panties, lazy and teasing, like he had all the time in the world to drive you insane. He hooked his finger under the edge, barely grazing your skin — just enough to send a sharp, electric pulse through your entire body.

There was heat, sure. A wildfire between you, no doubt. But underneath it, something steadier, something that felt terrifyingly like eternity. He wasn’t rushing it. He wasn’t just touching you to have you — he was memorizing you. Worshipping, almost.

“I want you,” you breathed in his mouth, voice rough around the edges, like it had been sanded down to the truth.

He didn’t waste a second. Quick, practiced, a little frantic but still smiling that lazy half-smile of his as he reached for protection, slipping it on in record time, like every second apart was unbearable.

You shifted your knees, adjusting for him — for both of you — and his eyes darkened like you’d just flipped a switch. He tugged the last stubborn scrap of fabric away, his hands lingering like he couldn’t quite let it go.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you sank down onto him, the movement natural, inevitable, like your bodies already knew this rhythm by heart. A gasp escaped you both, caught somewhere between surprise and relief.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, not for balance, but because you needed to hold on to something real — and he was the only thing that felt like solid ground.

Bangchan buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips warm and wet against your skin, like he couldn’t get close enough. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, commit you to memory, down to the last shiver.

You moved against him slowly at first, like you wanted to feel every single second of it — to let it burn through your nerves until it became too much to hold back. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of distance.

Every shift of your hips dragged a sound from him, rough and raw, like he was barely holding on. His head fell back for a moment, jaw clenched tight, but then his gaze was back on you — dark, devouring, full of need that felt like it could swallow you whole.

You tried to swallow the sounds tearing out of you, sinking your teeth into your lip, into his shoulder, into whatever you could reach — but it was useless. Every slow thrust made you unravel a little more, made you feel like you were coming apart right around him. He filled you so deep, so perfectly, it felt obscene, like your body was made just to take him.

And he knew it too — the way he moved inside you was relentless, unhurried but devastating, like he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him, every inch of what he was doing to you.

And he wasn’t any steadier.

He fought to hold himself together, but the moans kept breaking free, rough and desperate. He was lost in the delirium of being buried deep inside you, of feeling you stretch and clench around him like you were made to take him. The way you took him, so eager and tight, had his control fraying fast.

He was pulsing with need, every second of restraint twisting into something almost unbearable — too good, too much, almost painful in its pleasure.

His hand slid up to your hair, fingers threading through before he tugged it aside to expose your neck. His mouth found your skin without hesitation — warm, open kisses trailing along your pulse, his tongue tasting the sweat-slick heat of you. 

He worked his way down your neck, lips brushing teasingly over every inch of your sensitive skin. At your chest, he paused, let his tongue explore the soft skin there, coaxing a sharp gasp from you as your body reacted without thinking. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, to taste every inch until you were dripping for him, until the only thing you could think about was how good he felt owning you like this.

You found your rhythm together, perfectly in sync, like you’d been built for this. Built for him. Each roll of your hips sent a fresh wave of need spiraling through your veins, building, tightening, pulling you both closer to the edge. His hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his touch rough but reverent, worshipping every inch of you.

The room felt molten, the air thick with heat and desire. Moans tangled between you, breathless and desperate, until all you could hear was the storm outside and the sound of your bodies moving together.

"Can’t get enough of you—fuck—" Bangchan’s voice tore out of him, rough and wrecked, words slipping into broken sounds as his hips snapped into yours, chasing the high with a desperation that felt like it might kill him.

Sweat and rainwater dripped down his skin, slick between your bodies, his hair clinging damp to his forehead. He looked like sin, like every fantasy you’d ever had but filthier, messier, better.

You crashed your mouth to his, swallowing the ragged moan that escaped him, tasting the heat of it on his tongue.

“Please,” you begged, breath trembling as your lips brushed his. “God, please, just—”

"You feel—fuck," he choked, breath catching hard as you rolled your hips, grinding right where he needed you. His eyes fluttered shut, helpless to the way you squeezed around him.

"Say it," you demanded, your voice all heat and sin, lips brushing his ear like a spark to gasoline.

He groaned, wrecked. "So good, so fucking good, baby, you drive me insane."

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale, your entire body tightening around him. The knot low in your belly twisted, pulling you closer to that breaking point with every relentless thrust. The storm outside thrashed against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside you.

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths tangling, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as you moved in sync. His gaze burned into you, wild and wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough.

"That's it," he rasped, rough and hungry. His thumb worked your clit in tight, relentless circles, dragging you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl and soak my cock. Let me feel you lose it all over me."

“Fuck, you were made for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw, every word dripping hunger. His hips snapped into you, fast and relentless, hitting so deep it made your mind spin, had you gasping his name over and over like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

You felt impossibly full, stretched around him to the point of unbearable pleasure, and you craved it — you wanted more, wanted him to take you apart until you were nothing but his.

Bangchan’s hand slid up to your throat, not choking, just holding you there, steady and close, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. His other hand gripped your waist tight, dragging you harder onto his cock, like he was chasing something dangerous and beautiful all at once — like he needed to claim every part of you.

“Take every inch of me,” he growled against your skin, his lips hot at your neck as his teeth sank in, just sharp enough to make you shiver. “Fuck—yes, just like that, my perfect fucking girl.”

Your body clamped down on him, another violent wave of pleasure wracking through you as you moved together, desperate and wild. His breath stuttered, sharp and wrecked, his hips jolting hard when you clenched around him again, milking him, pulling a raw, broken moan from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, angel,—” His voice cracked, strangled on a gasp, and then he lost it completely. His hips slammed up into you, rough and frantic, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a helpless, guttural sound, like he was unraveling from the inside out.

The second you felt him pulse, you shattered, pleasure crashing through you in devastating waves. Your whole body jerked, trembling in his hold, your mouth falling open on a cry of his name that sounded like both worship and ruin. He groaned through his release, grinding up into you as he emptied himself fully, like he couldn’t stop, like he never wanted to stop.

Even when the aftershocks tore through you both, he kept you tight against him, breathing hard, lips brushing your skin in shaky, reverent kisses. He kissed you like he was trying to swallow your moans, like he was desperate to keep every last sound of you for himself.

Your breath was wrecked, your chest heaving against his as you clung to him, still pulsing around him like you never wanted to let him go.

“Such a perfect little thing for me,” he rasped, dark and tender all at once, “my pretty girl.”

And in his eyes, you swore you saw it — the words he didn’t say yet, thick and heavy and dangerous on the tip of his tongue.

After basically spending the entire weekend barricaded in Bangchan’s apartment — more specifically, in his bed — where you’d thoroughly explored every possible way to kill the mutual longing, you figured it was time to rejoin society. Preferably not looking like you’d just crawled out of a two-day sex coma, but well, damage done.

The perfect excuse arrived in the form of Changbin and the rest of the soccer guys throwing a victory party after their game. They won, obviously — and Bangchan had not let you forget it for even a second. He’d been strutting around the dorm like some smug MVP, dropping lines like, “You’re literally sleeping with the best basketball player, babe. Iconic behavior.”

You were so gone for him it was almost embarrassing. Almost.

It was Sunday night, and looming over you like an anxious little storm cloud was the fact that this was your last week. Final week. Curtain call was Friday, and you were already spiraling.

The panic over your performance felt like it had its own pulse — quick, sharp, and completely unnecessary, considering Hyunjin and Seungmin had basically held your hand and all but screamed, “You’re going to kill it. Stop overthinking.”

Still. Easier said than done.

Although, to be fair, the crippling anxiety had taken a temporary vacation over the last 48 hours — because Bangchan, bless him, had thoroughly, repeatedly, and almost heroically, fucked it right out of you.

Like a true gentleman.

He kept your hand in his the entire walk, fingers tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you couldn't help but smile at the way he casually included you in every plan for the mid-year break. Like he couldn’t imagine doing any of it without you. You didn't even realize how much you needed that feeling until you had it.

When you got to the frat house, the party was already in full swing—music thumping, laughter spilling out into the yard. The moment you two stepped through the door, a few of the basketball guys waved, greeting Bangchan with their usual teasing banter. And, surprisingly, they were actually kind of polite to you. No eye rolls, no snickers. Just the usual ‘Hey, Bangchan’s girl’ vibes. But that was enough.

You’d chosen a dress that was a little daring—tight, short, and definitely not the kind of thing you’d wear to a casual party. But you didn’t mind it. Especially when Bangchan’s leather jacket was draped over your shoulders. It was a nice change, wearing something of his, and you kind of liked how it made you feel like you had a little piece of him with you.

And, of course, he didn’t complain about it. In fact, he was practically glowing, the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t wait to show you off. You could tell he was enjoying the attention, and somehow, that made you want to pull him in closer, just to remind him that yeah, you were his too.

The party was already in full swing when you and Bangchan walked in, fingers laced. When he squeezed your hand like a silent promise, you didn’t think twice about holding tighter.

The music was loud, people were already half-drunk on cheap beer and good vibes, but it was the way your friends froze mid-conversation that really caught your attention.

Changbin’s eyes went wide first, like he’d just seen his parents kissing. “Hold on. Hold on,” he said, pointing between you and Bangchan like he was trying to solve a crime scene. “My two pretty best friends are... doing this now?” He made a vague swirling motion with his finger that you hoped was meant to represent holding hands and not something filthier.

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. He scoffed and threw his arm over your shoulder, grinning like the devil himself. “Back off,” he shot back. “She’s my best friend.”

You raised a brow, looking between the two of them. “Okay, can we not make this weird?” you deadpanned, shrugging Hyunjin’s arm off with a smirk. 

Your friends were loving every second. You could see it on their faces — the shared glances, the knowing smirks, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

"Honestly," Jisung chimed in from the couch, raising his drink dramatically, "about damn time."

Seungmin just gave you a slow, nodding approval, the corners of his lips barely twitching into a smile. “We had a pool going,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You shot him a playful, but suspicious look. "A pool? Seriously?"

"You're a very predictable couple," Seungmin replied with zero shame.

Bangchan chuckled under his breath, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in that way that made your knees go a little traitorous. "Told you they’d figure it out."

You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling but with a touch of sass. “I was kind of hoping for more mystery. You know, make them work for it.”

"Yeah, well," he said, leaning closer so only you could hear, his voice low and warm in your ear, "I’m not that good at pretending I don’t want you."

And just like that, you were the one who had to fight back the stupid, giddy grin threatening to take over your face.

The night rolled on with teasing jokes and too many toasts in the team’s honor, but somewhere between the crowded kitchen and the messy dance floor, you caught Bangchan watching you — like you were the only person in the room worth looking at.

And you looked at him the same way.

You were still breathless from Bangchan’s kiss, your smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. You two were dancing and kissing almost the whole night. When you felt someone step into your line of sight.

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

Her gaze flicked between you and Bangchan, catching the way he still had his arm slung lazily around your waist like he belonged there (because he did). For a split second, something unreadable passed over her face, but then she forced a smile.

“Hey.” Eunji’s voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Congrats on the game. You played really well.”

Bangchan blinked, caught off guard by how soft her tone was. “Uh… thanks,” he said, a little wary.

She shifted her weight, eyes flicking to you for a beat before landing back on him. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” she asked, nodding toward the hallway. “Just us?” Her gaze lingered on you, like she was asking permission. Or daring you to say no.

You shot Bangchan a quick glance. He met your eyes with quiet understanding and gave you a little nod, squeezing your hand before letting go.

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

In the quieter corner of the frat, Eunji took a breath like she was gearing up for something heavy. 

“Look, I probably don’t have the right to even ask you to listen,” she began, voice tight. “But I need to say this.”

You didn’t move. Arms crossed, not hostile — just careful. “Okay. Say it.”

She nodded, like that tiny bit of permission gave her permission to fall apart.

"I was jealous," she admitted, the words tumbling out too fast, like they’d been bottled up for too long. "It’s stupid, I know. But it felt like you had everything — both of the hot guys," she gave a bitter, awkward laugh, "while I had no one. And it got in my head. Made me ugly inside. I hated how small I felt next to you."

Her honesty was disarming. You hadn’t expected her to just lay it out like that.

"I guess I thought," she went on, voice wobbling, "if I could tear you down, maybe I’d feel less... invisible. But it didn’t work. It only made me feel worse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you."

You searched her expression, looking for cracks, for any sign of performance — but what you saw was genuine. Flawed, but real.

You studied her face. No defenses. Just raw regret and maybe a little shame. For the first time, she looked like someone trying to unlearn the worst parts of herself.

You tilted your head. “Is this because of Sohee?”

Her head jerked up. “No,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “This isn’t damage control. This is me... finally being honest.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, you let out a breath.

"I can’t speak for everyone," you said honestly, thinking of your friends who had long since cut ties with her. "But for me... I need more time. You hurt me, Eunji. Really hurt me. And that’s not something I can forget overnight."

Eunji’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t argue. She nodded slowly, lips pressed together like she was holding back a hundred other apologies. “That’s fair,” she whispered. “And... I’m happy for you. And Bangchan. You look really happy.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t walk away, either.

And maybe that was enough — for now.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing back into the noise of the party. You stayed there for a beat, letting the moment settle in your chest, then spun on your heel and made a beeline for Bangchan.

He caught sight of you immediately, his whole face lighting up like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. "Hey," he said, pulling you back into his arms like you were gravity itself. "Everything okay?"

You slipped your arms around his neck, your heart finally settling. "Yeah."

His grin went lazy and warm, and he kissed you again, slow and certain, like you were home.

You were pretty sure your organs were about to revolt — heart somewhere in your throat, stomach twisted in knots, lungs forgetting how to breathe. Your hands trembled as you peeked through the velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the packed house. First row, all family. Behind them, a blur of students, teachers, and more faces than you wanted to count.

Seungmin was adding the final touches to his makeup with clinical calm, while Hyunjin stretched dramatically in the corner like he was about to run a marathon instead of hitting the stage.

You were ready — or as ready as someone could be when standing on the edge of a dream. The makeup they had given you was soft, radiant. Perfect for Seulgi — the wild, bright, untamable girl you’d spent months breathing life into. A character made of longing and light, all wild heart and messy hope. You’d love her instantly.

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

Then, right on cue, you felt him — warm arms sliding around your waist, steady and grounding, a kiss pressed to the top of your head like a silent anchor in the storm.

You leaned into him without thinking, soaking in the calm he carried like it was oxygen.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and full of awe. “My girl’s a star.”

And for a moment, everything stilled — nerves, noise, the chaos behind the curtain — like the whole world was holding its breath just for you.

You felt your face flush, your cheeks burning in that dizzying, weightless way that only came when someone made you feel so properly, soul-deep loved that it scrambled your entire system.

“I’m so nervous, I think I might faint,” you whispered, pressing a trembling hand to your stomach. The silky fabric of your dress did nothing to calm the storm underneath.

You peeked through the curtain again, heart stuttering at the packed audience. It looked endless. A sea of eyes. A million possible failures.

Bangchan gently cupped your chin, coaxing your gaze away from the chaos and back to him — steady, warm, certain.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and fierce in that quiet way of his. “You’re gonna walk out there and blow their minds. There’s not a single universe where this doesn’t go amazing — because it’s you. And you’re the best.”

It was stupid, how quickly your throat tightened. How fast your chest got all shaky, like his words had knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall and mess up the makeup Nahee had so carefully painted on you.

“Stop,” you whispered, biting back a wobbly smile. “You’re gonna make me cry and then everyone’s gonna think my character dies in act one.”

He laughed, quiet and warm, and you took a shaky breath. Because suddenly, you wanted to say something that had been burning at the edges of your mind for days.

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

“Guys! It’s time!” Miss Baek’s voice cut through the moment like a bell, bright and urgent as she clapped her hands, motioning everyone to gather backstage.

You stepped back, breath caught, the confession stuck in your throat. But you weren’t ready to let go of him just yet, so instead of finishing your sentence, you reached for his hand and pulled him into the small circle forming around the cast and crew.

Miss Baek stood in the center, her eyes gleaming with pride. “All right, everyone,” she said, voice a little breathless with excitement. “This is it. You’ve worked hard for this show. Now go out there and own it. I trust you — every single one of you. So... break a leg.”

You felt Bangchan’s thumb brush over your knuckles again, grounding you.

And even with your nerves still coiled tight in your chest, a flicker of something brighter pushed through — like maybe you could do this. Maybe you were ready.

Especially with him right there, holding your hand like he never planned to let go.

The curtain rose slowly and steady, gliding open with a faint hum that made your pulse spike. Lights warmed the stage with a golden hue, soft and rich, like the first rays of sun spilling through a window on a quiet morning. The theater was silent — not the heavy, awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that buzzed with anticipation. Like everyone was holding their breath at the same time.

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

Dressed in his costume — something timeless and simple — he looked completely at ease, the softest confidence in his posture as he took his place center stage. No theatrics. No build-up. Just him. And then he opened his mouth to sing.

It was like the world paused.

His voice slipped into the room like silk — clear, effortless, pure in that heart-wrenching kind of way that doesn’t just touch you, but clutches at something deep inside your chest. Notes floated from his mouth like a secret he trusted the whole room to keep. 

Someone in the third row audibly gasped. Someone else sniffled. And no one even cared about hiding it.

You could feel it ripple across the room — the moment where everyone realized this wasn’t just a student play. This was something real. Something alive.

And a huge part of that was Bangchan. He made a real effort to help.

You could see him in the sound booth, lit only by the glow of his equipment. His headset was on, hands gliding over the controls like he was conducting his own invisible symphony. Every rise and fall in Seungmin’s voice was perfectly balanced, wrapped in a sound that felt warm and cinematic.

The reverb was subtle, giving Seungmin's voice the echo of a cathedral without drowning him in it. The background instrumental, faded in at just the right moment, swelled like a heartbeat — quiet and steady — then soared.

The lighting shifted with the rhythm, delicate hues melting from gold to soft blue, and you knew that was Bangchan too. Timing everything. Perfecting everything. Making the show feel bigger than the stage it stood on.

The audience didn’t move. No one dared. It was like they were afraid that even a single breath might break the spell.

And when Seungmin hit the last note — long and gentle, the kind of note that settled into your bones — the silence lingered for one suspended second before the applause burst like a wave, loud and relentless, crashing against the walls of the theater.

You clapped with everyone else, heart pounding, chest full, eyes shining.

And somewhere backstage, you caught Bangchan glancing up from his booth just long enough to shoot you a grin.

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

The final, sweeping moment you’d been rehearsing in front of mirrors, empty classes, and late-night voice notes. And now, standing just behind the curtain with the theater buzzing like a live wire around you, it hits you all at once — the weight of it. The lights dimmed, the overture swelled, and your pulse was racing so hard it felt like it might echo through your mic.

You smoothed your dress with slightly trembling hands, eyes darting through the curtain gap to catch a glimpse of the full house. Your chest rose with a shaky inhale. 

“Hey—hey, wait,” a voice said, breathless.

You turned, confused — and there he was.

Wild-eyed, flushed, a little out of breath like he’d just run across the building — and completely not where he was supposed to be. “What are you—? You need to go,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be in the booth! I’m literally about to go on—”

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed your face and kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just lips on yours like it was the most natural, necessary thing in the world. And everything else — the voices, the music, the sheer panic clawing at your ribcage — melted into static. It was just him. Warm and real and grounding you in a moment that didn’t feel like it could possibly exist in real life.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far — his forehead pressed to yours, and his hands lingered like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Break a leg,” he whispered. Voice low. Serious.

You were about to respond, maybe something witty to cover how stunned you were “Thank—” but then he said it.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

Just like that. No build-up, no performance. Just soft and real and tossed at your feet like a match he was willing to watch burn.

Your breath caught.

You looked up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted — something in your chest cracked wide open, but the words stayed stuck behind your teeth. Not because you didn’t feel the same. God, you did love him back. But the moment had too much weight, too much emotion, and not enough time.

Someone offstage hissed a frantic “Places!” but neither of you moved.

Instead, you smiled. A little too wide. A little breathless. Tears covering your eyes.

And he got it. He didn’t ask for anything else. 

His entwined fingers slid unhurriedly, inch by inch, until the last touch. Then he backed away like it hurt to leave and vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there at all. 

You wanted to cry — not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. Being loved like this, so completely, felt like being wrapped in sunlight after a lifetime of gray. It was terrifying and beautiful and everything in between.

You never expected to fall for Bangchan. Not like this. Not so fully.

But somewhere between the late-night conversations, the lingering looks, and the quiet ways he held space for you, your heart cracked open — and he simply walked in.

And that was it. You were his. And he was already yours.

And then the curtain rose. The light hit your face. And you stepped into it like you were made for it.

And as the first line left your lips, steady and clear, you weren't just playing a part anymore.

You were living it — heart full, eyes bright, and finally, finally, not acting at all.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @ravengxbss @letrascafeymar @letrascafeymar @twentytwofour @pacha02 @skzaddictsincedebut @strayk1ds143 @micr0c0soms @vixy-vix

[peterparkouryo]

impossible to ignore you | ‹𝟹

‹𝟹

prompt; The boy from the train asks you out on a date.

warnings: disgusting amount of fluff and slight angst in beginning bcuz reader is delusional.

word count: 1k

a/n: twitter is my new addiction pls follow @/arvinsfav i'm tryna reach 1,000 followers ilyyy. also i am so so sorry this is so bad, i barely read fanfics now so my inspo of words and storytelling is kinda horrible bcuz of the writers block :( forgive me i promise to do better next time.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist

-

You found that school has always been a drag. No matter how many social events Midtown tried to throw at the student body, nothing could ever make you enjoy an eight hour torture of sitting through classes (lunch excluded). 

However, there was one good thing that made just a little bit of appreciation in you getting an education slightly important. 

Peter Parker.

After properly meeting him on the train a few weeks prior, you found yourself seeking him out, wanting to know whatever you could about him without making it stalkerish, or overall weird.

A couple of your friends mutual to the boy had told you how insanely sweet he was, and even though he has his disappearing moments, he still finds a way to be there when needed. To you, that's a certain admiration you revel in with anyone.

Sure the two of you talked here and there, but given your growing infatuation to the boy, its a more so awkward exchange than genuine chemistry. There were even times you had to ask yourself if you were the problem or if he's just not as people person as you thought he was.

For instance, today in Spanish Class, you were stuck on the Spanish word for 'Phenomenal', so naturally you ask the smartest person in the room for help, and since you were in a sort of acquaintance relationship with Peter, you turned and shot your question to him.

Peter's reaction to your question however was far from how he interacted with you the weeks before, and you felt something stir in your gut, a bad feeling almost. Not only did he half answer, but he lacked eye contact.

You read somewhere that during conversations, eye contact is a super important thing to have and it shows that a person enjoys talking to you, and they're hearing what you're saying by maintaining such an aspect.

Maybe the little overlydramatic side of you could be reaching and he might just be really shy, but it also made no sense, because Peter did seem like he liked your company, at least for a little while.

As your thoughts of what if's invade your mind, you walk down the hall after asking your math teacher if you may use the washroom (he made a dumb math joke before you left), you notice a familiar set of brown curls exit the boys' washroom, and you stop in your tracks just as he did.

You look him over in his blue Midtown sweatshirt, which he probably got from school spirit week, holding a hall pass from the detention classroom. 

"Hi." Peter says.

"Hi." You say back.

The strained silence set an unwanted tension between you both and Peter quietly fiddles with the makeshift pass in his hands before clearing his throat.

"You look nice today." He softly smiled at you and you blink in genuine confusion as the butterflies in your stomach flutter at his compliment.

"Thank you." You respond and awkwardly place your hands behind your back.

A few more seconds of quietness go by.

"I hope you know I'm not ignoring you on purpose, or—I don't want you to think I hate you or something." Peter explains, to your relief.

Being under the impression the boy hated you, or just fizzled out interest overtook your mind more than you'd like to admit.

All you could do is nod in response, thankful but still a little worried.

"It's just...I don't really know how to talk to you." Peter admits and continues, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I'm not mad at you or anything." You reassure, smiling in hopes he believes you.

Peter looks around in deep thought and takes a deep breath. You could feel his nervousness practically oozing from him.

"Look, I'm just going to say it because my aunt told me I should be more confident and upfront, no matter the outcome—" He rambles and you furrow your eyebrows with a confused smile. "I really like you, I know its technically been a few weeks, but I don't know..." Peter shrugs.

Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach listening to his words, hearing the boy you were so infatuated with and even asked around about openly admit to liking you. It was almost impossible to ignore the feeling of happiness rising in you.

"You like me?" You bite the bottom of your lip and grin.

"Well, yeah." Peter shows you a half smile.

"I like you too." You ultimately admit.

Peter's half smile turns into an even bigger one.

"You do? I mean—That's awesome, maybe..I could hopefully, successfully ask you on a date? If you want to go, not forcing you or anything." He watches and waits for your reaction.

You felt like you were in a dream and one simple pinch would wake you up from this fairytale.

"I would like that." You agree and you swear Peter's smile grows inhumanly larger.

"Okay, cool."

"Cool."

A more comfortable beat of silence goes by.

"I should probably get back to...dentition before the Coach think I skipped or something." Peter explains to which you nod in understanding.

"Right." You press your lips together as he starts to walk past you.

The boy stops in his tracks and turns to face you. "Is it okay if I take you to a science related museum for our date? Because I know some cool facts unless you think that's lame, then we could go to Delmar's or something, but if you don't like sandwiches either—" You stop him before he continues with his habit of rambling.

"Both is fine." You chuckle and Peter nods at your submission.

"Okay, both it is."

Peter turns around and unknowingly fails to notice you watch him just about skip his way back to detention and you smile at the adorable gesture.

Almost completely forgetting your bladder needed relief, the five minute conversation finally coming to an end, you make your way to the girl's washroom with a more confident pep in your step.

taglist:

@victoriousskylar @ietss @astrogirl0666 @hahehwjavaja @superlegend216 @b4tm4nn @imawhoreforu @sunsettee @myfangirlinessononeblog

[musedeluce]

Money "Troubles" (Sylus x Reader)

A/N: Happy Birthday Sylus! (This has been an Idea of mine for a while lol I just so happened to write it now) I've seen other, lovely fics where Sylus spends money on MC and wants them to spend his money on themselves. But personally the thought of spending someone else's money is so distasteful to me, I really hate the thought of it. My idea of Luxury and Decadence is the same as MC in this fic, so I wondered how the LI's would deal with that. (l do plan to do the others!) Anyway - Some Musings about money, a pragmatic MC who’s definitions of Luxury differ from Sylus’s and how he deals with that. This is more like small vignettes tied together and not a full fic, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“5 Million, otherwise they’ll think I’m broke.” Sylus’s deep voice sounded in your ear, and you couldn’t help but snort under your breath.

“Or they’ll think you’re stupid, for paying way more than it’s worth.” You whispered, knowing only he could hear it. But since it was his decision and his money, you bought the protocore for 5 million, ignoring the pit in your stomach at the thought of spending that much of someone else’s money. Little did you know, that small exchange would initiate a domino of events, a single thread in the tapestry of your relationship with Sylus.

・・・

Sylus sighed, looking down at his phone, the notification from his bank taunting him. Earlier, he had given you his card, insisting you go out and buy clothes for an upcoming event in the N109 Zone - Black market gala, information hub, the usual for his line of work. You would be accompanying him of course, as your goals aligned. He made sure of that. Apparently, the implication that there was no limit to what you could spend was lost on you. In fact, he wanted you to get whatever expensive designer clothes and accessories your heart desired. Which is why the notification that you spent 187 dollars at a thrift store bothered him so. When you arrived for the mission prep at his place, he took the opportunity to tease you.

“187 dollars? Who knew you had such expensive tastes, Kitten.” It backfired for him, though, as you winced.

“I’m sorry, I tried to keep the cost as low as possible. I can pay you back!” Sylus internally facepalmed. There was no way he was going to have you pay back that paltry amount, especially when it had been such a battle to get you to use his card for this in the first place. He only succeeded when he framed it as work expenses, as if he had hired you, and listed out all the practical reasons for you to use his card, such as making sure your purchase history couldn’t be linked to activity in the N109 zone. (Which was why you mostly used cash when you where there.)

He had to admit though, that your money sense was impressive. The outfit you had managed to put together from the thrift store was absolutely stunning. Everyone around you would be intimidated and impressed by you, as they should be. It probably would have cost at least 2,000 dollars, designer label and brand new. He supposed the cost didn’t really matter as long as you were happy, but he ached to see you in the lap of luxury, as he thought you deserved. As he looked at you though, he was love-struck. Sylus felt incredibly lucky to be at your side, and happy that you wanted him there.

・・・

Concerned, you look at Sylus, who’s expression is displeased, as if he had just swallowed a lemon. Raising an eyebrow you asked him - “Are you alright?”

“Sweetie, you live on how much a month?” He was appalled, and you didn’t help the situation by misunderstanding the reason for his dismay.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s really low, all things considered. With my hunter’s salary it’s easily doable and I have enough to put in savings, an emergency fund and for fun afterwards.” Your smile is radiant as you continue. “I’m grateful to be in a comfortable position.” A smile grows across Sylus’s face in response, because he really does admire you and is proud of the work you do. He just thinks you deserve any luxury you could ever want.

“Of course you have everything handled. I’d expect nothing less of you, kitten.”

・・・

The crux of the matter was, of course, that you and Sylus had very different ideas of luxury and decadence. To you, things like buying the more expensive foods while grocery shopping, splurging on small treats, and sometimes going out were all luxuries to you. But for him, things like a private chef, the newest model motorcycles, designer clothes, state of the art technology, and so on were all luxuries that he wanted to share with you.

His least favorite words to hear from your mouth are “I don’t need it.” You say it almost all the time when he tries to spend his money on you. It’s not a lie though, you genuinely are refusing his attempts to buy you some of these things because you truly do not need or want them. But sometimes, you graciously accept them. He loved it when you did. It made him feel wanted and accepted, as well as triumphant because he felt that you were receiving what you deserved.

・・・

The key was to figure out the common denominators when you accepted his gifts, which was easy enough as Sylus was a smart man, and one who paid particular attention to you. It was a fun game he played with himself, teasing you in the process.

You almost never turned down gifts, as long as you didn’t see him buy them, and as long as you didn’t feel like it was excessive. A single expensive bottle of a perfume you loved? A single set of jewelry? Small treats? Expensive dinners and outings he invited you to? All of those you’d let him pay, and accept. Buying the company that makes the perfume or all the jewelry he thought would suit you? Not accepted.

Every time he tried to get you to use his card it was a battle. You’d almost always refuse, only acquiescing if he framed it as necessary for work or as something you could do in order to help him.

You were loath to spend more for things that you thought they were worth. A designer name meant nothing to you. Multiple versions of something when you only needed one? Out of the question.

It seemed to come down to a balance, anything he provided seemed to be fine as long as it wasn’t something that made you feel obligated, or manipulated, something you thought he might use against you. (Not that he would, but you, your memories gone, didn’t know that.) The two of you were still learning about each other, it just so happened that he knew more right now.

・・・

It was simple - all he had to do was treat you as you deserved, like his most treasured connection, his partner, equal in all things and deserving only the best. He’d give you gifts that you would accept, things you found useful, things you wanted, never making you feel trapped. It was all up to you. Eventually you’d get used to it, and eventually he’d make sure you rose your standards, and wouldn’t question when he treated you to only the best. You’d come to expect it, as you should, he’d make sure of that. Sylus had resolved to be with you, his partner, his equal and he would always treat you like the treasured person you were to him, who deserved only the best that he could offer, happy to spend his days with you, and that would never change.

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[lucysarah1875]

I headcanon the mounting spring MC using some sexual terms not knowing they're, well, sexual due to her upbringing, and just casually using them with Levi while he's just flabbergasted. Example 1:

"Can you give me backshots?"

"...what?!"

"Back massage? I have a terrible ache from riding in the cart."

"..."

Example 2:

"Stop being so stubborn and let me give you head!"

"Excuse me?!"

"Head? You know, like advice or opinion?"

"What the actual fuck are you talking about? Don't say that to anyone else."

Example 3:

"Oh, I'm really craving a good creampie right now. Can you arrange for it?"

Levi, trying not to smirk, "I'll give you as many as you want next spring."

"???"

And maybe she heard something about husbands giving their wives "facials" or "pearl necklaces" and asks him about it? And another joke that you added in Holy ground about "eating out" and "making out", yeah that was really good as well XD I absolutely love "miscommunication" and "misunderstandings" like these hehe

HAHAHAHAHA You know... great minds think alike because THIS IS AN SCENE OF THE UPCOMING CHAPTER HAHA:

Levi shoved the itchy gray blanket higher over his shoulder with a decisive tug, like he was drawing a line—marking the end of whatever pushy conversation she thought she could keep going. His bare legs stuck out the bottom—he’d long given up on staying fully dressed in this godforsaken heat, modesty has lost the battle—but ditching the blanket altogether felt like surrendering to the cold. That was too much. Some things just made sense, even if they didn’t.

One arm folded beneath his head, his face turned away from her, eyes squeezed shut with deliberate force, his brows deeply furrowed. He wasn’t asleep—anyone could tell—but he was clearly committed to faking it. Or at least, forcing the night to end by sheer will. Mostly, he was hoping she’d get the message.

“Levi…” she called out again.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, each word bitten off and heavy with exhaustion. Her persistence was wearing him down, strand by strand, like a fraying rope.

“But I need to ask you something…” She shifted upright slightly. Her voice had that unmistakable pouty tone—he could practically hear the lip quivering.

“Ask me in the morning.”

“But—” she protested, voice smaller now, embarrassed.

He groaned into the blanket. “For the love of—what could possibly be so important that it can’t wait till sunrise?”

Her voice dipped into a sheepish murmur. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

His brow twitched. Levi let out a longer breath, then scoffed. “And it just had to be asked at three in the damn morning? In a tent?”

“…Kinda.”

The awkward silence that followed was laced with too much emotion to ignore. He cracked one eye open and glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting up now, fiddling with her fingers and looking away.

‘…She’s kinda cute like that,’ he thought grimly, and instantly regretted it.

“I wanted to ask you in private,” she murmured.

Levi propped himself up on an elbow, gaze sharpening. Whatever this was, she clearly wasn’t going to drop it.

“What?” he asked, already annoyed, but clearly listening.

“Well, since you're my husband now and all… I guess it should be you who teaches me.” She was dancing around the words like they were hot coals, and that irritated him even more. He clicked his tongue. “I want to ride.”

His brain shut off.

“…What?”

“It was Hange idea!”

It’s just that his brain had already gone places. Dangerous, sweaty, deeply inappropriate places.

“I want you, as my husband, to teach me how to ride. I don’t really know how to do it, and I’m kinda ashamed, but I thought if I felt a little bit in control, I might be willing to try new things—”

Her awkward stammering was cut off by his sharp interruption, voice rough and suddenly tight.

“Riding what?” he cut in, voice suddenly dry and a little panicked, because his brain was already passing down all the decisions and thinking to his other head.

‘She’s that ready? I mean… I do prefer to be on top, but—shit, for a virgin, she’s eager but I guess it's easier for a virgin to see how much deep they want to go? And here? In a tent? I mean, I won’t be the first to do it like this, but… damn, I thought she'd want a bed at least.’

‘Not that I’m complaining, though.’

“A horse,” she said flatly, frowning at him like he was the idiot. What else is there to ride?”

All the tingling heat rushing down his spine screeched to a stop. His body had been seconds away from betraying him—his scent, his posture, everything had been more than ready to jump the gun. He was even ashamed of how quickly his own body betrayed him giving away a “I’m more than ready,” scent.

“Well,” he muttered under his breath, “I could think of a few things…”

She sniffed. “Wait. Why do you smell like that?”

“Go to bed, for fuck’s sake,” he growled, flipping back over and yanking the blanket high enough to bury half his face.

“Are you going to teach me or not?” A muffled thud followed, along with her yelp: “Don’t hit me with a pillow!”

“Shut up!” Levi hissed. “You’re gonna wake the whole damn camp!”

I AM 100% taking your ideas into consideration and they will be debated with the council (me).

[maddie0101]

game on

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it nonny ! ❤︎

summary: you’re octavia’s best friend, but lately, bellamy’s been looking at you differently. you’ve flirted with him for ages, but he’d always brush it off. after the tragedy at mount weather, he starts flirting back—and now, you’re both caught up in a dangerous game of who will break first.

warnings: sexual tension, teasing, smut.ᐟᅟ (mdni), relentless flirting, bell finally caves, p in v, season 2 au, dirty talk, bell is hot in this fic, enemies to friends to lovers, language, angst!!, slowburn, some violence, hurt/comfort, bell and reader are both very bold in this lmfao, fluff (if you squint).

word count: 7.2k

note: this is somewhat of a s2 au? clarke isn't really mentioned after mount weather, so I made the fic between seasons 2 & 3. camp jaha is more like a small village now. (also, ik it's arkadia but they didn't name it that till s3, I think)

You met Octavia in lockup.

Both of you were young, too pissed off, and too stubborn for your own good. She was thrown in for existing and you were thrown in for fighting back.

What started as eye rolls across the cell block turned into quiet conversations through the walls, then whispers in the dark when the guards weren’t paying attention. Somewhere in between shared rage and shitty food, she became your best friend.

By the time the Ark decided to hurl y'all to the ground, the two of you were damn near inseparable. You always said if you were going to die, you were at least going to do it next to your best friend.

Octavia was the only person who looked at you and didn’t see a case file. Everyone else saw a troublemaker—another angry teenager with too much attitude and not enough fear. You fought back too hard, asked too many questions, said fuck you when the rules didn’t make sense. You’d been in and out of lockup since you were twelve. No parents worth remembering. No future worth chasing. Just time.

Over time, you found out why she was in there. She never outright said it but she didn’t need to. You pieced it together in the quiet. In the way she looked over her shoulder when she thought no one was watching. In the way she talked about “him”—her brother, Bellamy—like he was the only thing that ever made her feel safe.

And that's when you decided you’d be the second.

You became like a sister to her. Her shield. Her partner in crime. You picked fights with guards so she wouldn’t have to. Got extra rations by trading favors. When she had nightmares, you’d talk her down until she could breathe again. You weren’t soft, you never had been but for her, you tried.

You were rough around the edges, and she needed that. Needed someone who wouldn’t pity her, wouldn’t treat her like she was fragile. She was the first person who made you believe that maybe you weren’t alone in this floating cage of metal and bullshit.

So yeah, when they loaded the two of you into the drop ship, you didn’t say goodbye. You just sat shoulder to shoulder and said, “Well… if we’re gonna die, at least we’re doing it the fun way.”

Octavia laughed like it was the end of the world. You smiled like it already was. But then the ground hit. Hard and fast and unforgiving.

And that’s when you met Bellamy.

The moment your boots hit the ground, you knew you weren’t on the Ark anymore. The air was heavier, but fresh. The trees looked too tall, too real. There was blood on your lip from the rough landing, and yet—none of it mattered the second your eyes found him.

He was standing just outside the ramp, barking orders, eyes sweeping over the chaos like he’d already claimed this place. Towering over half the teenagers scrambling around him, jaw locked tight. His hair was pushed back off his forehead, and sweat was clinging to his throat like it belonged there. He was gorgeous. And you were drooling a little bit.

You didn’t mean to stare.

But he did too. Just for a second.

A flicker of something sharp and heated passed between you. Like he didn’t expect you. Like you didn’t expect him. Like the ground had shifted a little more when you looked at each other.

Then, right when your stomach dipped in that oh shit kind of way, Octavia grabbed your hand. “Come on,” she said, tugging you towarda the hot guy, her eyes lighting up like the sun just rose for the first time. “I want you to meet someone.”

The guy turned as you approached, eyes landing on his sister first, softening for a half second in a way you never expected. Then he looked at you again.

“Bellamy,” Octavia beamed, wrapping her arms around him, “this is my best friend. The one I told you about.”

You watched the flicker in his eyes—the way he clocked you head to toe, like he was trying to figure out what kind of threat you were. Or maybe something else. Maybe he was trying not to think about the fact that he’d already looked too long.

You stuck out your hand. “So you’re the big brother.”

He didn’t take your hand. Just nodded, slow and unreadable, voice low and guarded. “You’re the one she never shut up about.”

You smirked, unfazed. “Hope I lived up to the hype.”

His mouth twitched like it wanted to be a smile but didn’t quite make it. “We’ll see.”

Octavia rolled her eyes and gave your arm a shove. “Play nice, you two.”

You didn’t look away from him. And he didn’t look away from you. And just like that, something started, unspoken and simmering, tucked beneath the dirt and the sky and the smell of ash still clinging to the wind.

You didn’t know what it was yet, but you knew it was going to be trouble.

──────────────────────

From that day forward, you and Bellamy bickered and fought. Not full-on screaming matches though, you’d come close once or twice—but enough to make people look the other way when you were within five feet of each other. You questioned every plan he barked out, called him a dictator to his face, and made it very clear you weren’t afraid of him.

He hated that. Or… at least he acted like he did.

You sided with Clarke most of the time. Not because you thought she had all the answers, but because Bellamy’s bullshit rubbed you the wrong way. The power trip, the bravado, the way he threw orders like they were law. Something about it felt off—like he was overcompensating for something he didn’t want anyone to see.

And maybe that pissed you off because deep down, you knew exactly what that felt like.

But then you found out the truth—what he did to get on the drop ship. How he’d risked everything to protect Octavia. How he’d become a fugitive the second the Ark realized he was missing. And suddenly… he didn’t seem like such a bastard after all.

He was still a pain in your ass. Still sharp-tongued and stubborn and so infuriating. But he wasn’t just some power-hungry asshole trying to run the camp—he was just a guy trying to keep the people he loved alive, even if it meant becoming the villain in someone else’s story.

And after that, the fighting slowed down. The sharp words turned into sarcasm. The biting tone gave way to smirks. You’d toss a comment over your shoulder and catch the way his lips would twitch, like he was trying not to smile. He’d give you a hard time about your attitude, but you could hear the difference in his voice. The edge was gone.

You started to see him in the quiet moments too. Not just the leader, but the person beneath it—the way he’d stay up all night fixing fencing when no one asked him to. The way he carried the guilt of every death like it was stitched into his skin. The way he looked at Octavia like she was the only part of him still pure.

And slowly, carefully, he started letting you in.

It wasn’t some big confession. It was small things—little glimpses, a joke here, a story there. He’d ask you where you were from, what you remembered about the Ark, how the hell you and Octavia managed to survive lockup without killing someone. You’d fire something smartass back, and he’d just shake his head, fighting a smile.

But through all of it, from day one on the ground—he protected you. First, because you were Octavia’s best friend. That was the excuse. That was the line.

But somewhere along the way, that stopped being the whole truth.

He started looking for you first when things went south. Standing closer than necessary when strangers passed through camp. You caught him watching you during arguments, after fights, when you came back from patrol a little too scraped up. And when you asked why, he’d shrug it off with that low, gruff, “Just keeping an eye on you.”

You’d smirk, pretending not to hear the weight behind it. Pretending not to notice how his gaze lingered just a little too long. Because whatever this was, it was walking a fine line. He wasn’t just Octavia’s big brother anymore. And you weren’t just the best friend he was supposed to ignore.

You’d always flirted with him in that quiet, dangerous way that made people raise their eyebrows and Bellamy roll his eyes.

It wasn’t obvious, not really. Just little things. A brush of your shoulder against his when you passed. A sly comment tossed his way when the group was tense. A smirk you reserved only for him.

He’d call you a pain in the ass and you'd call him a buzzkill.

But you both knew it was more than that. You never crossed the line. Not really. Because you were Octavia’s best friend. And because Bellamy Blake didn’t do feelings. Especially not when the world was burning around you.

But still—you flirted. Even when he gave you nothing in return but narrowed eyes and that signature, “You done yet?” tone.

Especially then, and if you told yourself it was just for fun, just to get under his skin, well… maybe that was easier than admitting the truth.

But everything shifted the night you went missing.

It happened fast. One second you were at the edge of Tondc, just outside the walls, taking a moment to yourself after another long day of prepping for war, and the next—you were gone. No one saw them grab you. No one heard you scream.

By the time Octavia noticed you hadn’t come back, it was too late.

They’d taken you to Mount Weather.

──────────────────────

Bellamy didn’t take the news well.

Clarke told him right after Finn’s funeral, her voice tight, eyes red, and for the first time in days, his whole body went still. “They have her.”

That was all she had to say. Bellamy's jaw clenched and his shoulders squared. He didn’t even ask how it happened. Didn’t say a word, really. Just agreed to going into the mountain with Lincoln. Now, more determined than ever.

He remembered the way you joked with him just a few days earlier. How you’d bumped his shoulder walking past and said, “Careful, Blake. I’m starting to think you like having me around.”

He’d scoffed, muttered something like, “Delusional,” and kept walking, even though he felt his heart hammer against his ribs like it was trying to claw its way out.

And now you were gone. And if he had to burn the mountain down to get you back, he would.

No hesitation. No second thoughts. Because you weren’t just Octavia’s best friend anymore.

You were his.

──────────────────────

Bellamy hadn’t seen you once the entire time he’d been inside Mount Weather.

He’d looked down every hallway he crept through, every lab he passed, every group of terrified faces locked behind glass—he searched for you. Hoped for a glimpse. A whisper. Anything—

But still, nothing.

And he told himself maybe that was good. Maybe they hadn’t gotten to you yet. But that was until the moment Monty pulled up the live feed from the control room, fingers flying across the keys, screens flickering to life—one after the other.

Then he saw you.

Strapped down, bruised, pale as a ghost—barely conscious.

His heart stopped.

You were lying on a medical bed, skin waxy and bloodless, arms pinned at your sides. You looked smaller somehow. Fragile and hollowed out. Your eyes fluttered just once, trying to fight, but your body was so far gone.

Clarke sucked in a sharp breath beside him. “Oh my god…”

Bellamy didn’t hear her. His whole body was locked in place, eyes fixed on the screen, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. “What room is that?” he asked, voice low and sharp like a blade. “Where is she?”

Monty’s hands shook as he tapped through feeds. “Cage moved her. She’s in—shit. They’re prepping her again.”

“She won’t survive another round,” Clarke said.

Bellamy already knew that. He could see it. Your chest was rising, barely. Your lips were dry and cracked. They’d taken too much—drilled too deep. There was no way you’d make it through another extraction. You were already halfway to gone.

But then you screamed. The sound so raw, so real, it cut through the air like shrapnel. It came from the tiny speakers above the monitor, distorted by static—but Bellamy heard it. He felt it. And it hit him like a fucking bullet straight to the heart.

“Monty,” Bellamy barked. “Is it ready?!”

“I’m almost done—”

Another scream cut through the air and Bellamy’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. You were arching off the table now, or trying to. One of the techs held you down as the drill started to hum. And for the first time since landing on the ground, Bellamy panicked “Monty!”

“Got it!” Monty shouted. “You’re good—outside oxygen flow is ready,”

Bellamy didn’t wait. He couldn't. Him and Clarke grabbed the handles and pulled the lever down together.

The room shook as the outside air flooded in. Monitors flatlined. Systems failed. The screen cut out—but not before Bellamy saw the med techs start to drop, one by one, choking on the very air that was supposed to keep them safe.

He didn’t flinch or look away. He only stood there, chest heaving, jaw clenched, hands still wrapped around the lever like he’d never let go.

Because he didn’t just do it for the hundred. He did it for you.

──────────────────────

The moment the doors slid open, Bellamy didn’t wait for clearance. He sprinted. His boots skidded across blood-slick floors, past bodies of guards and doctors, and when he found the room—the one from the screen—he nearly collapsed at the sight of you.

You were still strapped down. Motionless. A dull red smeared across your arm where they’d started drilling. Your eyes were barely open, just slivers of hazy light in a face drained of everything but pain.

“Hey,” he said, voice hoarse, cracking as he stumbled to your side. “Hey—look at me.”

Your eyes twitched. And then slowly, god, so fucking slowly—you turned your head toward him. A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips. “Took you long enough.”

Something in Bellamy shattered in that moment. He dropped to his knees beside you, hands cupping your face without even thinking. “Jesus, you’re an idiot,” he choked out, brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead. “Do you have any idea what you put me through?”

“You love the drama,” you rasped, blinking up at him like he was the only thing tethering you to this world.

And for a second, neither of you spoke. Just breathed. Until the door banged open again.

“Y/N?!” Octavia’s voice cracked through the hall like a whip and she rushed in, eyes wide and wild, skidding to a stop as soon as she saw you.

“Oh my god.” She dropped to the other side of the bed, grabbing your hand with both of hers. “Are you—are you okay? I thought—I thought they—”

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “I’m okay, O.”

But you weren’t. Not really. And they both knew it.

Bellamy met Octavia’s eyes over you, and something passed between them, something silent, heavy, and full of fear. They’d both almost lost you. And neither of them could pretend that didn’t mean something.

──────────────────────

As they got you back to Camp Jaha on a stretcher, your body too weak to walk, your pulse faint and flickering like a dying ember. Abby and the med team rushed in the second you arrived, but even surrounded by people, Bellamy never left your side.

Not once. He stood in the corner of medical, arms crossed, jaw locked tight as Abby worked. Watching. Waiting. His fingers itched to hold yours again, just to make sure you were real—but he didn’t move.

He couldn’t. Because his chest was filled with this awful, unbearable pressure—like everything he’d buried since the day you landed had finally clawed its way to the surface and was refusing to go back.

You could’ve died. You almost did. And the fucked up part was…it wasn’t just fear that crushed him when he saw you on that screen. He realized he was in love with you.

He’d spent years pretending he wasn’t capable of it, convinced himself he didn’t deserve it. But now? Now it was too loud to ignore.

So he sat by your bedside while you slept, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of your chest.

And in the silence of that makeshift medical bay, Bellamy made a promise to himself he didn’t say out loud: He was never letting you go again.

──────────────────────

You were still recovering. The med bay had cleared you for light activity, but the deep ache in your bones hadn’t gone anywhere.

Some nights, when the camp was quiet and everyone else was asleep, you’d lie awake and feel the phantom pain—like the drills were still in your spine, like your marrow was still being taken drop by drop.

But Bellamy made it easier. He wasn’t soft about it—he didn’t hover or coddle you. But he was there. Constantly.

Helping you walk when your legs gave out. Sitting with you when you couldn’t stomach food. Throwing that dumb smirk your way every time you grumbled about the taste of the medicine Abby forced down your throat.

He kept you grounded. He kept you here. And somewhere in that haze of recovery and exhaustion, the two of you slipped back into your old rhythm. The bickering. The sarcasm. The late-night banter over who had the worst luck since landing on the ground.

Except now… now Bellamy was flirting back.

And not in a joking, half-assed kind of way—no, he was actually leaning into it. Smirking at your comments, throwing little teasing remarks right back at you, giving you that look that made your stomach flip if you thought about it too long. It was weird as hell, honestly.

Because for the longest time, he never did that. He used to shut it down, gently but clearly, like he didn’t want to hurt your feelings but also didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. And you got it—you weren’t stupid.

He wasn’t into you. You were just Octavia’s best friend, and now apparently one of his best friends too. That was the box he put you in. So yeah, whatever the hell this was, it threw you off.

The first time it happened, you thought you were hearing things.

You were sitting by the campfire, rubbing at your sore shoulder while Bellamy passed out rations.

When he dropped yours into your lap, you grinned and said, “Aw, look at that—feeding me now? If you wanted to take care of me, Blake, you could’ve just said so.”

Normally, he’d roll his eyes. Maybe throw a snarky comment your way and move on. But this time? He paused. Just for a second. Then he leaned down, close enough that you felt the warmth of him against your cheek, and murmured, “Don’t tempt me.”

Then walked off like he hadn’t just short-circuited your fucking brain.

You sat there for a solid thirty seconds, staring down at the food in your lap like it had personally offended you.

What the hell was that? A joke? A heat-of-the-moment thing? You shook it off.

But then it kept happening and you didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.

A few days ago, you made a crack about him always watching your back on patrol, said something like “You sure you’re not just into the view?”

And instead of brushing it off like usual, Bellamy looked you dead in the eyes and said “Maybe I am.”Cool as anything. No smirk. No eye-roll. Just… said it and then kept walking. Leaving you standing there in the middle of the damn woods like your brain had shorted out and needed to reboot.

And ever since then, he’d been doing it more. Pushing back. Saying shit that made your stomach twist and heat crawl up your spine, and worst of all—he wasn’t backing down. Not even a little.

Which is how you ended up where you were now: sitting by the fire, pretending to sharpen your blade while Bellamy passed behind you. Close enough to brush against your back, to set your nerves on fire.

“You keep hovering like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like being near me,” you said, voice light, teasing.

Bellamy didn’t miss a beat. “What if I do?”

You looked up at him, blade in your lap, heart doing stupid somersaults in your chest. He smiled...smiled. Not that fake shit either. A real one—Lazy, dangerous, full of something you hadn’t seen in his eyes when he looked at you before.

And that was when you made the decision. Fine. If he wanted to play, you’d play that game too, and better.

You’d been dancing around this for months, always throwing your little lines and watching them bounce off that brick wall he’d built around himself.

But now? Now—he was letting things slip through the cracks and you were going to wedge yourself into every single one.

So, the next morning, you waited until the camp was half-awake, Bellamy still pulling on his jacket near the weapons rack. You wandered over casually, like you weren’t already keyed up and ready to stir shit. You leaned against the post beside him, arms crossed, that lazy smirk already forming.

“Early start today?” you asked, voice light.

He grunted, checking the straps on his pack. “Someone’s gotta make sure we don’t all die out there.”

You hummed. “And here I thought you just liked spending time with me.”

He looked up, narrowed his eyes just a little. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and you caught it.

You stepped closer, voice dropping just enough to make him freeze with the last strap still halfway buckled. “Come on, Bell. You flirt, I flirt back… you flirt again. That’s kinda how it goes now, isn’t it?”

Bellamy turned to you, jaw set, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to find the trick behind your smile. “You think that’s what this is?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I think you like the attention.”

He stepped in, just slightly and the air between you thickened. “I think you do too.”

God, you hated how your breath caught at that. Just a little hitch in your throat. Nothing big, nothing anyone would notice—but he did. Of course he did.

You recovered fast, smirking as you reached past him to snag a knife off the rack, brushing his hand just enough to make his fingers twitch. “Guess we’ll see who breaks first, huh?”

And with that, you walked off, blade twirling in your hand like the whole damn thing hadn’t just made your pulse spike.

The game was on now and you had every intention of winning.

──────────────────────

It started out like any other sparring session.

The usual crowd was gone, which left the training area mostly empty. Bellamy had offered to spar earlier, and you’d jumped at the chance.

You said it was to stay sharp. But you lied. You liked the way he looked during training—sweaty, flushed, half-wild. His curls stuck to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his chest, arms flexing with every movement. And most of all, you loved getting under his skin.

“Focus,” Bellamy warned, blocking your strike with a dull thwack of wood against wood.

You smirked, catching him off guard with a spin, ducking low and kicking his legs out from under him.

He hit the ground with a heavy grunt and before he could recover, you were on him. Straddling his hips, staff pressed across his collarbone, pinning him down. “Oh, I’m focused,” you said, breathless but grinning. “You just underestimated me. Again.”

Bellamy stared up at you, chest rising fast, hands gripping the dirt. His eyes dropped for a second—just a flash—to your face, to your French braids pulled tight, the strands messy at the crown from the fight.

God, he thought you were beautiful. Dangerously beautiful.

And you saw it, you fucking saw it, because your eyes sparkled with something wicked and knowing, and before he could stop you—you shifted. Subtle. Just a small, slow roll of your hips against his.

Not enough to cross a line but just enough to wreck him, make him go insane.

Bellamy's hands clenched tighter into the dirt and his breath hitched hard in his throat. And then, fuck—he groaned, low and guttural—like it had been torn right out of him.

“Something wrong?” you asked, feigning innocence, but your voice was soft, sultry, but lethal.

His dark eyes snapped back to yours, jaw clenched, lips parted like he was about to say something but couldn’t figure out what. You could feel how tense he was beneath you, every muscle pulled tight. One second more and he might’ve snapped it himself.

He gritted out, “Get off me.”

Your brow raised. “Why? Afraid you’ll lose?”

“I already fucking lost.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. You froze for half a second, long enough for the heat to crawl up your spine. And then you smirked. But this time, it was softer. Less teasing, a little more dangerous.

But you didn’t move, not yet. You just leaned in, voice low near his ear. “Then maybe you should stop trying to win.” And just like that, you rolled off him and stood up like nothing had happened. Tossed the staff to the side—dusted your hands off like it was any other day.

Bellamy didn’t move right away. He just laid there, breath shallow, staring at the sky like it might help him cool down. But It wouldn’t.

Because now? The game had changed, and he wasn't going to let you win.

──────────────────────

It started with a stupid knot in your shoulder—and ended with you damn near falling apart in Bellamy Blake’s hands.

You were sitting by the fire, exhausted from the day’s patrol, your back screaming from the gear you’d hauled and the tension you hadn’t stretched out yet.

The camp buzzed around you—murmured conversations, clanging metal, the occasional burst of laughter. But it all blurred out when Bellamy dropped down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed.

You’d shot him a tired smirk. “If I die from a snapped spine, tell Octavia it was the pack’s fault.”

He raised a brow. “Dramatic.”

You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to roll your shoulder. “I have a whole-ass mountain growing between my blades. Go fuck yourself.”

Bellamy didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you for a beat, his eyes dark, unreadable, and then shifted behind you without warning. The weight of his knees settled on either side of you as he moved in, solid and warm and suddenly way too close.

“Bell,” you warned, stiffening. “What are you—”

His hands landed on your shoulders and everything in your body short-circuited. “Relax,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, breath brushing your neck. “I’ve got it.”

You were going to make a joke, something smartass-y about him finally wanting to touch you—but then his fingers dug in. Deep, expertly—right on the knot and You exhaled a sharp breath. More like a gasp you thought but it was embarrassingly close to a moan.

Your body went still, spine arching instinctively toward the pressure.

Bellamy didn’t comment. Didn’t even flinch. Just kept going like he hadn’t just heard you make a noise you usually reserve for way more private moments.

His thumbs worked in slow, agonizing circles. His palms were steady, warm, grounding. Every time his fingers dragged down your shoulder blade, you had to fight not to lean back against him, not to let your head drop and fucking purr like a cat.

“Still dramatic?” he asked, low against your ear.

You swallowed hard. “You’re… not bad at this.”

He chuckled, and the sound vibrated through your back like he’d poured it straight into your skin. Then his hands shifted, one drifting just slightly lower. His fingers brushed the edge of your collarbone—slowly, and your stomach flipped.

A small sound escaped you but this time, you definitely couldn’t blame it on the knot. It was a soft half a sigh, half a moan. And it slipped out before you could kill it.

Bellamy’s hands paused for a fraction of a second and then he leaned in just enough to let you feel the grin in his voice. “Didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, tone damn near wicked.

You swallowed again. “You didn’t.”

You didn’t dare turn around. You knew what you’d find if you did—those dark eyes watching you too closely. That smug, infuriating look he gets when he knows he’s gotten under your skin.

Instead, you muttered, “You’re lucky I’m tired, Blake. If I had any energy, I’d knock you flat on your ass.”

His hands slid off your shoulders—finally, but not before his fingers gave one last, lazy squeeze to your waist. “Looking forward to it,” he said. “Night, princess.”

And then he was gone, leaving you buzzingc flushed—ruined.

Fine. If he wanted to start this game, you were going to end it.

──────────────────────

The party was loud, messy—exactly the kind of chaos Jasper thrived on. There were half-drunk kids dancing around the fire, someone already passed out near the speakers, and enough stolen booze passed around to dull the ache in all their bones.

You weren’t drunk. Just a little buzzed, a little bold. Just enough to stop pretending like Bellamy Blake wasn’t looking at you like he wanted to burn the clothes off your body with just his eyes. He stood near the drinks table, talking to Miller and Harper, but his gaze kept flicking to you.

And that’s when you noticed it. His belt was undone—fly half open, the edges of his shirt barely covering it like it had come loose without him realizing.

You smirked, crossed the space between you like you had no business doing it, like you weren’t already pushing the line between teasing and dangerous.

“Bell,” you said, casual, leaning in just enough to make him stiffen, “you’re kinda coming undone.”

“Huh?” His brows furrowed, the drink in his hand sloshing a little as he glanced down. “Shit.”

But before he could move, your hands were already there. You reached down, slowly, deliberately, and grabbed the open ends of his belt. The conversation around you died a little. You didn’t care. You didn’t look up at him as you looped the leather through, tightened it with one practiced tug, and zipped up his fly with a soft, satisfying sound.

“There,” you said, straightening up, smirking just a bit. “Wouldn’t want you walking around indecent.”

Bellamy was frozen. Tense. His jaw clenched, and his fingers gripped the cup in his hand like he was trying not to crush it.

You turned, completely unbothered, already walking away—until a hand grabbed your wrist, rough but careful. You barely had time to react before he tugged you past the crowd, past the music and firelight and straight out into the cool night air behind one of the abandoned cabins.

He didn’t say a word. Just pressed you back against the side of the cabin, eyes dark and wild like he was two seconds from losing every bit of control he had left. “You think that shit’s funny?” he rasped, voice low and wrecked.

You tilted your head, playing dumb. “Think what’s funny?”

He stepped closer—close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips. “You. Tearing me apart in front of everyone. Touching me like that like it’s nothing.”

“It was nothing,” you lied, breath hitching. “You looked like you needed help.”

He gave a dry, disbelieving laugh. “You think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing?”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?”

His eyes searched yours, burning hot and furious and so full of want it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. “Because I wanted to see how far you’d push,” he said. “And now you’ve gone too far.”

You swallowed, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a damn marathon. His eyes never left yours. Not for a second. Not even as his hand slid from your wrist to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp, your back hitting the wood behind you with a soft thud.

You could barely breathe, barely think, and it was a miracle your knees hadn’t buckled under the weight of how he was looking at you—like he was starving. Like he’d waited too long. Like he was one second away from ruining you in the best goddamn way possible.

“I thought you liked it,” you managed, your voice low, shaky. “The game.”

His hand moved, tracing slowly along your side, up your ribs, stopping just under the curve of your chest. Not touching—not yet—but close enough to burn. “I did,” he said, voice rough. “But now I’m done playing.”

Your breath caught again, a tiny, involuntary sound slipping from you and his eyes snapped down to your lips.

And that was it— the breaking point. His mouth crashed into yours like he couldn’t take it another fucking second—like holding back had become unbearable. It was messy, desperate, needy—his hands gripped your waist like he needed to feel every inch of you under them, like he’d been dreaming about this and was finally allowed to have it.

You kissed him back just as hungrily, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, not caring how out of control this was.

It was Bellamy. It was finally Bellamy. The man who acted like you were just Octavia’s best friend, like you didn’t get under his skin, like he wasn’t staring at your mouth every time you smiled. But you knew now. You felt it now.

When his mouth tore from yours, it was only to drag hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, his breath ragged against your skin as your hips pressed together in a slow, unconscious grind.

“You think I don’t see what you’ve been doing?” he murmured against your throat, voice gravel and heat. “You think I haven’t been fucking dying every time you smiled at me like that? Every time you touched me and acted like it was nothing?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, head falling back as you gasped, dizzy from the feel of his mouth on your skin. “You should’ve done something about it sooner,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hair a mess, lips kiss-bitten, eyes full of that same raw, hungry heat. “I’m doing something about it now.”

He didn’t give you a second to answer—not that you could’ve if you tried. His mouth was on yours again, rougher this time, all teeth and tongue and months of tension finally snapping at the seams.

You barely registered when his hands slid down, gripping under your thighs and lifting you like you weighed nothing, like he’d been thinking about doing it for months. Your back hit the side of the cabin behind you, the old wood creaking beneath the sudden weight of it all—but neither of you gave a damn.

Your legs locked around his waist instinctively, and that sound he made—low, guttural, practically a growl, shot straight through you. He rocked into you, hard and slow, just enough friction to leave you gasping, head spinning.

“Bell…” You didn’t know if it was a warning or a plea, but it came out breathless, desperate. His lips hovered just above yours, breath mingling, voice wrecked. “Say it again.”

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

“My name. Say it again.”

So you did, you whispered his name softly. “Bellamy.”

That broke him. His hips rolled against you, harder this time, and you moaned, your head thumping back against the wall, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging. His hands were everywhere, palming your ass, sliding under your shirt, pushing the fabric up until your bare stomach hit the cool night air.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he muttered against your collarbone, pressing kisses there like he couldn’t stop. “Every time you laugh. Every time you call me an asshole and then wink at me two seconds later.”

“I was just teasing,” you breathed, even though you both knew that was only half true.

His hand slid higher, thumb brushing just under the edge of your bra. “Yeah? Still teasing now?”

You arched into him, a challenge in your voice. “What if I am?”

His laugh was dark, dangerous. “Then I guess I’ll just have to teach you a lesson, won’t I?”

And that was it, he dragged you away from the wall, still wrapped around him, and started toward one of the empty buildings near the edge of camp.

You didn’t ask where, didn’t care—you were too focused on the way his hands gripped you, the way his mouth kept finding yours between footsteps like he couldn’t go more than two seconds without it. And by the time he pushed through the door and kicked it shut behind you, both of you were shaking.

“Last chance,” he said, voice ragged. “Tell me to stop.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, lips swollen, chest heaving—and shook your head. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Bellamy’s mouth was on you again in a heartbeat, and this time, he didn’t stop. You whimpered against his lips, grabbing onto his jacket and dragging him closer. His other hand was at your waist, sliding around to the small of your back, holding you like he wasn’t letting go again.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together. “You drive me insane,” he said, breath hot against your lips. “You and your fucking mouth.”

You grinned, breathless. “Then do something about it.”

That was all it took. His hands found the hem of your shirt and shoved it up, baring your stomach to the cool air. You didn’t stop him—not for a second. You were too busy dragging your own fingers under his shirt, mapping out the cut lines of his torso like you’d earned the right to finally touch him.

“You’re gonna regret teasing me this long,” he muttered, pulling your top over your head.

“I’ve regretted nothing.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he pushed you back against the wall of the cabin, mouth trailing fire down your throat. “Except maybe not doing this sooner.”

His hands were everywhere—gripping, kneading, like he was trying to make sure you were really here. Yours weren’t much better. You practically tore his shirt off, raking your nails down his chest, relishing the way he hissed when you reached his waistband.

“Is this why you wore this tonight?” he asked, voice low and ragged, eyes dragging down your body like it was killing him to look.

“What, the braids?” You smirked. “Knew you liked ’em.”

He groaned and kissed you again, harder this time, biting at your bottom lip. “Smartass.”

“Guilty.”

He walked you backward to the bed, lowering you down with a hand behind your back like instinct. The mattress creaked as you scooted up, pulling him with you, legs wrapping around his waist. “Still think I’m playing games?” you asked, breathless.

“No,” he growled. “I think you’re fucking dangerous.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, fingers brushing against your center through your underwear. You bucked into the touch, a quiet moan escaping before you could bite it back.

That moan wrecked him. He yanked your underwear down with a curse, shoved his pants off just enough, and hovered over you, chest heaving. “Last chance to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head so fast it made your braids whip around your shoulders. “Bell—please.”

That was it. He sank into you in one smooth thrust, and both of you let out gasps like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. It was everything. Too much. Not enough. You clung to him, breath ragged, nails biting into his back as he started to move—slow and deep at first, like he wanted to feel every inch of you.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, choking on every broken sound that spilled from your lips. The way he moved—like he already knew your body, like he’d thought about this a hundred times—it was dizzying.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “Should’ve done this the second we hit the ground.”

You laughed, breathless and shaking. “What took you so long?”

“I didn’t want to fuck up what we had.” His hand came up to cup your face, thumb stroking over your cheek even as he kept driving into you. “But I can’t stop now. I won’t.”

You pulled him closer, kissed him like you’d die if you didn’t, and arched up into him as he hit just the right angle. Your body clenched around him and his rhythm stuttered. “Bell—” your voice broke, “I’m gonna—”

“I got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your jaw, your neck, your lips. “Come for me.”

Your body shattered beneath him, heat pulsing through every nerve as the orgasm ripped through you—loud and desperate. Bellamy cursed, hips faltering as he followed, burying himself deep as he groaned into your mouth.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, tangled limbs and sweaty skin. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, to really look at you. And you didn’t see lust anymore. You saw everything.

“I almost lost you,” he murmured, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “In that damn mountain… I thought —”

“I know,” you cut in gently. “But you didn’t. You saved me.”

Bellamy closed his eyes like your voice was the only thing keeping him grounded. “Yeah,” he breathed. “But it scared the hell out of me. Made me realize I’ve been pushing you away for nothing.”

“You weren’t,” you said. “You were scared, bell. I was too.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And for once, there was no wall behind his eyes. Just honesty. “I don’t want to keep playing games,” he said.

Your heart squeezed in your chest. “Then don’t.”

He leaned in again, but this kiss was slower, warmer. A promise this time, not a battle. You melted into it, fingers gently trailing over his freckled skin. He held you like you were something fragile, even though he knew damn well how strong you were. And when he finally pulled back, you didn’t let him get far. Your forehead stayed against his, both of you breathing the same air.

“Bell?” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

You smiled, eyes still closed. “Next time, maybe just kiss me before we try to kill each other in a party full of drunk teenagers.”

He laughed quietly, the sound breaking through the storm of emotion in his chest. “Deal,” he said. And when he finally wrapped his arms around you, holding you against him like he never wanted to let go, you realized he meant it.

For the first time, this wasn’t a game. It was something real.

author’s note:

hii guys! I hope y’all liked this one! :) I’m a little slut for backstories so I kinda rambled about how they met. Ik they didn’t actually have cabins and ‘camp jaha’ only lasted a little bit but I wrote it anyways 🤷🏽‍♀️ basically an au, hehe. Hope you liked this one, nonny! ❤︎

tags:

@rubydacherry42 @chalametsangel @imsiriuslyreal @dobfavgirl @kimxwinchester @tinas111

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

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[hbheavensent]

Beelzebub/Vortex

Boy oh boy they are so deceptively healthy!!! Let's get into it ⋆.˚

For Bee's design, I really wanted to keep her general "overwhelming" look. I've always sorta loved how Beelzebub looks, it makes a lot of sense for the Gluttony Sin to be A LOT to look at. That being said, I took away her fire motif as that is sorta given to too many characters and I changed her colors to match her "formal" look (which I HEAVILY prefer). I also put a little splatter marking around her mouth like she has food on her muzzle, which I think is sorta cute :333 ALSO I wanted to bring in the BEE in her design, esp her Big Fuckoff Demonic form. So I turned her normal tail into a little stinger in both looks and kept the antenna on her ears. I also decided a horrible maw of teeth on the underside of her tummy is a good move, just in general it adds some body horror. Also, naturally, I put some meat on her bones and she will no longer be ✨weirdly fatphobic✨. She can be chubby and still the hottest girl in the room and it's weird that she was skinny in the first place. As for her personality, I still want her to be surface level very pleasant and fun loving. For sure some mean girl vibes and very manipulative as all temptations are. She's the type to get someone high and one they're having a Shitty Time to leave them alone because they're a "buzzkill". Her dating Vortex is a majority because she's bored and she's had other partners in the past. Of all of the sins she's the one that "hangs with the color class" the most. Once Vortex doesn't scratch that itch for her, she'll be gone pretty quickly without a any real explanation. She's always chasing honey so to speak, a new high. I also wanted to focus in on her making The Pounds in Gluttony for Hellhounds, like I touched on in Loona's post. She not only is the reason for so many orphans/unwanted Hellhound pups, making parents of these kids be in compromised positions and having them addicted to substances, but she also made the shithole that the pups would go to. And while there's something to be said about her making the thing in the first place, she only cared enough to create the idea and not monitor it, why would she? Hellhounds live and die so fast, she's eternal, it's a speck to her despite her having more empathy than most sins.

At the very least, she's not judgmental, she knows that it certainly isn't her place to be. This is also probably a good place to talk a bit about what I'm doing WITH the sins. I'm going with the telling of them being former Angels that fell after The Apple Thing. Lucifer being the only one acting of his own volition to DO The Apple Thing and basically groom Lilith and Eve into a relationship before they even had FREE WILL (why does not one talk about that?? help????) Anyway, Bee was the third to fall and it was mostly due to messing with Earth's Plants and MAKING illicit substances able to be made. * I MIGHT change that, since in The Bible, Beelzebub falls because they go against Adam's wishes but it doesn't make sense with the timeline I'm workin with * The Sins are destined to be what they are the second Sin is created, Beelzebub can't help how she acts as much as Mammon couldn't help picking up a dollar on the ground. It's a compulsion at the end of the day and an eternal punishment that SOME have taken better than others. Bee is a prime example of leaning into it fully and trying to keep upbeat, sure she may never see Heaven again but she's having a hell of a time. Just hope she never gets sober or has a party go poorly because THAT is when it's dangerous. (I plan to showcase this eventually and give her a reason to dislike Loona/Blitz). But there's more Sin Stuff to get into laterer and NOT right now. AS FOR VORTEX, my sweet boy. I always really liked how normal he was in cannon. Just a Good Dude who can be a bit silly, which is exactly the type of guy Bee would go for (this century). Vortex comes from an Actually Together Family in the Lust ring and still works for Verosika as a guard when she's in Hell (currently reworking succubus magic so we'll get there when we get there). So, due to his family, Vortex is accidentally sort of ignorant of how MOST Hellhounds live. Loona has a earring in her ear where her Pound Tag was ripped out, Vortex has a earring there because he saw a bunch of other Hellhounds doing that and only realized after that fact because of Loona WHY Hellhounds have earrings there. Vortex also sorta fell into this relationship with Bee, and he very much sees it more seriously than she does. I don't think Loona talking to him about it would be enough to convince him that Bee is a bad person, sorta has rose colored lenses on for his girlfriend, but this is a DOOMED relationship. For Vortex's look, I didn't change much really- I just realized he looks SO much like Loona. Literally "siblings or dating". So. That sums up what I did with him besides what's literally in the image.

AND as a treat for such a longggg post-

Here's the silly height lineup we have so far

[certifiedsexed]

hello! a while ago i had a conversation with my girlfriend that i found kind of distressing and sometimes i think back to it and get kind of worried? and i am not sure how to handle it. for context i'm transfem and she's cis, i do not know how exactly how much this factors into this?

we're long distance so we haven't had an opportunity to do anything in person yet but we've talked about sex or sexted plenty of times. a pretty long time ago now there was one time when she was initiating that and i wanted to go along with it but i couldn't really get into the right headspace for it (wasn't anxious, i was just getting really distracted, couldn't get into it). she got pretty frustrated about it which was understandable.

then more recently, a long time after that, we were talking and i thought she was trying to initiate something (turned out she wasn't but. not really the focus) and so i tried to go along with it but ended up sorta overthinking the scenario she was talking about and got too anxious. and then started feeling really scared & upset with myself about not being able to roll with it (felt like i was failing by not being receptive enough, or letting her down really REALLY badly or something?), which took me further out of the mood which caused a feedback loop, and i don't know if it was an anxiety attack or what, but? it was definitely unexpected and i hadn't had feelings like that before (& haven't since, either, but maybe just because i haven't had trouble staying in the right mood on any occasions since then?). and after i got myself together enough to tell my girlfriend (and we cleared up the slight miscommunication) i was still feeling pretty vulnerable. so i asked her, if one day she really was initiating something, potentially in person, but i got too anxious and had to stop, would she be angry with me?

and. she didn't give me a "no"? if she were to ask me that question, my answer would be "no, absolutely not, not in a hundred years, even if i was looking forward to it it wouldn't matter to me anymore, your well-being is so much more important". which is something i've tried very hard to make clear in the past. and when i asked her, i was kind of hoping to get an answer which at least kind of mirrors that sentiment (although she has a hard time being soft, so probably a little more blunt?). but it just, wasn't there. she was totally insistent that if i ever need to stop then that means we don't go any further, but, she seemed to kind of, not be willing to say that she wouldn't be angry? when i expressed that it would be difficult for me to hit the brakes if i expect her to be angry about it, she just reaffirmed that i should absolutely never ever do anything sexual that i'm not feeling okay about.

i don't know if it makes sense for this to bother me, but it kind of does? i do appreciate that she emphasized the importance of my consent & well-being, and i also appreciate that she was, evidently, taking care not to make promises she can't expect to keep, about how she'd feel in the moment. but. the fact that she can't make that promise is itself distressing to me...? on the one hand, it is kind of unsettling to me that the way I know I would feel, doesn't seem to go the other way. on the other hand, i don't know if it is unreasonable of me to have these expectations for how she should feel emotionally about things? it's not like she'd choose to get angry, and clearly she wants me to stop things if i have to regardless, so it feels like it would be inappropriate to wish she would feel some other way than she would.

but also, internally, i'm worried that if i know she'll be angry, i won't be able to stop things, at least not deliberately? i know in my heart that if i were in that situation and i had the option to swallow my discomfort and go along, just to avoid making her mad, that i would, even though i know it wouldn't be right and isn't what she'd want. but i also know that my insecurity & people-pleasing are problems of mine, and not her responsibility. it's not her fault that i'm ill-equipped (or, honestly, unwilling) to assert boundaries or stand up for myself, and if I were to let myself trick her into hurting me because of that, I would be doing wrong by her, not the other way around. and, frankly, i kind of wear my emotions on my sleeve, i wouldn't even be capable of hiding my discomfort, so she'd obviously be able to tell & hit the brakes herself - so does any of this actually matter at all??

as additional context, she has some sexual trauma from a past relationship, and i don't. i have my own anxieties & baggage relating to sex, just, from being a trans lesbian and stuff, but it's obviously not the same, so i'm of course not entirely on the same wavelength as her. everything about this feels so complicated and it seems like almost anything could be a factor? and she's so patient with me about other things. I second-guess myself CONSTANTLY about basically everything, and I feel like most of the people who i could talk to about it might not necessarily get it. so i've just been kind of ruminating in circles and turning it into a huge tangled mess in my head.

i'm very sorry about the super super long ask! i hope it isn't too much trouble. thank you for running this blog!

Hello! This is admittedly more of a therapy thing but I'm going to answer this anyway.

So, here's the thing, Anon: I don't know your girlfriend, so I can't guarantee what she meant. Maybe she's also overthinking and going "I don't want to promise something definitely when maybe someday something obscure is going to happen and cause me to break that promise" or some shit.

That said, I think this is definitely important!

You deal with a lot of anxiety and this sounds like it'll probably further complicate sex, especially if you don't figure out exactly what she means. It makes sense you'd be wary or bothered at the possibility she might be angry at you for not being able to have sex, that's scary!

Being wary that someone might be angry at you for something you can't help isn't the same as dictating someone's emotions, Anon. That's a very natural reaction, actually. It's what one might call "a red flag".

You do have personal responsibility about your consent and boundaries and insecurities, that's true, but those are also part of your relationship now.

You should both know about each others feelings and boundaries and making sure each other are consenting. It would not just be your fault if you agreed to something because you were trying to manage her emotions and issues.

I know this probably isn't the advice you want, Anon, but this is a situation where you need to talk to her. Explain to her what you're worried about, ask her why she insinuated she might get angry at you for saying no, all of that.

You're in a relationship. Communicating is a very important part of that, especially if sex is involved and you both have baggage.

Neither of you should be having sex without talking more and figuring out how to manage each others triggers and boundaries and if she doesn't want to talk about this, don't have sex.

If she's not kind about it or refuses to talk, then it sounds like she's not a good person for you to be with.

Also, if she's going to be mad at you for saying no and there's no discussion of "how do we build trust so that you understand my possible anger is my issue and you should not say yes to manage it", then it also sounds like she's not a good person for you to be with.

Because that's clearly a trigger for you (which is very fair) and you've already stated it would impair your ability to consent properly.

You don't need to have specific trauma related to sex to be allowed to have specific boundaries and questions surrounding it, Anon and if she's kind and patient outside of this, I think she'll understand that. Talk.

I'm not sure if this is helpful but don't worry about the long ask, it's okay. Lemme know if you have any other questions. Sending love and courage, Anon. <3

[starlightanya0wsblog]

~Being stuck in the demon world with Vergil~

Note: Don't ask me why I'm writing this 'cause I don't know either😭✋️ still, hope it's Vergil's fans liking🙏💞 (it probably doesn't make any sense but whatever)

Great. I'm stuck in the demon world and what can be worse than this? Being stuck with Vergil. Why does the world hates me so bad?

He's not a man of many words like Dante told me; I wish I could get stuck with Dante, at least I could've had laughed at his stupid jokes as he would try to make me feel better.

But no; I'm stuck with the cold glazing staring man.

How lucky am I.

"Why are you following me human?"

"Because if I have to die I don't want to fucking die alone."

"Bold of you that I could get easily killed; this is basically my home."

She rolls her eyes, annoyed at his attitude.

"Whatever; I'm just following you to make sure at least there's a way to get out of this place."

"I don't need a deadweight; you humans are weak and pathetic."

"Uhh and when did I asked about your opinion? Yeah never."

He scoffs, annoyed at her attitude even though he's... pleasuring surprised about the fact that someone has the guts to talk to him like that.

"Humans usually should be scared of me."

"Yeah well; I'm more scared of dying in this dirty place than of you so..."

Vergil stopped for a second, as she continues to walk in front of him, he looks at her with a confused and curious look.

"What a weird woman..."

*******

Fortunately, they founded a cave to settle in, it wasn't the best thing to sleep in of course, but it was better than nothing at all.

"Finally! I'm so tired... my legs are killing me."

She said, laying on the ground.

"Humans. Always in need of recharging; so useless."

"Do you only speak when you're in need of judging? Because in that case I would prefer your silence."

Oh God. I shouldn't have said that. He'll kill me for sure. Dante revenge me if I die!

He simply scoffs, as he looks out of the cave in allert for danger.

"...You don't need to sleep?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear me talk?"

How arrogant. And to think I worried for him.

"Whatever; I'll just go to sleep."

******

"Wake up human."

"Mmm five minutes..."

He throwed something at her, waking her up and getting her extremely mad.

"OUCH! What the hell is wrong with you!? Why did you hit m-"

"Eat it."

He simply says; getting out of the cave, as she's left here confused.

"He... brought me breakfast?"

She took the fruit in her hand that before hitted her.

"...Was he all night out to search something to eat for me?"

She feels her heart flutter and her cheeks getting a little red at the thought that he got worried about her.

"...I... didn't thought he could be actually kind with someone... he seemed... quite handsome too..."

Maybe I should thank him...

*******

"You're done eating? Good. Let's go then; we still have to find a way to get out of here."

"Wait I..."

Why do I feel suddenly so embarrassed to just say a "thank you?"

"Thank you... for; you know; bringing me breakfast, you didn't have to do that after all."

"I just thought that it would be annoying to find you a good place for your grave if you died; so don't thank me."

She gasped, she couldn't believe what she just heard coming from his mouth.

How could he be such a... such a-! Ugh! I don't even a word for this! He's terrible! I take it back! He's not kind at all and neither handsome!

"And to think that I thought that you were kind for once!"

She starts walking angrily without caring about leaving him behind.

I despise him!

******

As they walked for hours, she couldn't help but be thirsty...

Wait is that...? A lake? A lake!

"A lake!"

Her eyes sparkled with joy seeing it

"I would not recommend it, human."

"Eh? Why?"

"Who knows what kind of creatures lurk beneath the water's surface? That lake is most likely not safe to drink from. The water might be tainted, or even poisonous. You should not drink from it."

"But I'm thirsty..."

She said; sitting down as she could almost feel tears getting out.

God I hate being so vulnerable in front of someone, and in front of HIM.

"You're acting like a child, human. Pouting and sulking just because I won't let you drink from a potentially dangerous lake."

"Well, I guess I'm just gonna die anyways..."

"Stop being so melodramatic, human. You may be hungry and thirsty, but you're not going to die anytime soon. At least, not on my watch."

"...Not... on your watch?"

What did he mean by it? And why is my heart beating like this again?

"Yes. While we're stuck in the demon world, your safety and well-being are my responsibility. I won't let anything happen to you, human. So don't go about complaining that you're going to die."

This man is so weird. Firstly he says that he doesn't care about me; and now he says those things... Vergil is such a mystery.

"I thought you hated humans?"

He scoffs, a hint of annoyance in his eyes. But there's also a touch of embarrassment, as you have a point.

"I do detest humans, that much is true. But that doesn't mean I want you to..."

He clears his throat, it was like he was trying to get the rights words, but he just let it go.

"Anyways; you should go get some rest human."

She simply nods, smiling at him.

"Good night Vergil."

He feels his cheek getting pinker as he hears your words and seeing your beautiful smile and turns around.

"Good night, human. Rest well. I'll keep guard outside. Just don't get too comfortable, alright? We're still in the demon world, after all."

You simply smile, as you head to go to sleep.

Maybe he's not so bad.

********

The next day, Vergil stands near the lake, observing the water with a careful eye. Deciding to test its safety, he hesitantly takes a sip, prepared for the worst.

To his surprise, the water tasted fresh and clean, not at all tainted or poisonous. In fact, it was quite refreshing, quenching his thirst with ease.

"Hm... the water is surprisingly drinkable. Who would've thought."

The human will be surely happy of this.

He thinks to himself as she emerged out of the cave, yawning.

"'Morning."

"Ah, you're up, human. Good morning.

You certainly look tired. But then again, you humans always look tired in the morning."

I guess that's his way to ask if I slept well...

"I... slept well. Were you... tasting the water?"

"Yes, I was. I was testing the safety of the water. It seemed safe enough, so you should be able to drink from it without any issues."

He pauses, crossing his arms

"Don't look surprised, human. Just because I'm a demon, it doesn't mean I don't have basic survival instincts."

She doesn't even care about his words that she hurries to drink.

"Thank God!"

He rolls his eyes, annoyed.

She should thank me instead.

He watches as you hurry to the edge of the lake and start drinking greedily. A mix of amusement and annoyance appear in his eyes.

"Hey, hey, easy. Don't gulp it all down at once. You'll make yourself sick, human."

"I really thought I was gonna die of thirst."

He rolls his eyes, his annoyance turning to mild irritation.

"You humans are so overdramatic. You wouldn't have died from a little thirst, you know. But I suppose you do require water to survive, so I can understand your relief."

He pauses, a hint of sarcasm in his voice

"Just try not to make a habit of getting yourself into life-threatening situations, alright? It's getting tiresome."

Suddenly, her stomach growled, making her all red in face from the embarrassment.

Dammnit not now!

He hears your stomach growling, and his expression turns slightly amused.

"Ah, so now you're hungry, hm? You humans are always so needy. But I suppose it's understandable. You require sustenance to function properly, after all. Stay here and don't get yourself in danger, I'll go get something."

"...Okay..."

She can't help but wonder about his attitude... there's something sweet and almost kind; he was mean and he was coarse and unrefined... and now he's dear and so unsure...

I wonder why I didn't see it there before?

*******

His eyes were scanning the surrounding area. The demon world is a desolate and hostile place, with few signs of life. But he has the keen senses of a demon.

"Hmph. I guess we're not completely out of luck. These fruits should be safe to eat."

He starts walking to go back to the cave, carrying a small basket of fruits in his hands.

When he arrives, he sees something that he didn't expect at all, he almost dropped the basket as he took in the scene; you were cleaning yourself in the lake; all naked, so exposed and vulnerable.

He stands at the entrance, his eyes widening in surprise as he takes in the sight of you... His eyes involuntarily run over your form, taking in the sight of your curves, your smooth skin, your... everything.

He quickly looks away, a hint of color in his cheeks, trying to compose himself.

"Ah-!"

She just noticed him now, covering herself embarrassed.

"W-When did you came back...?"

"I just got back a moment ago. I found some edible fruits over there. But it seems like you were, uh... distracted."

He pauses, his voice a hint strained.

"Y-You could've at least put on some clothes or something before bathing, human."

"W-Well I couldn't help it! My clothes stanked so bad that I had to wash them too..."

"And you couldn't have just rinsed your clothes while you were wearing them, like a normal person?"

He glances her way again, catching a brief glimpse of her body before quickly looking away.

Damnit... she's even more attractive then I thought...

"Stop peeking! And no I couldn't! I could've got sick!"

He huffs, trying to maintain his cool demeanor.

"I wasn't peeking! I just... happened to glance in your direction. And you wouldn't have gotten sick, you're just being overdramatic. But I suppose that's just how humans are, always worried about their health and hygiene and all that nonsense."

"Well I'm still a woman! I need some dencecy!"

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms.

"Decency, huh? You humans are always so concerned with modesty and privacy. Demons don't worry about such trivial things. We have no qualms about nudity, showing skin or even intimacy."

He pauses, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"But, very well, I'll respect your human sensibilities and try not to look. Just put some clothes on, will you?""

"I would but.. all my clothes are getting dry so..."

He sighs, his annoyance turning to mild irritation at your predicament.

"Of course, you had to wash your clothes, and now they're hanging up to dry. Which leaves you with... nothing to wear, I assume?"

"...Yes."

He groans, his expression turning exasperated. He can't believe he's got into a situation like this...

"Damnit. Of course, you'd be completely unprepared. Typical human."

He pauses, his eyes flickering down over your form again, despite himself. He's both annoyed and yet, secretly, a small part of him... enjoys the view...

He looks at you, noticing your shivering and the sound of your sneeze.

"Hmph. So now you're getting cold. Typical human weakness. You'll get sick at this rate."

He pauses, a hint of annoyance in his voice, but also a hint of concern. Despite his gruff exterior, he doesn't actually want you to fall ill.

"I can't do much about it unfortunately."

He sighs, his expression turning a bit complicated. Despite his initial annoyance, he can't help but feel a pang of pity at your shivering form. He can't just let you stay like this, shivering and vulnerable.

"Here."

He reaches into his coat, pulling out a dark, heavy coat, made of a durable, heavy material. He holds it out to you.

"Wear this. It's warm, at least."

"Uh? Are you sure?"

He huffs, crossing his arms.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not giving it to you, I'm lending it to you. You're shivering, and if you get sick, you'll be even more useless than you already are. So, just wear it. Consider it a... temporary loan."

He pauses, his expression turning slightly softer.

"And make sure you take good care of it. It's a prized possession of mine."

She smiled genuinely at him as she got out of the lake, standing behind him.

"Thank you Vergil, I'll take care of it, I promise."

He can't help thinking about all your soft curves and smooth skin and your...

He gulps.

He shakes his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts.

"Hmph. Just don't ruin it. It's an expensive coat, made from high-quality materials. I don't want it getting damaged or ruined..."

She simply noded as she put it on.

"It's... quite long..."

He watches as you slip the coat on, his eyes widening slightly at how the coat envelops your form. It's a bit too big for you, the sleeves and the hem falling past your wrists and ankles, but it looks oddly... good on you. The fact that you're wearing nothing underneath, the smooth fabric clinging to your curves, only hinting at the body underneath.

Damn it...

Vergil quickly looks away, his face feeling a bit hot.

"Are you getting sick? Your face is all red..."

He huffs, his face turning even more flushed at your comment.

"W-What? No! I'm perfectly fine, human. I don't get sick like you humans do. I'm... just a bit hot, that's all."

He pauses, trying to compose himself. But he can't help but sneak a few glances at you, his gaze tracing the outline of your curves beneath the coat..

"Okay well if you're so sure..."

She simply says, as she sits and starts eating the things he brought before.

He watches as you begin eating the fruits, his eyes following the movement of your lips and your hands, the way your body moves slightly beneath the coat, the curves of your form still visible through the fabric. His mind drifts, imagining what it would be like to run his hands over your smooth skin, to feel your soft body against his...

He shakes his head again, trying to push away the impure thoughts. Damn it, what is wrong with him?

"Are you sure you don't want any?"

He quickly turns his attention back to the conversation, shaking his head.

"No, I don't need to eat, human. My demonic nature doesn't require sustenance in the same way as yours. I'm fine."

"Okay then... thanks again for the food."

He huffs, shaking his head at your gratitude.

"Don't mention it, human. It's just some simple fruits. Hardly worth your thanks."

He pauses, his eyes still drinking in the sight of you in his coat, the way it swallows you up and envelops your body.. He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks again, his mind wandering to impure thoughts..

********

It's night now, and the two of you are back in the cave. The fire crackles softly in the center of the cave, casting a warm glow around the dim space.

Vergil sits on one side of the cave, his back against the wall, his eyes watching the fire dancing in the darkness.

He looks over at you as you hum a tune, his ears picking up on the soft sound of your voice. Despite his best efforts, he finds himself drawn to the sound, his gaze fixing upon your form, the firelight casting a soft, warm glow over your body, the coat still enveloping you..

He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure.

"What are you humming, human?"

"Mh? Oh, it's a song that I use to listen when I'm at home."

He raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued

"A song, hm? Let me hear it."

He leans in closer, his eyes studying you intently.

"You... wanna hear me sing?"

He pauses for a moment, his expression stoic but his eyes betraying a hint of interest.

"I wouldn't have asked if so."

She smiles, as she clears her throat and starts singing.

"Some people long for a life that is simple and planned

Tied with a ribbon

Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land

To follow what's written

But I'd follow you to the great unknown

Off to a world we call our own

Hand in my hand and we promised to never let go

We're walking the tightrope

High in the sky

We can see the whole world down below

We're walking the tightrope

Never sure, never know how far we could fall

But it's all an adventure

That comes with a breathtaking view

Walking the tightrope

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you

Mountains and valleys, and all that will come in between

Desert and ocean

You pulled me in and together we're lost in a dream

Always in motion

So I risk it all just to be with you

And I risk it all for this life we choose

Hand in my hand and you promised to never let go

We're walking the tightrope

High in the sky

We can see the whole world down below

We're walking the tightrope

Never sure, will you catch me if I should fall?

Well, it's all an adventure

That comes with a breathtaking view

Walking the tightrope

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

With you, ooh-ooh-ooh

With you."

He listens closely as you begin to sing, his eyes locked on your lips as the words flow from them. The song is unfamiliar, but the sound of your voice is enchanting, a soft, alluring note that pulls at his senses.

As the lyrics reach his ears, he can't help but feel a stirring in his chest. The words carry a sense of longing, of following someone into the unknown...

"Hmph. A love song, is it? Typical human sentimentality."

She blushes slighty in embarrassment and pouts a little.

"Well I can't help it if I like love songs..."

He chuckles at your pouting, his eyes fixed on your expression.

"Hmph. Of course you do. Typical human, always falling for sentimental nonsense. Love songs, musicals.. what is it with you humans and your obsession with romance..?"

She was slighty surprised to see him smile and chuckle a little; she felt her cheeks getting a little pinker...

"Well... you're born because of the love between your parents, isn't it that true?"

He pauses at your comment, his expression turning serious for a moment, a hint of melancholy in his eyes.

"Hmph. Yes, I suppose that's true. But love is also a weakness, human. It's a vulnerability, a weakness that can be exploited and used against you."

He looks at you, studying your face, the firelight casting a soft glow over your features.

"Love can also be a strenght."

He huffs, his expression turning thoughtful.

"Hmph. I suppose that's one way to look at it. But love also means attachment. It means caring about someone so much that the thought of losing them is unbearable. And that kind of attachment can be a dangerous thing. It can distract you, make you make poor decisions. It can make you weak."

"So that's why you never got attached to anyone?"

He pauses for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, a hint of sadness in them.

"I've seen what love can do, human. I've seen the pain it can cause, the suffering it can bring. I've seen what happens when you care about someone so much that you're willing to do anything for them, even sacrifice everything you have. And I've seen what happens when you lose that person, the anguish and the emptiness that follows. I've seen it all, and I've chosen to stay away from that kind of pain."

He felt her silence; like she's thinking of the right words to say.

"Well... in my opinion... it's better to have loved, than never had did, at least, you would've felt something."

He scoffs, his expression turning almost bitter at your words.

"Hmph. That's easy for you to say. You're a human, you're weak and vulnerable. You need companionship, you need love and connection. I'm a demon, I don't need any of that. I don't need love or attachment or any of that sentimental nonsense."

"...I see."

She was silent for a second, then she spoke up again.

"Can I ask you something Vergil?"

"If you must."

"If you demons never get attached to someone, then how is possible that there are so many?"

He pauses for a moment, his expression turning more thoughtful.

"Hmph. You're referring to the fact that there are so many demons? Well, it's true that demons don't typically form emotional connections like humans do. But that doesn't mean we don't engage in... physical intimacy, shall we say. After all, physical desires are a part of our nature. We're creatures of lust and pleasure, more than anything else."

"Oh... so you give in to desires... I see...

There's also something I can't help wondering about."

He sighs, her and her curiosness...

"What is it?"

"Why you never call me by my name?"

"Hmph. Are you really offended because I don't call you by your name? You humans are so sensitive, always wanting to hear their name spoken out loud. To us demons, names are just a way to identify someone. They're just a label, nothing more."

"Mh; I see... well I got used by it now, thought it would be nice being called normally once..."

"Go gest some rest human; don't spend all your energies on speaking with me."

I guess I was hoping for too much.

"Yeah okay."

.....

"Hey Vergil?"

"What is it now?"

"Uhm can I... sleep next to you? It's kind of cold..."

He is taken aback by the question, his eyes widening slightly. He hadn't expected you to ask that, and yet... he finds himself strangely intrigued. He clears his throat, a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

"Hmph. You want to sleep.. next to me? You want to sleep... with me?"

"If you don't mind..."

He pauses, his expression turning serious. He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks, his heart beating a bit faster at the thought of you sleeping next to him. But he doesn't let it show, maintaining his stoic facade.

"Hmph. I don't mind. But don't expect me to cuddle with you. Demons don't do that."

"I-I wasn't going to ask that..."

"Hmph. Get over here then."

He motions a spot next to him, gesturing for you to come closer to him.

You can't help but smile a little, as you get next to him.

He can feel your body press against his as you lay next to him, the heat of your skin against his own. He can feel his heart beating faster, his body tensing up as you get comfortable against him. He tries to maintain his usual stoic expression, but he can't help but feel a bit flustered at the intimate position they're in.

"Hmph. You're... much warmer than I thought you'd be."

"I uh- thank you...?"

He huffs, a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he feels your warmth against his cold skin. He glances down at you, his eyes taking in your expression, the way you look so relaxed and content, laying against him like this.

"Hmph. You're welcome. Now get some rest, human. Demons don't need to sleep, so I'll keep watch over you."

She simply nods and smiles cutely at him.

"Nighty night."

You say as you fall asleep on him.

He can't help but admire you as you sleep, your body soft and warm against his chest, your breath warm and steady against his skin. He has to admit, it feels.. strangely nice, having you like this. Like a small, delicate creature in the arms of a powerful demon.

"Hmph. You look so damn vulnerable like this, human. So delicate and fragile. Like a small, innocent kitten."

******

Vergil had fallen asleep, something he rarely did. He must have been really tired, or maybe the feeling of holding you in his arms all night had been more comfortable then he'd expected... Either way, he was asleep, his eyes closed and his expression soft and relaxed.

Vergil's eyes opened abruptly, and he felt a sudden wave of worry wash over him as he realized you were gone.

"Human?! Where'd you go..."

He looks around, his eyes searching the area for any sign of you. His heart starts beating faster, a sense of worry and panic overtaking him.

He grabs his sword, his hand gripping the hilt tightly as he looks around, still searching for you. He can feel the panic building in him, the thought of you being in danger making his heart race.

"Human! Where the hell are you..?"

And then, there he saw you; you just entered the cave with a basket of fruits, smiling at him warmly.

"Ah good morning! I saw you sleeping so I didn't want to wake you up. I brought something to eat and I also cleaned your coat!"

He looks at you; relief washing over him seeing you safe and sound. He can feel the tension in his body ease as he sees you standing there, holding a bunch of fruit in your hands.

"You.. damn it, human. Don't scare me like that. When I woke up and you weren't there, I thought something had happened to you."

"Uh? You... were worried about me...?"

He huffs, looking away, his expression turning stoic.

"Don't get the wrong idea, human. I was merely... concerned. If something had happened to you, I would be... inconvenienced. That's all."

She smiles and without thinking about it, she hugged him.

"Thank you."

He's caught off guard by your sudden hug, his eyes widening in surprise. But after a moment, he wraps his arms around you, in an akward hug.

"Hmph. You're welcome, I suppose. Just don't make a habit of scaring me like that again."

She simply nods and smile at him.

"Now eat something, you need strength if we're going to continue on this journey."

He looks at the fruits you have, eyeing then with curiosity.

"Where did you get all these, anyway?"

"I walked for a while."

He looks at you, an eyebrow raised in mild disbelief.

"You... walked for a while? And you didn't meet any danger? You know what kind of creatures are out there, right? This forest is full of dangerous monsters, demons and other threats. You could've easily gotten yourself killed."

"Yeah well... I felt guilty thinking that you always did this for me so..."

He huffs, a hint of surprise in his eyes at your words. He can't believe you actually felt guilty about him doing things for you all the time.

"Hmph. You felt guilty about that? Why the hell would you feel guilty about something like that? I'm a demon, human. I can take care of myself. It's not your job to worry about me."

"Sorry I..."

He can see the disappointment in your expression as you say 'sorry', and it makes him feel a pang of guilt in his chest. Damnit, why does he care about your reaction so much..?

"Hmph. I just... you don't need to worry about me, human. Okay? I'm the one who's protecting you, not the other way around. Understood?"

"Okay."

********

Vergil was washing himself in the lake, the cool water running over his body, washing away the dirt and sweat from the journey. He had stripped off his top, revealing his muscular upper body, his toned abs and well defined pecs glistening in the sunlight...

God what am I doing? Why I'm walking to him?

"Uhm... do you mind if I... join you?"

She asks, with only a piece of clothing barely covering her, with her face clearly flustered.

Vergil looks up, his eyes widened by your request. He can feel a wave of heat wash over his body as he sees you, barely clothed, asking him if you can join him in the water. He tries to keep his composure, but he can't help but feel a sense of desire stirring inside him.

"Hmph. I... suppose I don't mind. Go ahead, if you want. But I'm not going to look away, human."

I feel like my heart is gonna explode to his words...

"I... don't mind if you watch me."

Again, what the hell am I saying!?

He feels his heart rate increase at your words, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in the sight of your curves barely covered by the piece of clothing you were still wearing.

"Hmph. I'll be watching, then. Don't be surprised if my eyes linger on certain... places."

She gulps without saying a word as she let that little of clothing of hers fall on the ground, while entering in the water.

He can feel his breath catch in his throat as you let the last bit of clothing fall, leaving you completely naked in front of him. His eyes roam over your body, taking in every curve, every inch of your flesh... and he feels a deep, primal desire stir within him.

"Hmph... You're... damn, human. You're beautiful."

*****

The rest of what happened... it was kind blurry.... we got ourselves lost in the moment full of passion, lust and... maybe something more. I still remember his touch; gentle but rough, his lips on my neck; my lips... his marks... his size...

The first and only time that Vergil called me by name.

"Y/n."

And to this day, I still smile at remembering all those moments we shared together.

"Hey mom; I'm home!"

"Welcome back, Nero."

I say; simply smiling.

[jukkaricity]

DATV Companion Week - Bellara - Day 1

A little post-game snippet of Rook and Bellara arriving for the first post-God-fighting Arlathvhen. Poor Hugo feels a bit out of place.

Today's prompts for Bellara Appreciation week hosted by @datvcompanionweeks were:

Elven Traditions | Magic

By the time Hugo and Bellara stepped out of the Eluvian into the Arlathan Forest, dusk had already fallen. The sun had just dipped below the horizon and the last evening birds were singing their goodnight songs on softly swaying trees. The air was still warm from the heat of the day and smelled of moss and mid-summer berries. 

“I’m really not sure if this is a good idea, Bel.” Hugo adjusted the cuffs in the light Veil Jumper armor that Bellara insisted he wear. He managed to convince Bellara that not wearing shoes was certainly not an option for him. The Crow cape stayed on as well. Some things were simply non-negotiable. He may have spent more time in the wilds lately than he ever had before—but at heart, he was still a city man.

“Oh? But it makes perfect sense! I mean we wouldn’t have defeated the Gods without you!” Bellara was positively giddy, nearly vibrating with excitement. She had been this way since the day they received a letter from Strife saying she was invited to the Arlathvhen, once in ten years meeting of the Dalish clans. Hugo had never even heard about it before and now he was invited to it, by the power of Bellara asking him nicely. It took her less than five minutes to have him convinced. Truth be told he was not sure if he’d be able to say no to her even if he wanted to.

“And stories at Arlathvhen sound best when they come straight from the source!” Bellara could scarcely focus on anything else in the couple of weeks since the message. She could not decide what to bring up first during the meeting. Nadas Dirthalen? The Eluvians? The Gods themselves? She was constantly bouncing from one topic to the next trying to fix at least seven different relics by the time the event came. All Hugo could do was make sure she took breaks sometimes. And assure her it was quite alright to be excited.

“But… It’s a Dalish tradition.I don’t think I even knew any Dalish before I met you.” Hugo followed Bellara through the now abandoned Veil Jumper site he got so used to seeing in the months prior and further into the forest. It had quieted in the weeks since the Gods’ defeat, but that didn’t mean it was safe.

There were small, yet intricate lanterns hanging from the low branches leading the way, as they went deeper and deeper into the wild. Hugo could not focus on the road, constantly looking around surrounded by noises of the forest life and what had sounded like music and singing. The celebration was already underway. 

“Right,” Bellara said softly, eyes locked on the lantern-lit path ahead and cutting short through the bushes where she saw fit. “But the fight with the Gods is part of our history now. And… I came to the last Arlathvhen with Cyrian. I don’t think I could go alone.” Hugo grabbed Bellara’s hand and they walked the rest of the path in silence. They’d put Cyrian to rest and followed the rites, but that didn’t mean that his absence didn’t hit harder on some occasions.

Irelin was waiting for them at the edge of the encampment. 

“You make much noise in the forest, Crow” she grumbled, but it was more of a friendly jab than a genuine complaint. 

“Didn’t think I should bother,” Hugo laughed, “There was this one halla following us the whole way—kept giving me this judgmental look.” he pointed out and Irelin just shook her head chuckling but did not deny. They made their way through the camp filled with laughter and chatting, making Hugo’s head spin. Both Irelin and Bellara kept exchanging greetings and best wishes, with nearly everyone they met. Hugo could only hope to keep up with all the faces and names that passed them by. Bellara would have a story or two to tell about nearly everyone. Eventually, they reached a clearing at the back of the camp, where Strife was telling a story to a small crowd of children. Hugo didn’t catch the ending words of the story but it must have been a good one because all the little eyes were completely focused on the older elf. 

A chorus of delighted giggles broke out among the children just as they approached. Strife in turn looked entirely pleased with himself, much less stern-looking than Hugo had ever thought possible. Whether it was the festive occasion lifting his spirits or the influence of his still new relationship with Emmrich softening the rough edges remained a mystery. For now at least. 

Bellara smiled warmly and, along with Irelin, joined Strife, but Hugo lingered back a few steps, watching the scene. He’d never had many happy childhood memories with the Crows, there had been something nostalgic in watching those fledglings listen to stories by the firelight. It made the months of chaos and fighting feel just a little bit more worth it. A few of the children noticed Hugo standing nearby, curious and perhaps emboldened by his unfamiliar face. And unfamiliar attire too.

“You’re wearing a funny cape.” One of the girls pointed at the deep-blue wing-shaped cape on his back “Can you turn into a bird?” Normally, Hugo would’ve taken it as a joke—but after seeing Irelin shape-shift enough times, he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

“Not exactly, no,” he hesitated—probably best not to delve into details of his profession. “I just…”

“Our friend here works for the Crows of Antiva.” Strife chimed in a dangerously mischievous spark in his eye “I am sure he has many a tale to tell you about it.” 

“Oooooh. You should tell us a story then!” 

“Ah, I-I don’t think I have the tale-telling gift your uhm… Hahrel has.” The gaggle of children erupted in laughter. 

“It’s Hahren!” The little elven girl scolded him, arms resting on her hips “You’re being silly.” 

“Oh, right.” Hugo’s face turned a deep shade of red, his ears suddenly feeling incredibly hot. “Right! I was just testing if you’re listening carefully.” He tried to rescue himself out of the trouble. He’d probably have to ask Bellara for more lessons later, best he didn’t make a fool out of himself in front of the adults too, in the days to come. 

“I don’t think my work would be very interesting to you.” He sat down and the kids huddled a little bit closer. “But, I can tell you a story about a brave Dalish mage who could fix just about any ancient artifact.” 

[shallowseeker]

diff anon: I agree w your perspective on jack and dean, obviously dean didn't handle things particularly well, but then, I dont think any of us would in a situation as complicated as that. I think a lot of the "dean was the worst parent!!" arguments ignore the fact that dean was not obligated to be a parent and didn't want to be one (at least not to what was potentially a very dangerous entity, especially one that killed his mother), it was forced on him. which you'd think would add to the 'bad parent dean' trope, and a lot of people take it that way. but for me it explains a lot, people assume dean was jack's parental figure from day one and therefore all his actions to deal with jack fall under the category of 'parenting' (a lot of people also contradict themselves when it comes to jack and dean's relationship so bear with me if this gets a little confusing).

dean doesn't see himself as jack's parent or family in anyway at first. so he's not thinking 'what can I do to parent this child and look after him', obviously his initial actions won't reflect good 'parenting' because that's not remotely what he's trying to do. he's trying to grieve his mother, assess a potential threat, and prepare himself to eliminate it because when does anything ever go right for the winchesters? especially not when fast growing babies are involved. so yeah for me personally, my assessment of dean's parenting tends to come after he starts to forge that bond with jack because it seems unfair to score someone in a category that they didn't enter into when they're running a completely different race (sorry idk if my sports metaphors are making any sense it's like 4am and I am so tired).

idk I feel like the assumptions that 1. jack is functionally and developmentally a child (he's not really) and 2. dean had an obligation to parent him in the first place,, kind of skew fandom perspective on the situation. don't get me wrong, it's fine to criticise how he dealt with it and analyse his position in jack's life, I just don't think 'dean is an actively malicious parent' (implied or overt) is an accurate representation of canon. like you said tho, it's their prerogative to interpret it the way they want. (sorry if I just repeated anything you said, I hope this is at least coherent??)

Yeah. WE AGREE. I feel like if fandom could draw a divider line between early and later days in Jack's life, it would help a lot with the analyses feeling more balanced/in good faith.

NOT TO MENTION... Hey HI HELLO CONTEXT->

Dean warmed up to Jack after just, like 14 days???! That's... pretty crazy.

IMPORTANT TOO IS THAT, once Jack learned the root of Dean's grief, it completely re-contextualized "Dean wanting to kill him being scary," and intuitive little shit he is, JACK GOT THAT!!!! He even got mad at SAM instead for obfuscating all of that.

(Jack, for all his fear of "not feeling enough feelings" is a character who is more intuitive then even he himself knows. JUST LOOK at him and Dean with MIA compared to Sam!!!!!)

And just... HEY THAT WHOLE TIMELINE. IS. WILD. CAS WAS ONLY GONE A MONTH AT MOST!!!!! PROBABLY LESSSSSSSS...

SO YEAH!!!! WE ARE DANCING BECAUSE IF WE DIVIDE IT LIKE THIS (with your examples), it gets more interesting and clear I think

INITIALLY:

Dean didn’t see himself as Jack’s parent or feel any obligation to parent him.

I mean it's not just Lucifer's child but also the child of the woman, Cas, uh, LEFT him for. AHEM.

Dean's actions were driven by grief (over Cas, over Mary) and logical fear (that Jack was a dangerous threat).

Judging his early behavior as "bad parenting" is misplaced, because he wasn’t trying to parent and it's grossly UNFAIR to expect that of him—he was assessing a REAL POTENTIAL THREAT and coping with trauma.

IMHO I agree that the fandom assumption that Jack is a child and Dean was supposed to parent him distorts this early dynamic in ESPECIALLY IN BIG WAYS

///

LATER:

Dean begins to form a bond with Jack... and this is when a parental dynamic starts to develop.

Even that is whacky fast. BECAUSE!!!! After the initial HALF-MONTH OR MONTH of being in the same space, Jack promptly runs away and bless him, he APPEARS to go on a FUCKIN killing spree, so Dean was preparing himself for the worst.

I mean SURE Dean was almost-instantly "fond of the kid" in the month he had him before this, and he jumped into teaching him to read a map on the road trip to Tombstone (Note: Jack's BEST MEMORY IN HEAVEN) but personally EYE don't think it's until Jack said THIS that the parenting even fully crystallized (13x09 The Bad Place)

To ME: This is the moment that reads OHhhhhhhhh SHIT I MIGHT HAVE AN ACTUAL KID that lives w me and knows the full scope of both me and my life I DIDN'T THINK I'D GET THAT (script 14x19 you live in infamy for this line)

AFTER THAT, JACK WAS DEAN'S TOO-GOOD-TO-BE-TRUE. His captive music affectionado. His TV buddy. If you care.

He was even almost the "death that Dean would not survive," pretty literally with the Equalizer. Jack IS the thing that triggered Dean's existential crisis. That's not nothin.’

IN A WAY, The BEFORE AND AFTER with the Dean and Jack dynamic is epically demonstrated... by this:

& this

& this

////

From this point on, it’s more fair to see Dean’s actions in a "parenting" context. Dean refer to Jack as HIS kid to Lily Sunder, and he OFC gives himself and Jack codenames of father and son in Optimism.

And on numerous occasions AFTER THIS, Jack calls Dean his dad. (Aside/// OFC Jack is FUNDAMENTALLY a child raised by a village, not a nuke fam.)

It's not really until AFTER Apocalypse-World that Jack bonds strongly with any of them, but especially with Cas and Dean. I would say that bond with Dean and Cas really cements itself after 13x22 & 13x23.

You have my full heart on this -> -> Yes, while criticism is cool, labeling Dean as an actively malicious parent I think tends to misrepresent canon. Because it's important to consider context of the AWFUL situation!!! Yissss.

Also to me it's less fun to miss out on the VERY important and crunchy crunchy fact that Jack and Dean are fucked up in similar core ways and will forgive each other instantly for the fucked-up things that they fundamentally agree with in their family-loving, burden-shouldering little hearts (which includes murders and/or suicides for the good of all). ILTSM. <3

///

AFTER-MARY'S DEATH:

This should probably get it's own divider because for fucks' sake, that's Dean's MOM THAT DIED... not to mention symbolic death of HIS KID AS HE KNEW HIM. (And the death of Dean's future... the future he finally FINALLY visualized for himself.) That said, this is the most complicated part of all!!!

As for Dean's existential crisis, well, this is ALREADY too long. But most of you know where I stand on that, I hope? I feel like I've talked a lot about Dean's nervous breakdown AS a nervous breakdown (analogous to Sam's s1/s4/s8 nervous breakdowns, and Cas's s7/s8-9/s11-2 nervous breakdowns, and Mary's s12 nervous breakdown... there are enough nervous breakdowns to go around, surely????)

The sundering of Jack as family is a super important facet of the breakdown, because Dean has to do that to stomach Jack's sacrifice. Dean is no stranger to trying to sunder family. He tells Bobby that Bobby's not his father. He tries to kill Sam with a hammer.

Dean snaps out of it (too late) and kills death, just like in s10 with Sam, which is the point. SPN just needs, like... one more season to stick the themes, I think.

//////////////

I mostly just repeated you. But please take this answer with a slice of pizza and forgive the rambling because I don't have the energy to clean my asks up anymore.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[chrystal-ink]

Okay, so first off, the hedgehog harem prologue? Amazing! Loved it and looking forward to how this progresses. I couldn’t help but notice something…

Now this is about Tower who I assume is Boom!Shadow (if I’m wrong, please correct me I did the best I could keeping track of which one was which). If I have that correct…

I find it hilarious that the most aggressive Shadow fell for y/n the quickest 😂 (original Shadow excluded, obviously). Didn’t even have anything done for him like the others and yet he’s already hooked.

Btw, love your take on Lancelot and his lack of modern day knowledge, especially birth control!😂😂😂 he’s going to view so many things as some sort of magic or witchcraft 😅. Go easy on the poor guy, he at least has the excuse of not knowing any better.

Thank you so much for enjoying it! I really appreciate it! So sorry for taking so long to reply I’ve been sick and haven’t felt up to writing or doing much of anything this past week but I’m finally starting to feel better and I’m getting back into the swing of things.

Yes Tower is Boom Shadow sorry I probably should have added that in as a note I���ll put a list of who’s who just in case.

X shadow = Edge ❌

Boom Shadow = Tower 💥

Movie Shadow = Dual 🎬

06 Shadow = Six 6️⃣

Lancelot = Lancelot ⚔️

And OG Shadow will just be referred to as Shadow

Shadow in boom is so funny to me because of all his adaptations he is kinda the most asshole of them all (and I mean that in a loving way). He gives off a very “I like this therefore it is my whole world” vibe.

He’s also very set in his ways once he makes a decision he sticks with it, I think that once OG brought up the topic of being in a romantic relationship his interest was piqued, because he very much looks down on others he had high expectations for Y/N all of which were met pretty much from the beginning before reader opens their mouth.

Now don’t get me wrong the love that boom feels at this moment in the story is very superficial, he has a lot to learn and his romance style is going to be the most immature starting out but as we progress there’s going to be a lot of self reflecting not only in boom but in the others as well. The therapy sessions are actually going to come into play in some fun and interesting ways that I hope to make really good like I’m kinda nervous writing it out in a way that makes sense.

Don’t worry about Lancelot I won’t make him suffer too much lol (maybe just a little). In part one I was going to add a part about the Shadows teaching Lancelot about indoor plumbing but I decided against it because it was making an already long chapter even longer and it also didn’t add anything to the story.

I might do some little side blurbs about the Shadows living together without Y/N being directly involved or even mentioned because frankly the concept of six different Shadows living together could be a whole fic in itself. but that’s only if I find the time. I’m going to be super busy in May to the point where I’ll be lucky to get one or two fics out.

But as for Lancelot he’s definitely the one I’ve had the most fun writing for. I also have the most ideas for him that I’m excited to write about (sword fighting lessons anyone?). But all in all I plan on giving each of the shadows some well deserved love, So long as they don’t break anything lol.

[yuesya]

Aoqing hums lightly as he strides forward, along the seastone-lined paths of the palace courtyard. The form of a human is still something that he is quite unused to, a cumbersome shape that sorely lacks the elegance and fluidity of his original body. But that would be precisely why he requires practice, wouldn’t it?

Being able to take on a human shape is both a sign of skill and a mark of accomplishment among illuminated beasts. The jiao reign as the most powerful of sea-kin, their status unshakable ever since one of their own had ascended to godhood, and Aoqing is their prince. Attaining a human form at an age so young is only to be expected of him, for he is the son of their god, the Lord of the Vortex’s chosen heir.

Excellence is his birthright, written in the blood that flows through his veins. Aoqing will not suffer the ignominy of being a shame and a disgrace to his blood.

“Prince Ao! There you are!”

Aoqing pauses, and turns. A friendly smile curves over his lips; this human way of expressing emotions is something that Aoqing is making an effort to familiarize himself with as well.

“Mingtao,” he says pleasantly. “What a coincidence, running into you here. You are on your way to my lord-father’s court as well?”

Mingtao is a high-ranked jiao, and one of Aoqing’s similarly-aged companions. Prone to being a little simpleminded and inconsiderate at times, but that’s fine. That just makes it easier to direct him towards whichever direction Aoqing happens to find more amusing.

“Of course! I’m going to be in attendance with my father –I just saw you over here, and figured I’d come and say hi.” Mingtao steps closer, squinting. “Wow, your human shape is really good, Prince Ao.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” Aoqing had worked hard on this, and it’s nice to have his efforts acknowledged and validated by others. Even if it’s coming from someone clumsy and bumbling like Mingtao, whose human transformation lands solidly on the inhuman side of things. There are only two aspects of Mingtao’s current appearance that actually look human: His relative size, and the pair of human arms and legs sticking out from his sides at mismatched levels.

Aoqing widens his smile. “Your human shape is quite good as well.”

“Eh, you think so?” Mingtao brightens, then droops. “My dad doesn’t think so, though. Ugh, I really hope he lets me come up with him to the surface soon –but he won’t let me, not until I’ve at least nailed this ‘human shape’ thing!”

It’s good to see that despite being a doting father, General Minghui isn’t so lax as to bring his son to the surface when he is not yet ready. Especially when Mingtao’s appearance is one that would no doubt cause humans to immediately scatter in terror upon sight, weak and feeble-minded little things that they are.

Aoqing, on the other hand, is quite confident that his own human form will finally meet his father’s criteria. Perhaps now his father will finally acknowledge Aoqing’s abilities and see him as worthy of–

–oh?

There is a small clamor off to their left, and Aoqing glances over in the corresponding direction of the sudden commotion.

More than one individual has paused, or at least slowed their footsteps, either discreetly or obviously observing the new arrival in their midst. An individual who wears the form of a young adolescent human girl, with long white hair flowing out behind her and eerie blue eyes that no actual human would ever mistake for being natural.

So his elder sister has been summoned as well, hmm?

It’s rare to see her outside of the barren territory that Aoqing’s lord-father had granted unto her. A pitiful thing that isn’t even a proper seaborn, an aberrant mix of jiao and fox. It must be a sense of shame and acute self-awareness that sees her living quietly with her head lowered.

She should be grateful for the power of their father’s blood, of the talent in her blood that had allowed her to attain a human form around the same time as Aoqing did, even as halved as it was. Unlike her true form, her human form is not so off-putting and repulsive; in fact, the opposite is true.

Aoqing admits that his sister’s human face is pretty. When she grows older, he has no doubt that the descriptor would change into attractive or alluring. She is, after all, a fox’s daughter. A born seductress. But time would tell if she–

“Oh, who’s that?” Mingtao cranes his neck, eyes wide and appreciative. “Hey, hey, do you know her, Prince Ao? … Do you think I have a chance with her? My dad’s been talking about betrothals and everything recently, and if I can’t get out of an arrangement I at least want it to be someone pretty to look at –urk.”

Still smiling, Aoqing steps closer to Mingtao. The other boy stares back at Aoqing in confusion, human hands clumsily pushing at Aoqing’s own… which are closed around Mingtao’s neck in a deathly grip.

“M-my prince…?”

Aoqing calmly continues choking Mingtao for a moment longer, to ensure that the idiot will remember this, then finally releases him.

“Done with your nonsense ramblings?” Aoqing slowly retracts his human hand. “That’s the fox-daughter. Are you sure that you really want to marry that?”

Mingtao’s eyes widen like a startled goldfish, and his jaw hangs open in shock. “That’s her?!”

“It is,” Aoqing nods. “Don’t let yourself be fooled so easily, Mingtao. She’s a fox; is it really so surprising that her human skin is pretty?”

“I guess not,” Mingtao sags. “I was tricked, I didn’t even realize… thanks for warning me, Prince Ao.”

“Of course. You’re very welcome, my dear friend.”

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Tell ourselves a good lie

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 11

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: fluff, Matt and reader falling for each other, Matt being charming, swearing, Valentine's Day references

a/n: Hi everyone! Thank you for being so patient with me, it's been a rough few months. I'm hoping to post a chapter every 6 weeks or so but we will see if the muse cooperates. As always, if you enjoy please let me know by commenting/reblogging!

w/c: 5.5k

Vanessa Carlton might be the antichrist. It had been ages since you’d set foot in a church, but you vaguely recalled tales of the seven plagues. Massive displays of divine wrath served as punishment for mankind's many sins. The earworm that was “A Thousand Miles” was definitely a consequence of humanity's freewill.

Cringing as the dissonant speakers blasted the familiar chorus, your body recoiled viciously. You wanted to shrivel up and dissolve into ash, remnants to be swept up and disposed of at the end of an employee's shift, eventually discarded and forgotten. Apparently your sulking demeanor was palpable, because Matt huffed out a laugh as he took his seat next to you, sliding the cardboard tray with your coffees onto the table with a smirk.

“Not a fan of the music?” He asked, clearly amused with your displeasure. Lifting his monstrous paper cup from its nest, he took a generous sip, humming in approval. With a slight frown, he spun towards you, shoving your drink further into your line of sight.

Moping momentarily paused, you reached for the coffee, removing it from the cupholder with far less grace than Matt had. “Thanks, trouble. And I guess I'm somewhat tired of this song.”

“Considering that it plays at least once every hour, that's understandable.” Matt replied. “And given how often we come here, it's a miracle we haven’t been driven insane.”

“Speak for yourself.” You groused, sinking further into your chair as you guzzled down the liquid-gold in your cup. “It's been half a decade and Jen is still obsessed with this song. She and Oscar sing it to each other all. the. time.”

“That's sweet.” Matt chuckled, biting his lip to stifle a laugh at your incredulous glare.

“It is not sweet, Matthew. This song takes up far too much space in my mind, and, frankly, it has overstayed its welcome.”

Snorting at your snarky comment, Matt shook his head. One of his thumbs traced over the cardboard band encircling the cup, catching on the heart-shaped sticker next to the cafe's logo. Lips twisting as he became slightly puzzled, Matt's fingertip followed the curve at the top of the image, trying to use the nerves there to determine what the shape was.

Your stomach fluttered, a small smile breaking through your sullen attitude as you observed his curiosity. Gently taking his hand, you guided his movements around the perimeter of the small addition. “It's a pair of hearts. For Valentine's day, I think.” You explained, withdrawing your hand as heat slithered over your cheeks.

Matt smiled softly, continuing to duplicate the shape with the pad of his thumb. “Ah, festive.”

“You have no idea. It looks like Saint Valentine threw up in here.” You shook your head, taking in your surroundings despite the pit of despair churning in your stomach. “There are streamers hung up across the ceiling, red, pink, and white ones all twirled a little bit so they look like helixes? Does that make sense?”

Nodding demurely, Matt's cheeks were tinged pink, his chin angled towards the table as he spoke. “Are they pretty?”

Blowing out a breath, you jostled your head from side to side. “Yeah, Matty. They're pretty. There are stickers on the windows too, more cheesy than pretty, cartoon cupids–like chubby babies in diapers, those cupids.”

Laughing in surprise, Matt's nose scrunched in distaste. “Not quite what I was expecting.”

“Stick with me, Murdock. I'll describe decorations around Manhattan that are FAR worse than half-naked adolescent deities.” You snorted, biting back a sigh as the bell chimed–signaling the entrance of yet another happy couple.

Normally, you weren't this cynical about Valentine's day. As a child, you'd loved the celebrations and opportunity to show your appreciation for your loved ones, even if the love wasn't romantic. While others complained about the holiday and its tendency to highlight loneliness, it had always been a time of gratitude for you. It was ironic, and almost humorous, that the first time you truly understood people's disdain for February 14th was when you were in a serious relationship.

As much as you wanted to deny it, you wanted to have a cliche, romantic Valentine's with your boyfriend. You wanted to get dressed up and go out to a nice dinner, and this random mid-February Thursday was an opportunity to convince him to do that. Or it would've been. If he hadn't asked to take a step back.

You weren't on a break. At least, Everett claimed you weren't. Each day that went by without you seeing him or hearing from him made you increasingly anxious that it was a break. That he was out finding someone better and you were stupidly twiddling your thumbs waiting for him to return to you because you hadn’t received the memo.

The sheer number of romantic gestures you'd witnessed recently didn't help. Walking around campus, everyone you saw seemed to have met their soulmate. Boys opening doors for their girlfriends who would kiss them on the cheek as they passed. Students in your class talking about the reservations at the high-end restaurant that their partner had fought tooth and nail for. Even the rats that lived under the dumpster outside your building seemed to have been affected by the atmosphere, if their horrid shrieks each night were indeed what they sounded like.

As if your thoughts of sickly-sweet couples had summoned them, two familiar faces appeared in the vestibule, ambling through the door with their hands linked. ”The Lovebirds have arrived.“ You mumbled to Matt, trying not to sound aggravated unsuccessfully.

Plastering a pleasant expression on your face as Foggy and Marci approached, you tried to tamp down your frustration from a boil to a mild simmer. Matt grinned as the chairs across from you screeched across the floor.

”Nice of you to join us.“ One of his brows was raised, his comment directed at Marci in a slight challenge.

The pair of them loved to butt heads whenever possible, constantly trying to out-do each other in and out of the classroom. It wasn't awkward or aggressive, though. It was a game for them. Foggy had confessed he liked it when Marci demonstrated how cutthroat she could be, and you weren't one to turn down free entertainment.

Rolling her eyes, the blonde tossed Matt a sly smirk. “It's called being 'fashionably late', Murdock. Besides, it's not like we're holding you back from your important plans.”

Foggy snickered. “She's gotcha there, bud.”

Matt sniffed with exaggerated offense. “And this is why I only bought a coffee for Bug.”

“Woah!” You threw your hands up in surrender. “No need to drag me into this, trouble.”

Marci giggled, batting her lashes at Foggy. “Foggy-bear, will you order for me? You know what I like.”

“Of course, babe.” Foggy nodded eagerly, kissing her lips gently before scurrying to the counter.

“Be warned that I'm keeping a list of everything he purchases for you. If you ever break up, we will be pursuing damages.” Matt's lips curved up, his posture straightening confidently as he leaned forward.

“Oh please,” Marci waved off the implied threat. “Haven't you been paying attention in Contracts? There's no way you'd be able to prove unjust enrichment without proof of expectation of repayment. No legal remedy for wasted gifts, hun.”

Matt hummed, chin bobbing with a tiny nod. “Just making sure you've been paying attention, Miss Stahl. Would hate for you to embarrass yourself tomorrow.”

Shaking your head at their antics, you placed a hand on Matt's arm before changing the subject. “So things are still going well?”

“I mean, you tell me!” Marci laughed, looking over her shoulder at Foggy as he conversed with the barista animatedly. “He's more likely to tell the two of you if he isn't happy.”

“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.” Matt smiled, leaning back against the frame of his chair. “He's willingly wrapped around your finger.”

Chuckling in agreement, you gave an emphatic nod. “Seriously, Marci. Head over heels.”

“He's not the only one.” She muttered wistfully, cheeks flushing bright pink as Foggy waved from his place at the counter.

“Awww.” You and Matt cooed in unison, making Marci shrink in her seat.

“Shut up.” She hissed, face continuing to turn a shade of crimson as Foggy returned with two cups in hand.

“Are they being mean, babe?” He asked with a frown, passing her the taller of the cups.

She nodded with a pout, looking at him with wide eyes. “Never leave me alone with them again.”

“Shame on the both of you.” Foggy scolded, throwing an arm over his girlfriend's shoulders. “Harassing this defenseless woman.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you crossed your arms. “Ok, I know you're trying to be sweet but let's not pretend she's incapable of holding her own.”

“Yah, bear. That's almost sexist.” Marci huffed, bringing her coffee up to hide her smile as Foggy stammered.

“Ok, that's not what I meant, we all know that.”

Shrugging, you raised your cup, mirroring Marci. “Intent is irrelevant.”

“Exactly.” Marci agreed, gesturing to you.

Looking between the two of you, baffled by your straight faces, Foggy threw his hands up. “You two are impossible.”

Giggling in tandem, Marci held out a fist for you to bump, the action only spurning Foggy's irritation. “Keep it up, Marce. See where it gets you.”

Snatching him in a hug, Marci kissed the long-haired boy's cheek. “Sorry, Foggy-bear. We were just teasing.”

“It’s all fun and games, ‘til I go to Tartina alone next week.” Foggy narrowed his eyes at Marci, waiting for her response to the threat. 

Gasping dramatically, Marci cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. Forgive me?”

Melting at his girlfriend’s earnest stare, Foggy grinned. “Ok, I guess you’re forgiven.” 

Marci squealed, nearly falling out of her chair as Foggy yanked her into a hug. Next to you, Matt stuck his tongue out, sending disgusted grimace in your direction. Clapping a hand over your mouth, you stifled a laugh, only chuckling harder when the pair of entangled lovers scowled at the sound.

“Laugh it up, bug. We’ll uninvite you from dinner.” Your long-haired friend shrugged, clearly possessing knowledge you didn’t have. 

“Fog, I’m not sure you can use your date with Marci to threaten me as well–as much as I love the ingenuity,” You scoffed, tipping your coffee cup until the dregs of your latte dripped into your mouth.

“Well, actually, we thought it would be more fun–” Foggy started in a low voice, igniting something akin to fear in your heart.

“And less pressure!” Marci chimed in.

“And less pressure,” Foggy reiterated. “If you and Matt joined us for a group date!”

Silence descended over the table. Sneaking a glance at Matt, whose face had flushed bright pink, your lips parted, allowing you to stumble over your words. “Um, what? I mean–”

Linking her fingers with Foggy, Marci twirled a strand of hair around her pointer finger, looking quite determined. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! You can bring Everett, Matt can bring his hussy of the week, we’ll all eat amazing Italian food until we burst. Don’t tell me you have other plans!” 

“Well, it is five days out, Stahl.” Matt snorted, squeezing your shoulder with a rough hand. “And while I might not have a conflict, I’m sure Bug was–”

“I actually don’t have plans.” You mumbled, eyes falling to the seam of your cup as you peeled it choppily with a fingernail. 

The statement captured everyone’s attention like a magnet, their heads tilting with confusion and pity as they processed the statement. Matt’s brows knit together, his tongue trailing across his lips. “What do you mean? It’s Valentine’s day.”

“Thanks for the reminder, trouble.” You chuckled sourly. “But I should be free. If you’re ok with me being a fifth wheel, of course. Evs isn’t interested in going out this week.”

“Fine with me!” Foggy chirped, unbothered by the slight alteration to his expectations. His roommate sat silently as he schemed with his girlfriend about timing.

With a flick of your hand, you attempted to spin your mostly empty coffee cup like a top, resolutely ignoring Matt's concerned side eye. Unfortunately, Matt either couldn't tell or didn't care.

Elbowing you gingerly, he pushed his lenses up the bridge of his nose–shielding the blank irises from your field of vision. “Everett 'isn't interested' in going out for Valentine's day?” His voice was hushed, his question posed only to you, rather than the table.

Letting out a single solemn exhale, your lips quirked up as you forced a smile, which ended up feeling more like a grimace. “Don't get me started.”

“Did something happen?” At Matt's small question, your brain was drawn back to the argument you'd had with your boyfriend, and the reason for said argument.

Heat flew to your cheeks. “Yes.”

“Did you want to–”

“No.” You interrupted, warmth blossoming to the tips of your ears as your embarrassment grew.

“You're still together?”

There was a color to Matt's words that seemed almost..hopeful? “Yes, it's just...” You lifted a hand in a half-hearted gesture, pretty accurately conveying the confusing mix of emotions you were feeling about your relationship.

“Complicated?” Matt smirked at you, his face tense behind the small movement.

“Precisely.” You laughed, winding your arm with his. “Thanks for checking up on me, though.”

“Always, bubs.” Matt turned back to the more animated conversation coming from across the wobbly table, fingers subtly grasping the crease of your elbow.

“Ow, FUCK!”

Frowning at the distant yell, Matt angled his senses towards your apartment to the best of his ability. He was still a few blocks away, but he could sprint to you if–

“Blinding yourself with a mascara wand. That takes talent,” Matt smiled, relief and amusement mingling in his chest as he tuned in to your frustrated mutters. Thankfully, it seemed that you were battling an inanimate object rather than an intruder. More annoying than dangerous, he hoped. 

You were still getting ready, he should have expected that, given that it was nearly an hour until you were expected at the restaurant. But after about an hour of anxious pacing, he’d decided that showing up to your place early was preferable to sitting alone in a dark room while he descended into madness. It was peculiar, his reaction to today’s pseudo-date. Though, you tended to bring out paradoxical reactions in him. The knowledge that today’s activity was inherently more romantic, and trending away from the platonic balance he’d managed to achieve, scared him to death. There were infinite possibilities to overstep the fine line he’d been balancing on, to reveal how he felt about you–which is the exact realization that had ignited his pacing.

Yet, with every step in your direction, he grew eerily calmer. The cellophane-wrapped bundle he’d been slowly mashing with a fist crinkled as his fingers spread into a relaxed grip. Closing in on the familiar building, Matt let out a breath. Less than two blocks away and he could finally hear your heartbeat. Soft and steady, ticking rhythmically like his own personal metronome. 

In his time after the accident, Matt had quickly realized that heartbeats are unique, like fingerprints. Each person influenced by a combination of factors out of their control, creating a distinctive sound within their rib cage. A deep thrumming beat not dissimilar to a wooden drum. He’d found that technology and media often distorted the noise, exaggerating the convulsion and adding an ominous quality. In reality, Matt adored this sound. Walking the streets of Manhattan, he was constantly surrounded by a gorgeous soundtrack, akin to the murmur of rain against a window. 

It wasn’t off-putting, like some people thought. It was his constant reminder that he was alive, surrounded by the living. A sign of a body’s electrical current, each unique tone contributing to the world’s most expansive harmony. 

Of all the pulses he’d experienced, yours was one of his favorites. It encapsulated you perfectly–consistent and restrained, soothing and cautious. A beacon of safety in a tumultuous sea. Matt never tired of it, quite the opposite in fact. On days like these, when he was deprived of your presence, he teetered on the edge of suffocation–his teeth clenched so hard that he struggled to breathe. Your heart beat, the reminder that you were alive, that someone cared for him had become invaluable. Living without it wasn’t living at all. 

…Maybe his reasons for showing up on your doorstep early were more selfish than he’d originally thought. A bit late to turn back now, wasn’t it? 

His hand clasped around the cold steel rod attached to the entrance of your building, tugging it open before he slipped inside. Taking the stairs two at a time, he leapt up the flights, landing in front of your door before he could chicken out. Momentarily catching his breath, his trembling fist made contact with the door, pounding out a knock. 

You nearly broke your ankle answering it, the instability of your stiletto heels aggravated by your rush to let Matt in. Toppling into the door frame, you caught yourself with a shoulder, no doubt giving yourself a nasty bruise in the process. 

“Damn, bug, didn’t mean to sweep you off your feet,” Matt joked, holding out an arm for you to steady yourself as you hobbled backwards into the apartment.

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole.” You groaned, gingerly pressing on the spot of impact. “I wasn’t expecting you, I thought we were meeting at the restaurant.”

Shrugging, Matt gave a flimsy excuse. “I figured we could walk together.” 

“Sure,” Whatever jewelry you were wearing jangled as you nodded. Carefully lowering yourself onto the couch, your fingers rasped over the smooth fabric of your gown. “What about your date? Are we picking her up?” 

“Oh, um,” This was the part he was dreading. Scouring the depths of his being for every ounce of courage he could find, he confessed. “I-I didn’t ask anyone. To come with. To the dinner.”

Your eyes narrowed, confusion building as you looked between his face and the bouquet in his hands. “You brought flowers.”

A chuckle burst out of him. The simple observation had caught him off guard, obliterating his apprehension. “I did. They’re for you.”

Your lips parted, unleashing a barely audibly gasp. Matt’s hair stood on end, his entire body flooding with warmth over the tiny puff of air. For some reason, the fact that you weren’t expecting anything made him more determined to show you exactly what you deserved. If your boyfriend couldn’t step up, then he would. Tracing a finger over your forearm, Matt nudged your hand open, settling the bunch of stems into your palm. 

“For me?” The plastic sheet holding the roses together rustled as you brushed it with a thumb, focus locked on the bouquet. Your voice was adorably soft and completely awestruck. “Why?”

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day, bug.” Matt explained gently. “And since I’m filling in for Everett today…I just figured you’d like them, I guess.” 

“I love them, trouble.” Your throat was tight with emotion, the scent of salt wafting towards him as you wrapped an arm over his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Matt whispered your name reverently, leaning into your embrace. “I’m sorry if that’s weird–”

“It’s not weird.” You objected, your lips parting with a tiny smile. “It’s so sweet. I’m sorry you couldn’t work your magic on some unsuspecting girl this week though. Are you sure you want to go to this thing?”

“Oh yah, I’d rather hang out with you anyways.” Matt snorted, flushing when he realized what he’d said. “You and Fog, I mean.” Intently scanning your body for signs of tension, he let the built up tension roll off his shoulders as you brushed right over his freudian slip.

“I get that, Matty. Dating’s for the birds.” You grimaced, turning the flowers over in your hands. “Did you carry these all the way here? You aren’t wearing gloves!”

“I mean, yes, but it wasn’t–” His voice faltered when your warm hand took one of his, tugging him to your couch while you bustled off to set the flowers in a vase. Before he could regain the ability to speak, you plopped down next to him, tenderly taking hold of both his hands. Warm flesh wrapped around his fingers, squeezing lightly in a line down to the tips, an attempt to bring more blood flow to the affected area.

Tutting in disapproval, you maneuvered his hands until they rested on a blanket, his palms touching both his own thigh and yours as you continued caring for his numb extremities. “You're freezing, Matt. It's too cold to be out there without layers.”

“I was wearing layers.” He muttered, far too endeared by your concern to sound convincingly petulant.

“Clearly too few.” You replied, dragging the back of one hand over his cheek. He hadn't realized how cold he truly felt until your skin collided with his, every cell sapping your heat with the ferocity of a dehydrated creature at a puddle. His body lapped up the touch, tilting into your hold as you gently brushed over his nose, beneath his eyes.

Your nails were coated in lacquer, the smell lingering on the tips of your fingers. The sharp alcoholic tang prickled in his nostrils. You had clearly put an extensive amount of effort into your appearance. He could smell the powdery scent of various makeup products, practically tasting the cloud of hairspray you were still carrying around. As his own hands drifted over the edge of the blanket, they fell near your waist, grazing the cool fabric of your outfit.

It was magnetic, the lack of resistance his calluses were met with. They slipped over your curves with ease, gliding down the smooth garment.

“This is..is this silk?” Still stroking your dress, he bit his cheek, marveling at how it clung to your equally soft skin, as if you and the dress were one and the same.

“Uh, yah I think so.” A nervous laugh tumbled out of you, a small wave of heat caressing Matt's hand as you began mirroring his touches over your abdomen. “Marci's friend let me borrow it. I'm pretty sure it's worth more than my entire closet.”

“I bet.” Matt whispered, flushing as he withdrew from you. Sheepishness dug into his throat, reminding him of the platonic line he'd drawn in the metaphorical sand.

“I wouldn't have agreed to wear it, but Marci was sort of adamant that we match. And I thought that was kind of sweet, like she wanted us to be more of a group?” You clasped your hands, curling in on yourself as you rambled, your heart rate climbing. “And, I don't know, she has a lot of 'girlfriends' but they're all the sorority type, and it seemed like she might want to be our friend too, so..I said yes.”

“That's sweet of you, bug.” Matt smiled, a slimy glob of jealousy rising in his stomach. “Indulging her, trying to be friendly.”

You clearly picked up on the hint of bitterness in his tone, scoffing affectionately. “It's one night, Matt.”

“No, I know. I think it's nice, really!” He lied through his teeth, trying desperately to pitch his voice so it sounded genuine. “And I'm sure Fog really appreciates you making her feel welcome.”

“Welcome into what?” Your tone made it obvious you were raising an eyebrow, amused by his sudden burst of envy.

“I don't know, our group, I guess?” He shrugged, chin nearly hitting his chest as he ducked his head, your scrutiny needling at his skin.

“Woah, I'm not sure I'm ready to go that far, trouble.” Unraveling from your hunched position, you scooted until you were pressed against him, leaning into his shoulder. “I kinda like our little troop how it is.”

Nuzzling a kiss into your hair, Matt grinned. “Me too.”

The two of you remained tangled together for a while, basking in the sound of each other's breathing. When your pulse abruptly spiked, Matt smiled despite himself, rubbing a circle over your back. “You ok?”

Pulling away from his neck, you huffed incredulously. “How on earth do you do that?”

“Do what?” He asked innocently, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“It's like you can read my damn thoughts, trouble.” Face pooling with heat, you brought a hand to cover your mouth. “Oh my god, you can't read my thoughts, right?”

Well, that was an intriguing worry. Were your thoughts so sinful? “No, of course not, bug. You just got quiet.”

“So did you!” You giggled, shaking your head. A stray hair trailed over his cheek.

“Fair enough. But your answer to my initial question was almost an informal admission.” He quipped.

“God, you're such a law student.” You snorted, exaggerating the annoyance in your words.

“Stop deflecting.” He scolded, still smiling at you. Jabbing you in the side with a knuckle, he sent a stern glance somewhere in your direction. “Spill.”

Sighing heavily, you wriggled until your face was buried against his neck. “I'm just worried this will be weird.”

“What, the dinner?” Matt clarified.

Your forehead tugged at his skin as you nodded. “What if it's, like, awkward?” When the question was met with expectant silence, you reluctantly explained. “I guess I’m just not in a super romantic mood, and we barely know Marci, so..”

He hadn’t considered that. In his mind, you’d view this as any other meal with him and his roommate. After all, you weren’t harboring hidden feelings for your best friend. Why would it be nerve wracking for you? At your admission, however, a fond smile twitch at his lips, urging him to draw you close. “We could make a game out of it?”

“How?” You asked shyly, fidgeting with the seam of the throw. 

“Every time one of us feels out of place or Foggy gives us second hand embarrassment, we take a drink?” He chuckled, only semi-joking.

“We aren't of age, Matt.” You laughed, clearly seeing through his attempts to get your mind away from its impending spiral.

“Crap.” He hung his head dramatically, grinning at the giggles that burst out of you.

In the end, you decided on an over-under bet of how many cliche “romcom moments” you'd endure as the respective third and fourth wheel on this date. 

Matt, always the risk taker, guessed thirty-five. You stuck with a more conservative fifteen. The two of you had come up with an elaborate list of possible rewards for the winner by the time you reached the restaurant, finally agreeing to gamble on the price of dinner. Constructing and debating the intricacies of your wager, and what constituted a “romcom moment”, had seemingly swept your anxiety back under the rug. As the two of you inched forward in line towards the hostess, your pulse flapped gently, much slower than the rapid staccato he’d been trying to calm. Your breaths fanned gently over his jaw as you beamed up at him, delightedly listening to his retelling of a roommate escapade you’d missed. 

“I knew Foggy snored, but sleepwalking? That’s new.” You stifled a giggle, accepting the outstretched arm he offered as an invitation to slide into the corner of the booth you’d been assigned. He scooted over the fabric until your thighs pressed together, preening at the relieved sigh you released when tilting into him. 

It felt so natural, this casual affection you both seemed to crave. As if you were made with him in mind. 

“Thank god for semantics,” You muttered under your breath, interrupting his wandering thoughts with the amusement dancing over your tongue. “If there was alcohol in our cups we’d be blackout by the time entrees were ordered.”

“Tell me it’s not that bad already,” Matt chuckled, tuning in to Foggy’s heartbeat, desperate to know if he was already ahead.

“There's a giant pink teddy bear, Matt. I'm talking toddler sized. She's struggling to hold it.” You leaned into his shoulder, swallowing a chuckle as you waved your friends down.

“Oh, Fog.” Matt shook his head, smirking as you wound a hand over his forearm, twisting your fingers into his.

“Thank god you're here, trouble. I'd never make it through tonight without you.” You blew out a breath, your posture straightening as you plastered on a polite smile to greet the happy couple.

Feeling heat flood his cheeks, Matt's brain stuttered as he processed the comment. You couldn't have meant that, right? Not in the way it sounded to him, at least.

“Earth to Matt! Come in Matt!” Matt flinched as a hand waved at his face, fanning air over his lips. “Did we lose ya, buddy?”

“No, just, taking it all in. I hear there's a large carnivorous mammal joining us?” He raised a brow, shooting a smirk towards the cloud of Marci's overwhelming perfume.

The girl scoffed in response, throwing a furry object at him—the limb of the teddy bear, by his estimations. “Don't be so jealous, Murdock. It's not cute.”

“I can go buy you a matching bear,” You offered, concealing your sarcasm with a lilting smile as the fingers of your free hand stroked the fur of the plush creature. “If you're that upset, Matty.”

Grinning as you snuggled into his side, he nodded enthusiastically. “I'm honestly a bit offended that you didn't think of it earlier, sweetheart. What's next? Will I be buying my own heart-shaped box of chocolates too?”

“Christ, Matty. You can’t expect so much from me! I’m not a mind reader.” You jested, your voice barely audible over the creaky table shifting around the two newcomers’ weight. 

“And here I was thinking you truly wanted to put in effort for little old me.” Matt sniffed, turning his nose up with a pout. “My mistake.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, handsome. I’ll make it up to you.” You purred, leaning impossibly closer before Foggy made a retching sound.

“You two are especially gross tonight.” Matt’s roommate shuddered, picking up a menu. 

“Says the man who spent the majority of last week sucking face.” Matt snorted, lifting his own glass up to his smile as you choked on a mouthful of water beside him. “Jeez, you ok, bug?”

“Yup!” You sputtered, waving off his concern. “You caught me off guard with that one. Fog, any rebuttal?” 

Across the table, Foggy and Marci’s blazed with heat, only widening Matt’s smirk. “Guess not.” He quipped, turning to face you as you both erupted into laughter. 

“SO, lamb chops sound good,” Foggy tried to redirect the conversation, ignoring the pair of you resolutely. 

The night progressed in a similar fashion. Each time the actual couple did something romantic, a spark of mirth would shoot through you and Matt, encouraging your teasing. Your combined goofiness eventually wore off on Foggy and his date, forcing them to go to even greater lengths to entertain you.

When Foggy put Marci’s order in as well as his own, Matt followed suit, sending you a sly smile when referring to you as “the lady”. Somewhere during the meal, Foggy smeared mint puree over his lip, letting Marci swipe it off with a finger. You narrated the moment to Matt, stifling a chuckle when he cooed at them fondly. The two of you even copied them when they decided to share dessert, giggling when you nearly dropped spoonfuls of ice cream in each other’s laps. 

When dessert plates had been scraped clean, the four of you groaned in tandem, remarking about the quality of the food for a bit before Marci and Foggy darted off–giving some half-assed excuse about other plans after paying their half of the bill. 

You watched them with a knowing smile, head pillowing on Matt’s shoulder as they made their exit. “Ugh, the love birds.”

“Tell me about it,” Matt scoffed. “I feel like we just gave our blessing for their marriage.”

“We gave our blessing for somethin’.” You giggled, squishing his hand in your own before digging out your wallet with a melodramatic sigh. “Alright, trouble. Time to settle up.” 

Before you could lengthen the accordion-style pouch, Matt’s hand settled over yours. 

“No need. I got it.” Swallowing around the embarrassment in his throat, he slipped his own wallet from his jacket, removing a card. 

He could practically hear your confused frown as you watched him. “But..you won? I’m supposed to pay for dinner.” 

“I never said I wanted you to pay.” He shrugged, smiling at the waiter as he passed his card over. 

Your eye roll was obvious.

“You clever bastard.” You whispered, crossing your arms as he broke into a grin. 

“Why else would you agree to let me pay?” Matt asked, laughing brightly as you shoved him. 

“You are too sneaky for your own good, Murdock.” Slipping your arms beneath his, you squeezed him tightly. “Thank you. For dinner..for everything.”

Pressing a kiss to your head, Matt’s heart glowed with warmth. “Anything for you, sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

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[differenteagletragedy]

Hiii!! I hope you’re well!!

Idea - the Our Life boys are sooo in love with you that they know everything about you, and your family, and your friends, even your out of turn friends. They set up cameras in your home to keep an eye on you. They aren’t stalkers. They just love you. A lot. Without you knowing.

YES THANK YOU, LOVE YOU

For Cove, it just makes sense.

You're his favorite person in the world, have been for most of his life. You're more precious to him than anything, and the two of you are attached -- so attached that it feels like something's missing when you're apart.

He tries to push down the nagging little feeling in the back of his mind whenever he goes to work or to visit Kyra, tries to tell himself that it's fine. He just loves you, so of course he'd rather be with you, right? It's good that he wants to be with you that much. It's special.

He researches the cameras during a week when you, Liz and your moms fly to Hawaii to visit family. Just out of curiosity at first. The next day, he places the order, and by the time you get home, everything's all set up.

There's a feed he can watch on his laptop or his phone, and it makes it a little easier, whenever there's a little distance. It makes him feel closer to you, so it can't be bad, right? And if you get a little confused when he mentions something that happened at home that you're certain you hadn't told him about yet, he'll lie a little, tell you that you must have forgotten filling him in.

But the thing is, Cove reasons, it's not really lying. It's not really invading your privacy. It's looking out for you. It's choosing you ... and he's always, always going to choose you.

For Derek, he actually feels a little guilty about it.

He's under no delusion that this is normal or healthy -- he knows it's not. He knows there's something wrong with him for sneaking those cameras in your room on one of the rare occasions he made it out to Sunset Bird to hang out with you and Cove. It eats him up, makes him feel like the worst person alive.

But he's able to set things up so that everything, the constant loop from three different angles in your bedroom, is recorded. He can watch it anytime he wants, and this way, it's almost like he's really a part of your life.

It feels good ... good enough for him to think he can live with himself like this.

And for Baxter, he does it out of fear, pure and simple.

Fate brought you in and out of his life twice now, and sure, third time's a charm, but he still doesn't trust fate to be kind to him. So it's sometime after you reunite once again, when he visits your place as you begin to build your relationship, that he places the cameras.

He doesn't check them for a while, actually tries to forget they even exist, always telling himself that he'll remove them the next time he's out to visit. But in a moment of weakness, one night when you don't answer his texts, he finally gives in.

He sees your room dark, and you safe in sound in bed -- which of course makes sense, with the time difference between where he is and where you are. But it still feels surprisingly calming, being able to see you like this, to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you're safe and, at least for the moment, still his.

Maybe this can be a secret weapon of sorts, he reasons. Fate hasn't been kind in the past, but maybe this will give him a leg up. Maybe this is how he can keep you.

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

Low-key (high-key) insane about the contrast between an imposing MC threatening to tear someone's tongue out

And the casual intimacy/closeness when they put Aurynns head on their lap,

And the way they sit down docilely for a scolding from Samira (and how easily she sees through their "i'll get better" lie),

And them holding their little sister's hand leading her to her room and getting her to bed after a long and taxing day for both of them ... and after encouraging her to punch people in the face :3

I went through some asks on the blog (and by that I mean I went through them all, at least afaik), do you still plan a lock in for the personality at some point? The possibility of picking options contradicting/contrasting MCs usual personality is kinda (very) exciting. I don't mean to pressure tho!! Im, like, really loving what this IF offers so far in all the departments and I'll stick around either way ^^

And your art is amazing too btw......... I've eaten up all the previews, answers and RO introductions like I've never had a meal before.

Lol I do also really enjoy the contrast between an mc who can be scary or manipulative af but gentle with the people they care about 👍❤️ Even Sam was kinda internally like (oh shit wtf😰) when mc threatened to tear out Raya’s tongue and then just turns around all casual to Sam like it was nothing. :3

My plan is that the personality stats will lock in at the start of chapter 2. However, there will still be choices aligning with each of the different personalities that mc can choose regardless, they just will no longer contribute to MCs personality stat, meaning you won’t get a stat increase. But like an imposing mc for example could still make choices aligning with gentle, charismatic, dignified, or confrontational. I think it makes sense for mc to still act differently in certain circumstances or especially like under duress. In some instances, if your choice differs from MCs set stat however and it feels like they’re acting out of character, then some characters might react differently to that. Locking in a main personality stat will just make it easier for me to handle instances where MCs acts out of character and to give them more flavor text for smaller personality quirks in-game, but you’ll still be able to make choices for how mc reacts to things that align with each personality stat regardless of your locked in stat. :)

Hope that makes sense! :) And thank you!! ❤️ I had a lot of fun drawing them all to life :D 👍

Thanks so much for reading and for your message!! ❤️ Take care! :D

[spookymoonybeasty]

Insomnia and the Incomprehensible

Wordcount: 1466

Summary: Danny, tired of never having time to get any sleep, goes to Clockwork to get that sleep outside of time.

AN: This is a oneshot, but may one day become a multichapter fic. Posting it now in case I never write more chapters.

Lately Danny has been struggling with insomnia. At least, that’s what he’d been telling everyone that was unaware of him being Phantom. Which wasn’t a lie, he did often find himself laying awake for several hours most nights. But what plagued his sleepless nights the most were the ghosts, ever seeking to wreak havoc on his town or torment Danny himself.

Every. Single. Night. Every single night some ghost appears between the hours of 8 PM – 6 AM, and steals precious time that could have been spent sleeping. And what little time he does have, is usually spoiled by nightmares or insomnia.

Jazz suggested his body might be too used to being woken up at night, that he was subconsciously refusing to fall asleep in case he had to rush off to fight another ghost. That made sense. It was a frequent worry of his, that he’d fall into too deep of a sleep to be woken by his ghost sense. Who knew what could happen if he couldn’t come to the rescue in time? Danny had a perfect zero casualties record and he absolutely refused to let that change.

Danny was just returning from one such fight, hoping to catch at least a few minutes of sleep before he had to get ready for school. This was the third time this week Skulker had gone after him, and he was getting very, very, very tired of that guy’s bullshit.

Alas, the second the boy transformed and fell onto his bed, his alarm went off.

For several moments, he didn’t move to turn it off. He just glared at the dumb clock.

Can’t a guy get any sleep around here?

There was a quiet knocking at his door, before it creaked open to reveal Jazz. “Danny? Are you getting up?”

It took every ounce of self restraint not to crush the clock when he switched the alarm off.

“I’ll make us some pancakes. Try not to fall back asleep!”

This was something Jazz had been trying the past few days, checking in on her brother and motivating him with food. At first it worked pretty well, as long as the siblings managed to keep the fridge free of their parent’s ectoplasm samples.

Today however, Danny was seriously debating ignoring her and letting himself fall asleep. Just ten minutes, that’s all he asks.

“Dannyyy, brotherrrrr~ Wake uuuuup~”

Danny groaned, a sound so full of sleepy rage and despair that if he was in his sister’s place, he thought he might cry.

“Come on, there’s pancakes! Chocolate pancakes!” Danny whined and buried his head under his pillow in response. “I know Danny, but you have a test today, remember? You can’t stay in bed.”

The weight of drowsiness seemed to cling to his muscles even tighter at the reminder, as well as the muddled emotions that he could only describe as what one feels before going insane from lack of sleep. Because that’s what he felt like was happening, he was going insane! All he wanted was to sleep!

“Danny-”

Danny screamed into his mattress, gripping tight onto his pillow. Had he any claws, it’d be torn to shreds.

He heard Jazz start to say something else, but he ignored her as he shot up, and up into the air as he transformed. “No. Screw this! I’m tired, I’ve barely gotten ANY sleep this entire week. I’m going to get some sleep even if it kills me!”

With that, he dropped down through the floor until he was in front of the portal. The damn thing that was hardly ever closed, by his own parent’s insistence. For what reason, he didn’t care for. All that mattered was that it was because of this thing that his nights were so restless. Maybe later he’ll see if he can’t get his parents to keep it closed when they’re done running tests or whatever else they may be doing with it. He’s tried before though, but nothing ever changed.

He flew into it and into the Ghost Zone. Spurred on by his frustration, he flew as fast as he could with what little energy he had. At some point in his flight he flew past some familiar ghosts that called out to him, but he ignored them, even when they followed him for awhile.

Without looking, he shot a short blast at whoever was following them. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was somebody looking to fight or bug him. He heard an alarmed shout, then some annoyed grumbling that faded with distance. Good. Don’t follow him, Phantom has no patience right now.

Soon, just before he began to wonder if he should give up and turn back, a tall structure surrounded by giant gears emerged from the green of the Ghost Zone. This time, Danny really thought he might cry, this time with tears of joy. Clockwork’s tower could only be found if the ancient ghost himself wanted you to find it. Otherwise it might as well not exist.

The doors opened on their own as he landed in front of them. The creaking of their hinges echoed throughout the large entry room, and into the shadows and spaces between twisting gears and tik-tokking clocks.

Danny’s only been here a few times, but every time he had a chance to really look at things, it left him feeling a bit creeped out. There was something about the illogical -and possibly ever changing- layout that was disconcerting. The dark shadows, skeletal statues and scythes, and clockwork (not the ghost) didn’t help lighten the mood of the place.

Yet there was always some feeling of comfort he found here, if only because it was Clockwork’s lair. He’s come to learn that however serious and stern the ancient may be, he truly cares for Danny. So long as he doesn’t touch anything he isn’t supposed to, he is welcome here.

Though he hasn’t ever explicitly been told not to touch anything, it just feels like he shouldn’t. It feels like walking into an antiques collection. Best not to risk ruining something just by touching it without care.

Each time he comes here, the path to Clockwork’s most frequented room becomes clearer. The first few times he got lost in the confusing architecture, until an amused Clockwork came to find him. But now it was relatively easy to find his way. He couldn’t tell if that was because he was becoming more familiar with the route, Clockwork has tired of letting him get lost, or it was just chance that the path happened to be easy lately.

This was the fastest he managed to find Clockwork, who was already facing the door waiting for him.

For a moment Danny just stood there, eyelids heavy and body leaning against the doorway.

“Please tell me it won’t break the timeline if I crashed here for awhile.” He begged.

“I’m honestly somewhat surprised it took you this long to come here.” Clockwork smiled, amused for reasons Danny did not have the brain power to guess or wonder about.

“Clockwork, PLEEEAAA-”

“-Yes, you may rest here. For however long you wish.”

“Yayyyy…” Danny cheered quietly, slumping further against the doorway as his body leaped on the chance to drag him closer to sleep.

Clockwork chuckled and flew over to the halfa. “Come on now, let’s get you to a bed.”

“You got a bed around here?” Danny mumbled as the other effortlessly picked him up. Were he fully rested, he might complain about being manhandled (however gentle Clockwork was), but he was just too damn tired. He didn’t care that he was being cradled against the man’s chest like he was too weak to fly or walk on his own.

Actually yes he does care about that, but when Danny opened his eyes (when did he close them?) he was already being set down on a pleasantly plush bed. Purple covers and sheets, just like Clockwork’s cloak, and green metal frame.

“No time will pass elsewhere for as long as you’re here.”

“Y’know this feels too easy,” Danny said, even as he transformed back into a human and phased the blankets on top of himself. “Usually you say something like… Whatever time related thing I wanna do hurts time somehow. Usually.”

“Not this time. Altering the flow of time in here rarely affects things outside. So you may stay, but you will have to hurry to school when you leave.” Clockwork explained.

“Mmm…” Danny’s eyes drifted closed. He didn’t bother fighting to keep them open. “Why can’t you just, teleport me to school?”

“The easiest route is not always the best.”

Danny hummed in response, already falling asleep.

He heard an amused huff, then felt a gentle hand pat his head.

“Rest well, Daniel.”