#everyone will either really like this or really hate it

[levanterhaze]

GAMEBOY — BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader a loooot of sexual tension, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, handjob, a lot of curse words, dirty talk.

♡ 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.

[7.4k words ]♡― guys, i'm very grateful that you enjoyed gameboy. thanks to everyone who asked to be on the taglist, to everyone who is deeply involved in the story (just like me). here's another chapter. the third of this journey. don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two]

We'll be dancin' with the shadows in the night The stars are jealous knowing that you’re by my side Feel the adrenaline, acceleration In the course, we’ll be drivin' so rough

The whole campus buzzed like it had just been cast as extras in Magic Mike: College Edition.

Nahee appeared with her basket of brownies, practically vibrating with excitement. You had floated the idea to your theater crew, and, much to your delight, they had all rallied behind it.

“This,” she said, scanning the chaotic crowd, “is the sluttiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She turned to you, her grin devilish. “And I love it.”

The scene was pandemonium. The entire basketball team had ditched their shirts, creating a spectacle that rivaled any reality dating show. Lines formed instantly—three people deep for each boy, regardless of who they were. Men, women, professors who “just happened to be walking by”—no one was immune. A few of the boys even posed for photos, flexing like they were auditioning for a particularly steamy firefighter calendar.

“This has a countdown clock before someone shuts it down,” you said, arms crossed, though you couldn’t stop your lips from twitching.

“Let them try,” Eunji sighed, fanning herself dramatically. “This is art. This is community service. This is visual serotonin.”

“Speaking of the devil…” Nahee tilted her head, gesturing with the slightest nod.

You followed her gaze and immediately wished you hadn’t. Bangchan was front and center, a walking thirst trap without even trying. His arms, all defined muscle and veins, moved in practiced ease as he handed out brownies with that easy smile of his. His shoulders looked like they could carry half the student body, and his wet, glistening torso was proof he either took this way too seriously or knew exactly what he was doing. Either way, the guy was impossible to ignore.

You tilted your head, feigning indifference despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “Guess some people can’t help themselves, huh?”

Nahee smirked, not buying it for a second. “Some people, indeed.”

You hated to admit it, but he was a natural. Flashing easy smiles, throwing in effortless charm, making every girl swoon just enough to dig into their wallets a little faster. All he had on were sweatpants slung low on his hips and his cap turned backward—just unfair, really.

Not that it mattered. You weren’t talking. There was nothing to talk about. And yet, after the kiss, everything had shifted. Bangchan had distanced himself like you were a plague, and for once, he wasn’t even trying to get under your skin.

You stole glances when you thought he wouldn’t notice, hating the way every passing hand seemed to have permission to touch him. He didn’t look at you once. And knowing him, that meant something.

The sun was relentless, making the whole shirtless thing almost justifiable. You, Eunji, Nahee, and Sohee made your rounds across campus, hustling for the theater fund. But let’s be real—nobody cared about the cause.

They wanted six-packs and pretty smiles.

You were so busy pretending not to notice Bangchan’s every move that you almost missed the presence looming beside you.

“Hey,” Mingyu greeted, arms crossed, his signature grin firmly in place. “Got one of those brownies for me?”

“Of course,” you said, grabbing a brownie and passing it to him. He handed you a bill, and the weight of it made you freeze. That wasn’t just a regular bill—it was way too much.

“Uh, I think you might’ve made a mistake…” you started, holding it up.

“No mistake,” he cut in smoothly. “I’m buying the whole basket.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “I’m sorry, what now?” you glanced at the basket, then back at him. “You want to buy all of them?”

“You heard me.” he shrugged, his tone so casual it bordered on infuriating.

Your brow arched instinctively, your internal lie detector pinging. Still, you weren’t about to complain about a sale this good. Slowly, you held the basket out to him, trying to mask your suspicion with a polite smile.

But Mingyu just shook his head, taking a bite of the brownie in his hand. “Keep it,” he said, licking the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t buy them for the brownies.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, your sass kicking in to override your confusion. “Oh, right. I forgot. They pair perfectly with a little showing off.”

He laughed, leaning in slightly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted a reason to talk to the cutest seller here.”

“You know, flattery works better when you actually take the brownies.”

“I’ve got what I wanted,” he teased, taking another bite.

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes, you couldn’t hide your smirk. A sale was a sale, even if the customer was a little too smooth for his own good.

You stood there, momentarily stunned. Someone had just dropped a ridiculous amount of money on brownies—out of nowhere—and then decided you could keep both the cash and the sweets. Suspicious? Absolutely. But were you going to argue? Not a chance.

With a smug grin, you strolled across the lawn, basket in one hand and Mingyu’s absurdly generous payment in the other. The whole thing felt like an easy win—until a strange heat crawled up your spine, prickling your skin like the sun had suddenly gotten personal.

You turned your head, and there he was. Bangchan. Watching you.

And for the first time all day, he wasn’t smirking. No teasing, no cocky grin—just something sharp in his gaze, something dark curling at the edges.

Bangchan had never been the clingy type. He wasn’t the guy who caught feelings, overanalyzed texts, or lost sleep over someone who didn’t want him back.

Relationships? Fun while they lasted. Breakups? Mutual and drama-free. Ever since college started, he’d embraced the single and thriving lifestyle—no strings, no complications, no mess.

And sure, people talked. About his skills on the court, his grades, his leadership. But mostly, about his other talents. The ones that kept his phone buzzing at ungodly hours, filled with invitations that had nothing to do with basketball.

Bangchan never minded the attention. He never cared—until the only girl he actually wanted looked at him like he was just another name on a list.

Like he was forgettable.

What the hell was he doing wrong? He was a good guy. A loyal friend. A straight-A student. A goddamn basketball prodigy.

So why weren’t you interested? Why were you the only one immune?

He wanted to push, to test your limits, to make you see him the way he saw you. But that wasn’t his style.

He knew when to start and when to stop. And right now? He was dangerously close to crossing that line.

Bangchan wasn’t asking for much. Just a moment—one real, uninterrupted conversation with you. No sharp comebacks, no teasing deflections. Just you, stripped of the armor you wore so well.

But that wasn’t your style, was it? You never made things easy.

It all started when Hyunjin, the group’s reigning drama king, decided to join the theater. Naturally, he demanded a full entourage for moral support, which was how Bangchan ended up in that stuffy auditorium, sitting between Seungmin, Changbin, and Jeongin, watching Hyunjin pour his soul into a song like he was auditioning for Broadway itself.

He was good. Of course, he was good. Velvet-voiced, graceful, with a presence that demanded attention. The second he finished, Bangchan was ready to get up, clap him on the back, and drag him out for celebratory food—

Until you stepped onto the stage.

He didn’t know your name yet. Didn’t know anything about you. But there you were, in knee-high boots and a white dress, angelical, standing under the spotlight like you owned it.

Then, you started to sing. I’ll Be Over You. Soft, rich, and powerful all at once.

And just like that, Bangchan was gone.

He wasn’t used to losing—not in basketball, not in academics, and definitely not when it came to people. So when he finally got close enough to talk to you, he expected… well, something.

Maybe intrigue. Maybe mild annoyance. Fuck, he would’ve taken playful exasperation.

But you? You loathed him.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Any hope of friendship, of even standing on neutral ground, went up in flames. You always had a comeback locked and loaded, always deflected, always avoided his gaze like it might set you on fire.

And maybe it would.

Because that sharp tongue of yours? The way you kept him at arm’s length, like he wasn’t worth a second glance? It only made him want to push harder.

So fine. If you were going to make him fight for every inch, he’d play along.

He just needed to know—was this all just a game to you? Or were you just as afraid of losing as he was?

The bar was buzzing, laughter and conversation mixing with the clink of glasses and the steady thump of music. You were comfortably wedged between Sohee and Eunji, their arms draped around you like you were some rare artifact they had to protect at all costs.

You were tipsy, maybe a little emotional, but mostly just basking in the warmth of the people around you. Tonight wasn’t about stress or overthinking. It was about celebrating a well-earned victory.

"I can't even describe how happy I am, guys," you sighed, raising your glass with a lazy smile. "You are, without a doubt, the best friends a girl could have."

Eunji and Sohee groaned dramatically, tightening their hold on you. "You’re lucky we love you," Eunji grumbled. "And that we’re good at handling your emotional soju phases."

"I mean it," you insisted, half-dramatic, half-serious. "We did it! We have enough to keep the theater running until Mrs. Baek finds a permanent solution."

Your gaze flitted across the table, landing on Seungmin and Hyunjin. "None of this would’ve happened without you."

“We’re a fucking team!” Changbin declared, slamming his hand on the table with the confidence of a man three shots past his limit. "And you know what that means? Another round!"

The table erupted in cheers, and for a moment, everything felt right. Until you felt it. That pull. That heat at the back of your neck, like someone had just flipped a switch.

You knew before you even turned. Bangchan was here.

You refused to acknowledge him. Absolutely not. You were having a great time, and he—well, he was an occupational hazard. A walking, talking disruption to your peace.

"Channie!" Felix called, pulling him further into the group. "Finally decided to show up, huh?"

You still didn’t look. Instead, you took a long sip of your drink and focused on the condensation trailing down your glass, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

But Bangchan had never been one to be ignored.

"You didn’t think I'd come?" his voice slid into the conversation so smoothly it sent a shiver down your spine.

You took your time—because if he was going to show up and be smug about it, you could at least make him wait. Finally, you turned, meeting his eyes head-on. "Didn’t think you’d dare."

He smirked, leaning just a little closer, like he was waiting for you to react. You didn’t.

But your pulse? Yeah, that was another story.

Bangchan leaned back in his seat, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he watched his friends celebrate. He should’ve felt the same rush of excitement, the same weightless joy—but his mind was elsewhere. The relentless pressure of basketball training sat heavy on his chest, and the gnawing anxiety that came with it refused to let go.

And then there was you.

Standing there, effortlessly stunning, laughing like the world had never touched you. Just close enough to see, but never close enough to reach.

When Changbin made his way to the bar for another round, you followed, craving something non-alcoholic to cut through the buzz in your head. He glanced at you as you stepped up beside him.

“Happy?” he asked, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eye.

You grinned, light and unburdened in a way Bangchan hadn’t seen in a while. “Very. Thanks for all the help.”

Changbin shook his head with a smirk. “You should be thanking my boy over there.”

Your brows knitted together as you followed his gaze. Bangchan, mid-laugh, his head thrown back at something Jisung said. Carefree. Unbothered. Completely unaware that your entire world had just tilted on its axis.

“What?”

“He basically forced the team to join the sale,” Changbin said, voice thick with the weight of alcohol and honesty. “Said it was to help a friend.”

Your stomach did something weird—tightened, flipped, something you weren’t prepared for.

The memory hit like a slow-motion replay. Bangchan barged into your dorm, smug as ever, announcing he had dragged the entire basketball team into your little fundraising mess. You had assumed it was for Hyunjin and Seungmin. Maybe even for some ego boost, a reason to flash that damn smirk of his.

But no. A friend.

“Really?”

Changbin snorted. “What? You think he went out selling brownies half-naked just for fun?”

You forced a laugh, but your smile didn’t quite stick. Something about it—about him—felt different now.

Changbin walked off with his four bottles of soju, leaving you behind, still leaning against the counter, replaying his words in your head. It was almost offensive to think of Bangchan as anything other than his usual self—cocky, overconfident, annoyingly self-assured. Your brain outright rejected the idea that he could be good. That he could do something selfless without expecting anything in return.

And yet, here you were, stuck with the uncomfortable realization that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the villain you’d made him out to be.

Letting your guard down was one thing. Admitting you’d been wrong? That was the real battle.

You made your way back to the table, feeling just sober enough to regret this night’s life-altering discoveries. Sliding onto the edge of your seat, you watched as Jisung threw himself into a chair, already deep in the throes of drunken confidence.

“I’m feeling karaoke,” he announced, slurring just a little. “Who’s in?”

One by one, the group rose, fueled by alcohol and poor decision-making. Bangchan stood up last, and as he did, your hand found his arm, barely brushing over the smooth leather of his jacket.

“Hey,” you said quietly. “Can we talk?”

He blinked, caught off guard. For a second, he just stared, as if trying to decipher whether this was some kind of elaborate prank. Then, he glanced at the others heading toward the karaoke booth and nodded.

“Later,” he murmured. “That okay?”

You swallowed, suddenly unsure why your heartbeat had decided to play double time.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “That’s… yeah. Sure.”

The night had escalated quickly. One minute, everyone was just vibing at Kooler’s, and the next, you were crammed into a karaoke room, neon lights flashing, Sohee absolutely butchering a ballad while Eunji screamed in horror.

The mic passed around until it somehow ended up in your hands.

“Oh, no,” you said immediately. “I don’t sing in public.”

“Ma’am,” Eunji deadpanned. “You’re in the drama club.”

“Yeah, for acting,” you retorted. “Not for embarrassing myself in front of—”

But then the opening notes of Breaking Free started playing, and the room lost it.

“Oh, you have to sing now,” Changbin cackled.

“We’re literally living a High School Musical moment!” Sohee clapped.

Then, the real nightmare happened. Bangchan grabbed the second mic.

The room erupted.

“TROY AND GABRIELLA, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” Eunji announced like a sports commentator.

“Nope.” you stood up, but Jisung pushed you back onto the couch.

“You must embrace destiny,” he said solemnly.

Bangchan, ever the performer, smirked at you before dramatically bringing the mic to his lips. “We’re soarin’, flyin’—”

You covered your face with both hands. “Kill me.”

“That’s not the lyrics,” Changbin howled.

The moment Bangchan began to sing, his voice smooth and steady, you felt it—the tiny spark igniting between you, the way his presence pulled you in no matter how hard you tried to resist. His voice wrapped around the lyrics effortlessly, making them sound less like a cheesy high school musical duet and more like something real, something raw.

Then it was your turn.

Bangchan stilled for a moment, eyes widening slightly as you sang your part. He had always known you had a great voice—it was impossible not to, given how much time you spent in the theater club—but hearing you like this, just the two of you, no stage, no rehearsals, just you—it was mesmerizing.

God, you sounded unreal.

His chest tightened at how effortlessly you carried each note, how your voice blended with his in a way that made his skin prickle. You weren’t just singing—you were feeling it, even if you tried to hide behind an indifferent mask. He could see it in the way your body moved slightly to the music, in the way your lips curled at certain lyrics.

And fuck, he felt it too.

As the song picked up, the energy between you both crackled. Your voices melted together in harmony, and the chemistry was undeniable. You tried not to look at him, tried to focus on the screen, but every time you did, Bangchan was already looking at you, that damned smirk still in place.

When the chorus hit, something inside you gave in just a little. The moment was too fun, too infectious, and before you knew it, you were actually enjoying yourself.

You didn’t notice the way Bangchan’s gaze softened.

He saw through you, saw the way you let your guard down, even for just a second. And maybe it was the adrenaline, or the alcohol, or the way your voice wrapped around his in the final harmonized note, but Bangchan couldn’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot as you finished the song.

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

Everyone jumped up like it was the Super Bowl. Eunji was sobbing dramatically into Hyunjin’s shoulder. Changbin was standing on the couch, pointing like an old man watching his grandkids do something historic.

“Troy and Gabriella could never!”

When the song ended, the room was feral.

“That was the single most important moment of my life,” Eunji declared, visibly drunk and happy.

“I think I just saw God,” Felix wheezed.

Meanwhile, you just handed the mic to Eunji, turned to Bangchan, and muttered, “I hate you.”

He leaned in, voice low enough for only you to hear. “Sure you do.”

You’d excused yourself under the guise of needing a breather, but really, you just needed a damn second to exist without someone screaming lyrics in your ear or pulling you into another round of shots. The night was fun, but it was loud, and if you wanted to make it through, you needed a minute to reset.

The balcony was empty, save for the faint scent of nicotine lingering in the air. You took a deep breath, letting the cool breeze settle against your skin, grounding yourself. The city hummed below, distant and detached, and for a second, you just… let yourself be.

Then, before you even opened your eyes, you felt  him.

That ridiculously familiar cologne. The one that had been all over you. On his t-shirt. In your space. In your head.

“Is our rockstar already tapped out?”

You turned just in time to see Bangchan leaning back against the railing, watching you with that look.

“A little.” you waved a hand dismissively, but your small smile gave you away.

His was softer, quieter than usual, but still there. Still undeniably him. And the way his eyes swept over you in the dim light? Yeah. You could feel it. The way he noticed things, details, like he was cataloging every inch of you.

It should’ve annoyed you. But tonight? Tonight, it didn’t.

“Heard you wanted to talk to me.”

You raised a brow, suddenly remembering why you had pulled him aside in the first place. “Right. Think I owe you an apology.”

Bangchan’s expression flickered with surprise. “For what?”

“You know what.”

“Do I?” he leaned in slightly, nodding as if urging you to continue. “You should be clearer.”

You exhaled, hating how hard it was to say it. Vulnerability has never been your strong suit.

“Fine.” you glanced down at your boots, gathering your thoughts. “I know you convinced the basketball team to help with the sale. I assumed the worst about you, and that wasn’t fair. So… I’m sorry. You really helped me.”

Silence.

When you looked up, Bangchan was staring at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. Confused. A little offended. Like that was what you thought needed an apology.

“That’s what you’re apologizing for?”

You blinked, confused. “What else should I apologize for?”

Bangchan let out a dry, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair before whispering a low, exasperated “fuck you.”

Your eyes narrowed. His arms crossed over his chest, the leather of his jacket tightening around his sleeves as he shifted against the ledge.

“What was that?” you demanded.

“Look, I appreciate the apology, really. But that’s not the thing you should be apologizing for.”

Oh, he was so good at pissing you off. Always had been.

“Then be clearer,” you shot back, arms folding tightly over your chest.

“Alright.” Bangchan turned to you fully, gaze locked in, voice steady. Too steady. “Let’s talk about your habit of coming after me and then bolting the second it gets real.”

Your jaw clenched. “I never—”

“For fuck’s sake, be for real. At the party? In my dorm? I’m not saying I didn’t want it—fuck, I wanted it. But so did you. And then you acted like it was a mistake. You run from things.”

His words landed like a punch to the stomach—sharp, direct, impossible to ignore. You blinked hard, fighting the sting behind your eyes, but you had nothing. No witty comeback, no escape route. Just the weight of the truth between you.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you did want this—him. The way he looked at you like he could devour you whole, the way his hands knew exactly where to go, the way your body reacts before your mind could stop it. You wanted it. You wanted him. But wanting didn’t make it easy.

“Why are you mad?”

“Why?” he let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Because it’s fucking frustrating, that’s why. You can’t make up your damn mind.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself, but your heart was hammering.

“It’s not that simple,” you muttered, voice quieter now, the anger slipping into something else. “Not for me.”

“Why? Because you hate me?” his lips curled, amused despite himself. “Which, by the way, I’d love to hear all those bullshit reasons why.”

“Is that really what matters?” you lifted your chin, defiant.

“So what, you’ve just decided you’re gonna hate me forever?”

“Maybe I will,” you shot back, voice dripping with venom.

Bangchan smirked, stepping in closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. He leaned against the railing, his body angled toward yours, closing in just enough to make you breathless. "Hate to break it to you, love," his voice was low, dripping with amusement, "but people don’t usually fuck their enemies."

That voice. That damned voice—soft as silk, smooth as sin, and dangerous enough to make your pulse stutter.

Heat coiled in your stomach, spreading like wildfire, your body betraying you instantly. No. You weren’t going to let him win this.

"You’re right," you said, tilting your chin up, feigning nonchalance. "Which is why it’s never happening again."

A bold-faced lie. One you both saw through immediately. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, your mind was already spinning with memories—his hands, his mouth, the way your bodies fit together like a perfect crime.

Bangchan chuckled, dark and knowing. He moved closer, close enough that you could feel his breath graze your lips, your senses drowning in him—the scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating off his skin, the sheer audacity in his gaze.

"That’s a shame," he murmured, eyes flicking to your lips, "because we’ve got insane bed chem."

You swallowed hard. You didn’t know what was doing you in—the teasing rasp of his voice, the heat rolling off his body, the way his muscles flexed under that stupidly fitted jacket, or just him. All of him.

And just like that, your heart slammed against your ribs, your resolve threatening to crumble.

Bangchan lingered, watching—waiting. He wanted to see it happen, the exact moment your carefully built walls cracked. His pulse pounded, anticipation thrumming beneath his skin. But you held firm, clinging desperately to whatever thread of self-control you had left.

His smirk deepened, infuriatingly cocky. "I’m heading out," he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. Then, with a knowing glance, he added, "If you ever change your mind… you know where to find me."

And just like that, he turned on his heel, walking away without so much as a second look, leaving you standing there—heart racing, head spinning, and a heat pooling low in your stomach that you really didn’t want to acknowledge.

The night stretched on, loud and chaotic, but undeniably fun. By the time the drinks had blurred everyone’s ability to string together a coherent sentence, you decided to call it.

Back at the dorm, Eunji and Sohee barely made it to their rooms before collapsing face-first onto their beds, too drunk to even bother kicking off their shoes.

You wished you could do the same. But no—your mind had other plans.

You tossed. You turned. You put on some soft music, hoping it would lull you into sleep. It didn’t. Instead, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was him.

The way he leaned in earlier, the heat rolling off him like an invitation. The way his muscles flexed beneath his jacket. The way his voice dropped, teasing, tempting, knowing.

You exhaled sharply, fingers curling into the sheets. It was ridiculous. Annoying. Infuriating.

You rolled onto your side, desperate for a distraction—anything—when your gaze landed on something draped over your study chair.

A black T-shirt. His.

The idea bloomed in your mind just as quickly as the heat spread between your thighs.

Pathetic. That’s what this was. That’s what you were.

Still, you got up, grabbing the shirt in your hands. His scent clung to the fabric—clean, musky, him. Just the faintest trace of it had your stomach twisting, the warmth inside you flickering into something dangerously close to need.

Before you could think better of it, you were pulling a hoodie over your flimsy excuse of a pajama shirt and slipping out the door.

It was past midnight. The campus was practically a ghost town at this hour, which was both a blessing and a curse. No one witnessed this humiliating trek across the quad. No one to stop you, either.

Your steps quickened as you reached his building, as if slowing down would somehow bring back your sanity.

Not happening. Not when your knuckles were already rapping against the door. Not when your breath was unsteady, your chest rising and falling too fast. Not when anticipation was burning through your veins, leaving you lightheaded and restless.

Shuffling sounds came from the other side. The lock clicked.

And then—him.

Bangchan stood in the doorway, his torso bare, sweatpants hanging sinfully low on his hips. His skin gleamed under the dim hallway light, muscles shifting as he leaned against the doorframe.

One look at you—hoodie, messy hair, his damn shirt clenched in your fingers—and something shifted in his expression. His lips parted slightly. His gaze darkened.

He already knew.

Bangchan was deep in sleep when the knocks came. His brows furrowed, his face crumpled with exhaustion as he groggily sat up, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

He hadn't been expecting anyone. But when he swung open the door, there you were. Hoodie slightly oversized, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with something unspoken.

You lifted the black shirt in your hands, your breath still uneven. “You forgot this.”

Bangchan’s gaze dropped to the fabric, then back to you, slow and deliberate.

“That’s all?” his voice was rough with sleep, but there was something sharper beneath it.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No.”

That was all he needed.

The shirt was snatched from your grip and tossed somewhere behind him. His free hand was already at your waist, pulling you inside with a force that had your pulse skyrocketing. The door barely had time to click shut before you were on him. Hands in his hair, lips crashing into his, pouring all your frustration and desperation into the kiss.

Bangchan groaned into your mouth, gripping your hips so tight it sent a shiver down your spine. His skin was warm, solid beneath your touch—broad shoulders, the ridges of muscle beneath your fingertips.

And you wanted all of him.

His hands slid up, fingers teasing along the curve of your spine. Your teeth grazed his lower lip, earning a sharp, guttural sound from the back of his throat.

You barely recognized yourself at this point. There was barely any sanity left in your body, and whatever remained was slipping fast.

Somehow, between hectic kisses and hands wandering like they had a mind of their own, you ended up on the sofa. Bangchan sat with his legs spread, his breath heavy, and you straddled his lap, your hands splayed against his firm chest.

His eyes were dark, hooded, watching you like you were something he wanted to devour.

"Are you sure?" the words left his lips, but your body already knew the answer. Your stomach twisted—not with doubt, but with the unbearable anticipation of what was about to happen.

Bangchan opened his mouth, but you pressed two fingers against his plush lips, cutting him off.

"Shhh," you hissed, your voice edged with frustration. Your hips rolled against him, a slow, deliberate drag that had him sucking in a sharp breath. The way he twitched beneath you sent a wicked thrill through your veins.

"You're driving me insane," you confessed, your nails digging into his skin. "You're in my head. That ridiculous face of yours."

Through the haze of want, Bangchan let out a breathless laugh, slowly biting your finger. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

You smirked, dragging your fingers down his jaw. "Shut up. Kiss me."

And he did—like he had been waiting his whole damn life to.

With effortless ease, he shrugged off his sweatshirt, leaving you in nothing but that dangerously thin white tank top—one that did absolutely nothing to hide how your body reacted to him. Bangchan’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight. Fucking hell. He wanted to devour you. Every inch. Every sound. Every shiver.

His lips crashed onto yours, rough and demanding, his hand curling around the base of your neck as his tongue teased and tangled with yours. He tasted you like he was trying to memorize every second of it, like he never wanted to stop. The heat of him, the way his fingers dug into your waist, how his breath hitched every time you met his urgency—it was intoxicating.

Then his lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, down your neck, and suddenly, your body wasn’t yours anymore. Your knees went weak, your breath came in ragged little gasps, and before you could stop yourself, a low, broken moan escaped your lips—right against his ear.

Bangchan groaned. That sound. That fucking sound. He was about to lose his goddamn mind. His hands tightened around your hips, his patience thinning by the second as you shifted against him, rolling your hips just enough to make him ache.

That sound. That fucking sound. Bangchan was about to lose his goddamn mind.

“I want it off,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with need.

His hands twitched against your waist, desperate. He could’ve ripped those pants clean off your body if he wanted to. But you took your sweet, agonizing time peeling them away before settling back onto his lap, now wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of white panties.

He would have torn your pants to shreds right then and there, but you took your time—agonizingly slow as you peeled them away before settling back onto his lap, now clad in nothing but the flimsy white panties that left nothing to his imagination.

And fuck. Bangchan broke.

You looked like a dream, like something too good to be real. Kiss-swollen lips. Hair messy from his hands. Chest rising and falling as you gasped for breath.

You were going to ruin him.

The absence of your pants made you bolder, rolling your hips in slow, teasing waves against his lap. He was already impossibly hard, every grind making it worse—if you kept this up, he was going to lose it before he even got the chance to be inside you. And that was not what he wanted.

But fuck, it felt good. The thick bulge in his sweatpants rubbing against your soaked panties, just barely grazing your clit, sending white-hot sparks shooting through your body. Every movement set off a new wave of heat, of need, of something devastatingly addictive.

“I need to do something,” you whispered against his lips, your breath warm and uneven.

Bangchan still had his eyes closed, savoring every second of this moment, refusing to let it slip away.

“Please.”

Your hands drifted down, fingers ghosting over the outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats, barely touching—but more than enough to make his whole body tense. He gritted his teeth, veins pulsing as your palm pressed just a little harder.

“Fuck…” he rasped, voice hoarse, almost a plea.

You shifted between his legs, fingers toying with the hem of his pants, your nails barely scraping against his skin. His gaze burned into yours, dark with anticipation, completely at your mercy. And when you finally wrapped your hand around him—hot, firm, thick—he let out a shaky, wrecked breath.

A low groan escaped his lips, his head falling back against the couch as you wrapped your hand around him, warmth meeting warmth. The muscles in his abdomen tightened, every nerve in his body set ablaze by your slow, deliberate movements. You weren’t in a hurry—you wanted him to feel this. To lose himself in the way you handled him, the way you made him wait.

"You said I could use my pretty mouth next time," you murmured, feigning innocence, biting your lip just enough to drive him mad.

And then you winked—sweet, angelic, like you weren’t about to completely wreck him.

His breathing stuttered. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to grab you, to make you do something instead of torturing him like this. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his voice wrecked, eyes rolling shut as pleasure coiled in his stomach.

You only smiled, satisfied with how easily he was unraveling for you. Leaning in, you ghosted your lips over his, not quite kissing him—just close enough for him to chase after the contact. His body burned under yours, every breath he took shaky, labored.

"Like that, baby" he panted, his voice breaking as he let himself go, surrendering to the moment, to you.

To his torment, you picked up the pace, your touch firm, deliberate. His breath hitched, his body tensing beneath your hand as his head fell back against the couch. The heat between you was unbearable, a wildfire consuming every inch of restraint he had left.

His moans came unchecked, rough and unrestrained, completely at your mercy. He let you guide him, surrendering to every agonizing second—until suddenly, it all stopped. The loss of contact was like a snapped tether, leaving him breathless, on edge, undone.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he blinked down at you, wide-eyed, dazed. The way you knelt between his legs, watching him with that look—he swore it could drive him insane.

And then, with agonizing slowness, your lips parted. The moment your mouth met his cock, his whole body tensed, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth. His fingers curled into the couch, muscles drawn tight as you worked him over, your tongue teasing, tormenting, ruining him.

"Look at you," he murmured, smirking like he had the upper hand when, in reality, he was barely holding himself together. "So pretty around my cock" his tongue flicked over his lower lip, his voice rough, almost reverent.

If his goal was to sound composed, he was failing miserably.

You hummed in response, deliberately slow, deliberate in every movement. He cursed under his breath, fingers threading through your hair, not pulling—yet—but holding, like he needed something to keep him grounded.

"If you keep going," his voice was strained now, his thighs tensing beneath your touch, "I—"

You raised an eyebrow. "What, baby?”

His jaw clenched. He was already too far gone to play games, but you weren’t about to make this easy for him.

And then, just as he warned, he shattered. Every muscle in his body locked up, his breath stuttering as he tipped his head back, a curse slipping past his lips like a prayer. You didn’t let up, dragging out every second of his cum until his grip on reality seemed just as unsteady as his grip on you.

His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his grip on your hair going slack. You pulled back, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, before giving him a slow, knowing smile.

By the end of it, he was completely wrecked—chest heaving, eyes hazy, limbs boneless. His vision blurred at the edges, like his body couldn’t decide whether to collapse or beg for more. He knew you were good. Knew the chemistry between you was dangerous. But the way you looked at him—innocent, yet utterly sinful—while taking him so effortlessly? That was his undoing. You weren’t just ruining him.

And yet, you didn’t stop there.

Without hesitation, you climbed onto his lap, capturing his lips in a kiss so wet, so consuming, it made his head spin all over again. The taste of himself lingered between you, but you never shied away from things like that. Bangchan was great in every way, and if he could make you feel good, you’d damn well return the favor.

"Holy shit, baby," he murmured between kisses, his voice still rough with aftershocks, "you're fucking amazing."

The wicked curve of his lips sent heat straight to your core. He was teasing you, even now, when he could barely string words together.

And God, it only made you want him more.

Every movement between you was deliberate—synchronized, electric, and dripping with consent. Bangchan’s fingers trailed down your trembling thighs, finding the soaked fabric of your panties. He barely touched you, yet a deep shiver ran through him, his cock twitching at the sheer slickness of you.

"Fuck," he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice thick with hunger.

Then, without warning, he pushed the fabric aside and pressed two fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, relentless circles.

Your moan was swallowed into the kiss, tangled between tongues and shallow breaths. He was hard again, pressing against your stomach, his body burning with every second of restraint. Bangchan grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer, his free hand teasing and taunting with no predictable rhythm—just continuous, torturous pressure that sent you spiraling.

"I..." you tried to speak, but the words crumbled in your throat, lost in the haze.

Bangchan's dark eyes locked onto your face, studying every microexpression—the way your lips parted, the way your brows knit together, how every tiny twitch exposed just how undone you were.

Then, as if testing the limits of your sanity, he dragged his fingers lower, slipping two deep inside.

You gasped.

The stretch was sinful. Even his fingers were thick, filling you in a way that had you gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Bangchan groaned at the feeling, his patience thinning with every squeeze of your walls around him.

And the worst part? He was just getting started.

He sucked on your lip, bit it, then soothed it with a kiss. "How can you be so fucking tight?" his voice was wrecked, nearly a growl, as he felt your walls clench around his fingers, swallowing him with a desperation that made his cock twitch.

Bangchan didn’t slow down. If anything, his pace turned ruthless—deep, fast, relentless. Each thrust of his fingers sent another jolt of pleasure through you, leaving your brain nothing but static. Your body thawed under his touch, a mess of heat and sensation. He pushed your blouse up just enough to bare your breasts, immediately palming them, kneading them as if the sensation alone could ruin him.

"Don’t stop." the demand left your lips between ragged breaths. "Harder."

Bangchan groaned, watching you ride in his lap like a dream he didn’t deserve. "Jesus Christ." his voice was strained, his self-control hanging by a thread. "’Gonna cum all over me, hmm? Is that what you want?"

It was too much. The filthy words, the ruthless rhythm, his fingers buried deep inside you while his cock throbbed against your thigh, still wet from your mouth. Your body was on the edge of something catastrophic.

And then you shattered.

The orgasm slammed into you like a cursive wave, your moan breaking into something raw, something uncontrollable. Bangchan swore under his breath, completely mesmerized. He didn’t stop—kept his fingers buried inside, working you through every pulse, every aftershock.

When your breath finally started to steady, you opened your eyes. And he was watching you.

His gaze was alarming—dark, hungry, completely ruined. As if he had just witnessed the most beautiful thing in the world.

You were both breathless, skin damp with sweat, but it wasn’t just the intensity of what happened—it was everything that had led to it. The frustration, the tension, the unspoken words tangled between your bodies.

Bangchan reached for his black shirt, which had been abandoned on the arm of the couch. "Keep this."

You eyed him, still catching your breath. "Why?"

"To motivate you."

You snorted, rolling your eyes before giving his shoulder a light shove. "You're so full of yourself."

But you still slipped it on, letting the oversized fabric swallow you up, suddenly feeling less exposed—less vulnerable. His hands remained on your thighs, holding you in place on top of him, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

Then, casually, he picked up his phone and handed it to you. "Put your number in."

You held the device, raising an eyebrow. "Why? So you can save it as ‘bootycall’?"

His lips curled into a slow, shameless smirk. "Maybe."

"You're terrible." you rolled your eyes but still tapped your number into his phone, handing it back with a smirk. "And a complete pervert."

Bangchan ran his hands up your thighs, his fingers lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. "For you?" his voice was low, teasing, but there was something deeper in his gaze. "Completely."

The weight of the moment settled between you, thick and lingering. And that was your cue. You stood, reaching for your clothes, shaking off whatever it was that passed between you. Bangchan did the same, though not without watching you with that unreadable look on his face.

"You could stay if you want," he offered, ever so casually.

You scoffed. "It's late, and the girls will notice if I'm missing in the morning."

He nodded, as if he understood—because he did. No one could know. 

Once you were dressed, you headed for the door, pausing just long enough to glance over your shoulder.

"So," Bangchan leaned against the couch, arms crossed, his smirk returning. "How about it?"

You blinked. "What?"

"It'll never happen again?" his tone was pure mischief, mocking you.

Your lips curled, mirroring his amusement. "You have my number." you shrugged, stepping into the hallway. "Make good use of it."

And with that, you disappeared down the corridor, leaving Bangchan standing there, an unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling tightening in his chest.

One thing was becoming painfully clear—whatever this was between you, it wasn’t going away. And maybe, just maybe, you were better together than apart.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf

[anticipatedexhale]

Can you do the arcane characters with a s/o who is obsessed with their looks and how they’re perceived to others?

Hellooo <3 ofc I can!!

Just a disclaimer u are absolutely gorgeous and wonderful just the way you are! Inside and out! Don't let fake standards and false words put by society get to you please, love yourself just the way u are because although it's the hardest type of love to achieve it's also the most fulfilling<33

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

Wish I could be like you, but I’m not that cool.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi, sevika

☆ ◞ summary: when you care too much it starts to backfire on you, when you think you lost everything they are right beside you.

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader, tons of bad talk about ones body and self, insecurities that may be triggering you some so please be careful while reading.

Jayce Talis.

Jayce had always been confident—he knew who he was, what he stood for, and never really cared much about what others thought of him. So when he started noticing how much you worried about your looks and how people perceived you, it caught him off guard.

At first, he thought it was just normal self-care. Everyone liked to look good, right? But then he started picking up on the little things.

The way you’d constantly check your reflection in any shiny surface you passed. The way you’d subtly adjust your outfit over and over, as if trying to perfect it. How you’d bite your lip and glance around nervously when someone so much as whispered near you, convinced it was about you.

And when you two were out together? Forget about it. You agonized over every detail—your hair, your posture, your expressions. Always making sure you were just right.

Jayce hated seeing you stress over it.

One evening, you were getting ready for an event, adjusting your outfit for what felt like the fiftieth time, inspecting yourself in the mirror with a deep frown.

"Does this look okay?" you asked for the third time in ten minutes. "Maybe I should change. Do you think people will—"

Jayce sighed and gently grabbed your hands, pulling you away from the mirror.

“Babe,” he said softly, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why does it matter so much what other people think?”

You hesitated, looking down. “I just… I don’t want to embarrass you. Or myself. People talk, Jayce.”

His expression softened. “I don’t give a damn what people say. And you shouldn’t either.”

You sighed, but he wasn’t done. He cupped your face, tilting it up so you had to look at him.

“You’re already perfect,” he murmured. “I don’t care what you’re wearing, how your hair looks, or what people think. They don’t see what I see.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “…And what do you see?”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Someone incredible. Someone who makes me laugh, who makes me proud every damn day. Someone I’d still be crazy about even if you walked into that party wearing mismatched shoes and a potato sack.”

You let out a startled laugh, rolling your eyes. “A potato sack?”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Yep. You’d still be the best-looking person in the room.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “…You really don’t care?”

“Not one bit,” he promised. “I just want you to be happy. Not stressing over what a bunch of nobodies think.”

His words hit deep. And for the first time in a long time, you actually believed them.

Maybe—just maybe—you didn’t need everyone else’s approval.

Maybe Jayce’s was enough.

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

Mel Medarda.

Mel had always been surrounded by high society, where appearances were more than just about beauty—they were about power, influence, and command. She’d been taught from a young age how to control the room with a well-placed smile, a confident stance, and the right attire. But while she had mastered the art of fitting into the expectations of others, she’d never let them control her.

When she first noticed your obsession with your appearance—how you would fret over the smallest detail, constantly worry about what others thought, and always seek validation from the people around you—she didn’t rush to correct you. Instead, she observed, trying to understand why it mattered so much to you.

One evening, you were preparing for another event, this time a gala held by Piltover’s elite. You stood in front of the mirror, your eyes darting between your reflection and the wardrobe full of options, your fingers pulling at your hair, your expression one of deep dissatisfaction.

“Mel,” you said, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t think I’m ready for this. I’m just not—”

She stepped into the room with the effortless grace she was known for, her gaze soft yet intense as she approached you. “You’re just not what?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.

“I don’t know… I feel like I don’t belong here,” you confessed, your hands wringing together. “I keep thinking about what people will say when they see me. What if they don’t think I’m… enough?”

Mel’s brow furrowed as she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, turning you to face her fully. “Let me ask you something,” she began, her tone serious but tender. “Why do you care so much about what they think?”

You looked down, not quite able to meet her eyes. “Because if I don’t look a certain way, if I’m not perfect, I feel like I won’t matter.”

Mel took a deep breath, stepping closer to you, her hands gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at her. Her gaze softened as she studied you for a moment, her fingers brushing the side of your face.

“Sweetheart,” she began, her voice quiet but steady. “You are already more than enough. I’ve seen you, not just with your looks, but with your heart, your intelligence, your strength.” She smiled softly. “You think people are only judging you based on how you look, but the truth is, they want to see you. They want to know you—the person who carries themselves with such grace and confidence, the one who makes them wonder how they missed such brilliance.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as her words sank in.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to fit into others' expectations. To be what people wanted me to be,” Mel continued, her eyes locking with yours, unwavering. “But I realized that I will never be happy that way. And neither will you. So stop letting your worth be defined by others. You have everything you need inside of you already.”

You blinked, the warmth of her words washing over you. “But… I still feel like I’m not enough sometimes.”

Mel gently cupped your face, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Then let me remind you every day how much you mean to me. You’re perfect just as you are.”

You swallowed, a smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

With a soft chuckle, Mel pulled back slightly. “Good. Now let’s go out there, and when they look at you, let them see the amazing person I see.”

And as she helped you get dressed, there was a quiet understanding between you two. Mel never pressured you to be anyone else, but she also knew how to help you realize that you had more power than you gave yourself credit for.

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

Viktor.

Viktor’s perspective on beauty had always been one of deep pragmatism. His entire life had been about improving, evolving, and focusing on the mind’s capacity to achieve, while the world outside often seemed obsessed with superficial qualities. He’d never cared much for what others thought of him or how he looked. But when it came to you, it was different.

He’d noticed, more and more, how often you seemed preoccupied with your appearance. You would spend hours before a mirror, adjusting your clothes or making sure every strand of hair was in place, always worried about what others might think. Sometimes, even after all the effort, there was a quiet dissatisfaction in your expression, and it made him wonder how much you truly believed in yourself.

One evening, after a long day of work, Viktor arrived home to find you sitting on the couch, still in your outfit from earlier. Your gaze was fixed on your phone screen, scrolling through images of other people’s lives, comparing your appearance to theirs. Your posture was tense, your brows furrowed in frustration.

Viktor quietly approached, his voice soft yet steady as he spoke your name. “You’re still awake? What’s going on, love?”

You glanced up, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just thinking. About how everyone seems to have it all figured out. How they look perfect, and I’m… well, I don’t know.” You trailed off, your gaze dropping back to your phone.

Viktor, noticing the sharp contrast between your usual confident self and the person sitting before him, knelt beside the couch, taking your hand gently in his. His tone was patient, understanding, but there was a certain firmness that made you look up at him.

“Your worth has never been determined by someone else’s perception of you,” he said, his voice quiet but intense. “You’ve spent so much time trying to please others, trying to fit a mold you never asked for. But I need you to understand something, love…”

You looked at him, unsure, waiting for him to continue.

“You are far more than just the sum of your physical appearance or the validation of others,” Viktor continued, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You are a person of substance, of intellect, of heart. And that’s what I fell in love with. Not the way you look, but who you are.”

You swallowed, feeling a lump in your throat. Viktor’s gaze softened as he reached for your hand, gently lifting it to his lips. “And you don’t need to change for anyone. Not for me, not for anyone.”

There was silence between you, broken only by the soft hum of the city outside. His words settled in your chest, easing the tension that had built up over the past few hours.

“I just feel like I’m constantly chasing something I can never achieve,” you admitted quietly. “Trying to be perfect, trying to be what everyone else expects.”

Viktor’s eyes darkened with concern, but he smiled gently. “What if I told you that the most perfect version of yourself is already here? Right now, in this moment? That you are more than enough, as you are?”

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of years of wisdom, of someone who had seen the world through a lens of endless improvement. Slowly, you found yourself leaning into him, feeling the comfort of his embrace and the security of his steady presence.

“I’m still learning, Viktor,” you whispered, your head resting against his chest. “Learning to accept myself.”

“And I’ll be here,” he murmured, his voice warm and unwavering. “Every step of the way. To remind you that you’re perfect, not because of how you look, but because of who you are.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words sink deep into your soul. In that moment, with Viktor by your side, you realized that the person you needed to please the most was yourself. And with him, you finally understood that your worth was never tied to anyone’s expectations—but rather, to the person you were, inside and out.

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

Caitlyn kiramman.

Caitlyn was never one to place much value on appearances. Sure, she knew the importance of looking presentable, especially in her position, but she also understood that true beauty went beyond what the eye could see. For Caitlyn, what truly mattered were values, intellect, and integrity. But when she noticed you often fretting over your appearance, constantly adjusting your outfit, and seeking validation from others, it tugged at her heart. She could tell you weren’t feeling your best, but didn’t know how to reach you—until one quiet evening.

After a long day at work, Caitlyn came home to find you in front of the mirror once again, changing clothes, adjusting your makeup, and constantly re-evaluating your reflection. She leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching you with a concerned expression.

You didn’t even notice her at first, your mind lost in the whirlwind of doubts that always seemed to surface when you weren’t in her company. “I don’t know, Cait. What if I’m not enough?” you muttered under your breath, pulling at the collar of your shirt as if it could make you feel better. “What if they don’t think I’m… beautiful enough?”

Caitlyn stepped into the room quietly, her voice gentle but firm. “Why do you think that?”

You jumped, not expecting her to be standing so close. “Oh… I didn’t hear you.” You gave a weak smile, clearly still upset.

“Babe, what’s going on? You’ve been like this for a while now,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours. She stepped closer and reached for your hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “What are you looking for?”

You hesitated, glancing at your reflection before turning to face her. “I just… I feel like people judge me all the time. What if they don’t like how I look? What if I’m too much for them? Or not enough?”

Caitlyn’s expression softened with a mix of empathy and concern. She could feel how deeply you were struggling, and though she didn’t share your worries about appearances, she understood the burden of those feelings. She gently cupped your face in her hands, tilting your chin so your eyes met hers.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice low but confident. “You are enough. Right now, in this moment, you’re more than enough.”

You blinked, her words striking a chord deep inside. “But what if people think I’m…”

She cut you off gently. “You are beautiful, but more than that, you’re incredible. You make a difference. You’re kind, intelligent, and strong. No outfit or hairstyle is going to change that.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as her words began to sink in. “But what if I’m not… what people expect?”

Caitlyn smiled, her hands gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t need to live up to anyone’s expectations but your own. I fell in love with you for who you are, not because of how you look. And I’ve never been more proud of you than I am right now, just by being yourself.”

Her sincerity made your heart swell, and despite your lingering doubts, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Caitlyn didn’t care about the opinions of others; she cared about you—and that was all that mattered.

“I guess I’ve been so focused on trying to be perfect that I forgot how to just be me,” you admitted softly.

Caitlyn chuckled, her thumbs gently rubbing circles on your cheeks. “And I’ll remind you every day that you don’t need to be perfect for anyone. You’re perfect for me.”

You leaned into her touch, a sense of comfort settling in your chest. “Thank you, Cait. I really needed to hear that.”

She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Anytime. And just so you know, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out. You don’t have to change a thing.”

In that moment, you realized that your true beauty didn’t lie in how others saw you, but in how Caitlyn saw you—and how you saw yourself when you let go of the expectations that had once held you back.

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

Vi.

Vi had always been more about strength and character than appearances. She had a no-nonsense attitude and didn’t care much for superficial things. Whether in a fight or just hanging out, she preferred to focus on what truly mattered—what was inside a person. So when she noticed you obsessing over how you looked, constantly tweaking your outfit or worrying about how others perceived you, it threw her off. She couldn’t quite understand why you’d feel like you weren’t enough when to her, you were already perfect just as you were.

One evening, after a particularly tough day, Vi returned home to find you sitting on the couch, eyes glued to your phone, flipping through social media. You’d been quiet all evening, and she could tell something was bothering you. As she approached, she noticed you adjusting your outfit for the fourth time, pulling at the hem of your shirt, checking the mirror again.

Vi raised an eyebrow, concern flashing across her face. “You good, babe? You seem a little… distracted.”

You didn’t look up, still preoccupied with your reflection. “I don’t know. I just feel like people always judge me. I mean, look at them, Vi,” you said, showing her your phone screen, where a bunch of influencers and well-dressed people filled the screen. “Why can’t I look like that? I don’t know… I just feel like I’m never enough, no matter what I do.”

Vi looked at the screen for a moment before setting it down gently, stepping closer to you. “Hey, look at me,” she said, her voice a little more serious now. “I don’t get it. You’ve got all this beauty inside and out, and you’re worried about some picture on a screen?”

You gave a little laugh, but it was hollow. “It’s not just a picture, Vi. People always notice what I wear, what I look like. I feel like I’m always trying to fit into something I’m not.”

Vi tilted your chin up, meeting your eyes with that intense, protective gaze of hers. “You don’t need to fit into any mold, babe. You’re not some... trend to follow. You’re you. And trust me, that’s more than enough.”

You looked away, unsure. "But people don't see that. They only care about the surface."

Vi sighed, her expression softening as she sat next to you. She took your hand in hers, her grip strong but comforting. "You know what I see when I look at you? I see a person who's been through a lot, someone who doesn't need to put on a mask to be loved. Someone who's real. And that's what makes you so amazing. I don't give a damn about what anyone else thinks. And I know you don't need to change for anyone."

You let out a breath, trying to hold back the feelings bubbling up inside. Vi, with her blunt honesty and genuine affection, had a way of cutting through the noise, and for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe you weren’t as lost as you thought.

Vi leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. “You know I love you for exactly who you are, right? And if you’re worried about how others see you, then maybe you should let them see the real you. Because that’s who I love. The real you. Not some version of you trying to impress everyone else.”

You could feel her words sinking in, easing the pressure you hadn’t even realized had been building. You felt a sense of calm begin to wash over you as Vi’s embrace tightened, holding you close.

"I know I'm tough and rough around the edges," she whispered, a playful smile tugging at her lips, "but you don’t need to be anything other than what makes you happy. And if that means wearing your favorite old shirt or going makeup-free, I’m still gonna think you’re the best thing in the world."

A small laugh escaped your lips, and you found yourself relaxing into her warmth. “Thanks, Vi. I needed that.”

Vi grinned, kissing the top of your head. “Anytime, babe. Just remember: you’re perfect to me, just the way you are.”

In that moment, surrounded by her love and honesty, you realized that the only opinion that truly mattered was the one that came from within—and with Vi, you were finally starting to believe it.

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

Jinx.

Jinx was many things—chaotic, unpredictable, and loud—but when it came to you, she was surprisingly sensitive. Her world had always been in a constant state of madness, but there was something calming about being with you. You were her rock, her one constant in the storm. That’s why it bothered her so much when she noticed you obsessing over how you looked, always fidgeting with your clothes, your hair, or your makeup, constantly worried about how others saw you.

One evening, after a particularly wild day of mayhem (courtesy of Jinx, of course), you sat on the couch, staring at your phone screen. Your brows were furrowed, your thumb scrolling through social media, comparing yourself to others. Jinx had been watching you for a while, and it was starting to get under her skin.

"Hey, you!" she suddenly called out, practically throwing herself onto the couch next to you, her usual enthusiasm filling the room.

You jumped a little, distracted. “Oh, hey, Jinx. What’s up?” You didn’t look up from your phone, still fixated on the images that seemed to be making you feel worse with every swipe.

Jinx tilted her head, studying your face closely. Her blue hair bounced as she moved, and her expression softened just a little. “You’ve been like this for a while now,” she said, a hint of concern lacing her voice. “Why do you keep looking at that stuff?”

You sighed, showing her your phone. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’m always trying to keep up with everyone else, you know? They always look so… perfect. I feel like I don’t measure up.”

Jinx blinked, her usual manic energy quieting for a moment as she processed your words. "What do you mean, perfect?" she asked, her voice almost childlike in its confusion. “Perfect’s boring, though! I mean, sure, it’s fun to be perfectly insane, but... you’re way cooler than perfect! Who needs to be that?”

You looked at her, a little unsure. “I just… I don’t know, Jinx. I feel like I’m always trying to be someone I’m not, trying to look like everyone else. But nothing ever feels good enough.”

Jinx leaned back dramatically, her arms spread wide. “You wanna know something? I don’t think you need to look like anyone else, ever!” she said, her eyes wide and full of her usual chaotic energy. “You’re already amazing the way you are, and I don’t get why you keep looking at that stuff. I mean, look at me—no one can look like me and that’s what makes me awesome! So you just need to be you, okay?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her randomness, even as a weight still sat heavy in your chest. Jinx smiled brightly, completely oblivious to the way her words were beginning to work their magic. “I know you think you gotta be something you’re not, but I love you just as you are. You’re like… the best thing ever! You don’t need to change anything to impress anyone, especially not me.”

She leaned forward then, her hands clasping yours tightly. Her wild eyes softened as she looked at you with an intensity that was rare for her. “I love you, okay? You—with all the stuff you think isn’t perfect. I don’t need a perfect you. I need you, the one with all the quirks and the weird little things that make you you!”

You blinked, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at her words. Jinx had a way of making things seem so much lighter, her chaotic nature always breaking through the heaviness of your own doubts. Her laugh was like music, and the more she spoke, the more you felt the pressure you had been putting on yourself start to lift.

“Jinx,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “Thank you. I think I just needed to hear it from you. I’ve been so focused on trying to change, I forgot what made me… me.”

“Exactly!” Jinx exclaimed, throwing her hands up like she had just made the greatest revelation in the world. “Just be you, and if anyone else doesn’t get it, then they’re the ones who are messed up! You’re freaking awesome, and I’m lucky to have you.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you with surprising gentleness. "Don’t ever try to be anything other than you again, okay?" she whispered into your ear. “I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

You rested your head on her shoulder, feeling a sense of comfort in the chaos that only Jinx could provide. With her by your side, maybe, just maybe, you could start to let go of the expectations that others had placed on you—and just embrace the person you were.

And with that, Jinx’s chaotic energy became the balm you didn’t know you needed, reminding you that in this world of uncertainty, the most important thing was being true to yourself.

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

Ekko.

Ekko had always been a little different. The way he saw the world wasn’t about appearances or surface-level stuff—it was about people, their hearts, and their actions. It wasn’t lost on him that you seemed to care a lot about how others perceived you, constantly stressing over what to wear, how to look, or whether you were keeping up with the trends. At first, he didn’t really understand it. Why would you care what other people thought when you were already so incredible in his eyes?

One evening, after working on his latest invention in the workshop, Ekko was looking forward to spending some quiet time with you. He’d been busy with the repairs and inventions for the underground, but when he finally entered the room, he immediately noticed something different about you. You were sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine, occasionally staring at the mirror, then back at the pages. The quiet tension in the air told him something was off.

He walked up to you and gently sat down next to you. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than usual. "You seem… distracted."

You looked up, surprised to see him. You hadn’t realized you were being so obvious about your self-doubt. "Oh, I’m fine," you lied, trying to smile. "Just… you know, trying to figure out what to wear tomorrow. Something that’ll make me look good enough for the crowd, y’know?"

Ekko frowned slightly. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your fingers were nervously flipping through pages. He didn’t need to be a genius to see that something was bothering you.

He leaned back against the couch, giving you a moment to breathe before speaking up again. “What crowd? I thought you were more about being yourself, not some image you’ve got to keep up with.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, well… sometimes it’s hard. I mean, look at everyone else, Ekko. They’re all perfect—well-dressed, confident, always looking like they’ve got it all figured out. I just… I don’t know. I want to feel good about myself, but it feels like I’m always falling short.”

Ekko let out a small sigh. He had seen you struggle with this before, but hearing it out loud always tugged at his heart. He knew what it was like to feel like you didn’t measure up, especially in a world that made it easy to compare yourself to everyone around you. But to him, you were already more than enough.

"You don’t need to be like anyone else, you know that, right?" Ekko said, his voice calm yet serious. "I get it, everyone around here seems to care about appearances or ‘keeping up with the Joneses,’ but that’s not what makes someone special. You’re already incredible. The real you—not some idealized version of yourself—is what I love."

He took your hand, gently guiding you to face him. "It’s not about looking like someone else. It’s about being you. And when you’re you, that’s when you shine the brightest. You’re unique, and that’s what makes you stand out. Not some perfect look or what other people think."

You felt a lump form in your throat, his words piercing through the insecurities that had been building inside. Ekko was always so patient with you, always grounding you when the chaos of the world started to feel too heavy. His belief in you, in who you were as a person, was unwavering.

"Ekko, I’m just so used to trying to fit in," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It feels like everyone expects me to be perfect, to look a certain way."

Ekko shook his head, his hand moving to brush your hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and tender. "You don’t need to fit into anyone’s box. You fit into mine, and that’s all that matters. You’ve got something they don’t—your heart, your mind, your creativity. You’ve always had it, and I see it every single day."

He stood up, giving you a playful grin. "You know what’s really cool about you? You can pull off anything—whether it’s a fancy outfit or a worn-out hoodie. You make it look good because it’s you. And honestly, that’s way more impressive than anything I’ve ever seen."

You couldn’t help but laugh, a little of the weight lifting off your shoulders as you finally met his eyes. “You really think that?”

Ekko nodded, his eyes full of sincerity. "More than anything. I’m proud of you, just the way you are. You don’t need anyone’s approval, especially not when you’ve already got mine."

You stood up to face him, feeling the warmth of his words sink in. There was no need to change for the world. You had Ekko, and that was more than enough to make you feel seen and loved.

"I love you, you know that?" you whispered.

Ekko grinned, his eyes lighting up as he pulled you into a hug. "I love you too, more than you’ll ever know."

In his arms, you felt safe—safe to be yourself, flaws and all. Maybe it wasn’t about perfection after all. Maybe it was about finding the people who truly saw you, the real you, and loving you for exactly who you were.

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

Sevika.

The quiet buzz of the dimly lit workshop was disrupted by a small, sudden sigh. Sevika paused, her fingers lightly gripping the wrench she was working with as she looked over at you. You were at the far corner of the room, your attention focused on the full-length mirror. Your gaze was distant, eyes scanning every inch of yourself, your expression more tense than usual.

She could see the way your shoulders tensed, the slight frown on your lips, and she knew that look all too well. It was the look of someone caught in the trap of self-doubt, obsessing over things that didn't truly matter. Sevika, who always carried herself with quiet confidence, couldn't help but notice how much you seemed to care about things that didn’t define your worth—things like appearance, status, and the opinions of others.

Without saying a word, Sevika set her tools down and walked toward you, her large frame cutting through the space with the same assured steps she always had. There was something about your current mood that tugged at her, an instinct to take care of you when she saw you struggling.

She came up behind you, leaning her back against the wall and crossing her arms, just watching. There was no rush to intervene. Sevika had learned that sometimes, you needed time to process things on your own before anyone could help.

After a moment, you spoke without turning to face her. "Do you think they’d like me more if I looked different? I mean… everyone seems to have something special about them. What if I’m just… not good enough?"

The words hung in the air, fragile and raw. Sevika stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Hey," she said, her hand resting on your shoulder, urging you to meet her eyes. "You’re not ‘just’ anything. And you’re not here to be ‘liked’ by anyone else but yourself."

You swallowed, still unable to fully meet her gaze. "I don’t know, Sevika. I just—sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, I can’t live up to… to what they expect, to what everyone else has. I don’t know how to be comfortable with myself."

Sevika’s eyes softened, her hand gently turning your chin so that you finally faced her. "You don’t need to worry about them. You don’t need to worry about being perfect, because there’s no such thing. No one is perfect—not even the ones who pretend they are."

Her voice was steady, filled with that unwavering confidence that made her so impossible to ignore. "You’re one of the strongest people I know, and that’s not something that comes from looking a certain way. It comes from what you’ve been through, how you keep going despite everything. That’s what I admire about you. Not how you look, but the person you are."

Your breath caught, the frustration in your chest softening with her words. For a moment, you let yourself believe her, feeling the weight of your insecurities ease just a little.

"I think you forget sometimes that people who truly care about you… the ones who matter, don’t give a damn about your looks," Sevika continued, her thumb lightly tracing your cheek, her touch gentle yet powerful. "You think I’m here because you’ve got the perfect image? Nah. I’m here because you’ve got heart. You’ve always had it."

A rare, soft smile tugged at her lips as she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "And you think I’d let someone like you get away with being anything less than amazing?"

You chuckled softly, the tension melting away at the sincerity in her words. Sevika’s tough exterior had always been there, but in moments like this, she allowed her softer side to show, especially when it came to you. You could see in her eyes that she didn’t just mean what she was saying—she believed it wholeheartedly.

"Sevika, I—"

She cut you off, her finger lightly tapping your lips. "No more self-doubt. No more comparisons. You’re incredible. Just as you are."

For once, the mirror didn’t seem so important. It wasn’t about how others saw you, but how you saw yourself through her eyes. Sevika may not always say a lot, but in moments like this, her actions spoke volumes. You let yourself lean into her touch, the assurance in her presence becoming your anchor.

She leaned in close, her voice softer now, just for you. "Now, let’s forget about everyone else for a while, yeah? Tonight’s about you, about us. You don’t need to impress anyone but yourself."

And as you let her embrace you, a weight lifted, one you hadn’t even realized you were carrying.

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

Authors note: I really do apologize if this isn't to ur liking my darling or it feels repetitive I just really could not come up with different scenarios dear God I was about to crash out..

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Regret |5|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Rader

Summary: You were living in New York with your girlfriend, trying to forget about last year and just enjoy life, but that was easier said than done. (Sequel to A Legacies Secret)

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 2.9k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | A Legacies Secret Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The entire car ride you couldn’t help but think about what just happened. You didn’t have a problem with Tara punching Gale, you honestly enjoyed that and were even glad it happened in front of an audience and cameras. That had been the first time you had seen Gale in months, and she didn’t even so much as look at you. You couldn’t blame her, you were the one that told her you wanted nothing to do with her, if anything she was doing exactly as you asked.

You weren’t sure how much Tara knew, you didn’t like to talk about it, but Gale did try after the attacks last year. She almost seemed desperate with how much she was trying to be in your life last year. She wasn’t good at it, it was abundantly clear she had no idea what she was doing, not that you knew what you were doing either, the two of you were in uncharted waters, you figured it was best to just pretend nothing ever happened and everything could go back to normal.

One of the times she reached out you mentioned moving to New York. She had offered to get you an apartment, you, Tara, and Sam, which, considering how expensive New York was, was incredibly generous of her but you turned her down. You and Sam were managing the rent just fine on your own, you didn’t want to feel like you owed Gale for anything, not when she had done nothing for you before. You really only told her about moving because you knew she lived there and figured if she knew it would be easier to avoid each other.

The only time you reached out to her was when her book came out. You never saw Tara reading it, but you and Sam certainly did. Sam was painted in a much worse light than you and the book only fueled the online hate Sam was getting. Confronting Gale about the book was also the last time you saw her, at least before just outside the police station. You went off on her and she just took it, the last thing you told her was to stay the fuck out of your life. Gale had just nodded and handed you a present, as if that would make up for anything she’d done, she never even apologized for what she wrote. Still, despite your issues with her you kept the present, it was tucked safely under yours and Tara’s bed, though you keeping it wasn’t for sentimental reasons.

Before you knew it the cab came to a stop, dropping the three of you off in front of Blackmore University. After your conversation the ride had been rather silent, allowing you to get so lost in your mind. You tried to keep your leg as straight as possible; the bodega really did a number on it. When you ran into Ghostface again you hoped you wouldn’t have to be crawling around on the floor again.

Sam’s phone dinged almost instantly with a text from Mindy telling her where they were waiting. Apparently, you, Tara, and Sam were the only ones they were waiting on, everyone else was already there. You tried not to let the dread of going over suspects get to you. Last time, you didn’t even want to go, but you did, and then you got accused of attacking your girlfriend.

Amber had been the one to accuse you, she had been throwing all the accusations and trying to get a reaction out of you. Mindy had joined in though, agreeing with Amber on pretty much every front. Chad didn’t accuse you like Mindy did, but he certainly didn’t defend you, besides Tara, the only person who didn’t seem to think the worst of you was Liv, who was dead now.

You walked the familiar path to the courtyard where you saw the others waiting on a couple of benches. You had been on the campus plenty of times, Tara had actually given you a tour of the entire place after her first week of classes. It was a nice campus, you could see why Tara had been so excited to come, besides the classes of course. You had even eaten at a couple of the restaurants on campus when you met Tara for lunch, there was even a really nice coffee shop you and Tara stopped at one morning when you walked her to class, that had the most delicious muffins you had ever had.

You held in a sigh as you got closer to the group. Quinn, Anika, and Ethan were on one bench while Chad was sitting on another, and Mindy was already standing in front of everyone, ready to deliver what speech she definitely already had planned.

“Finally!” Mindy groaned when she caught sight of the three of you approaching.

Chad hopped up off the bench and decided to lean against the stone wall that was behind the two benches, allowing you, Sam, and Tara to share the now vacant bench. You didn’t realize you were tapping your finger until Tara linked her hand with yours, giving it a tight squeeze. You glanced over at her and smiled, trying to show her just how much comfort her being there brought you, things were already better than last year, even if they all accused you of murder again.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Sam said.

“Love the enthusiasm Sam,” Mindy deadpanned. “It’s not like I’m about to reveal the potential killers or anything!”

Chad raised a hand, holding his pen up high. You raised an eyebrow at that, it seemed he intended to take notes on whatever his sister was about to ramble on about. You honestly admired the commitment, but you weren’t sure when exactly he, or any of you, would have time to go over the notes. It wasn’t like he could run over and reference his notebook in the midst of Ghostface trying to kill all of you.

“You got it wrong last time,” Chad pointed out.

Mindy narrowed her eyes at that. “I’ll admit,” she said, holding up one of her hands as if she were confessing something. “Mistakes were made.” You gave her an unamused look, that was certainly one way to put it. “But I know what to expect this time!”

“And what’s that?” Sam asked, crossing her arms.

“The unexpected!” Mindy held her hands out wide while all of you just looked at her with confusion.

“So,” Tara said slowly, adjusting in her seat slightly so she was leaning a little closer to you. “We need to expect the unexpected?”

“Yes!” Mindy smiled brightly.

“Is this normal for her?” Quinn whispered but it was loud enough for the whole group to hear. Chad nodded, though he seemed ashamed to do so. Quinn let out a hiss and her eyes widened at she leaned back. “No wonder you didn’t figure it out last time.”

“We’re in franchise people!” Mindy ignored Quinn’s comment, forcing everyone’s attention back on herself. “Throw the rules out the window,” she made a throwing motion with her hands. “Everything is unpredictable! It’s bigger! It’s badder! Everyone is on the chopping block this time! Even Sam and Tara!” She pointed at the two sisters.

Your eyes narrowed at Mindy, even if she wasn’t threatening her, you didn’t like the suggestion that someone could hurt Tara. You didn’t care who this Ghostface was or how much training they had, you refused to let Tara get even so much as a scratch this time around.

“That means we’re most certainly dead,” Mindy said, pointed at herself and Chad. Chads mouth fell open, and he looked around as if he expected someone to disagree with her. “But let’s get to what’s important!” Mindy clapped her hands.

“My death isn’t important?” Chad asked.

“Suspects!” Mindy completely ignored her brother. “First! We have-”

“Let me guess,” you interrupted. “Me?” You figured getting it out of the way was better, especially if Mindy ended on accusing some of the others.

“Actually, no!” You raised your eyebrows at that, you wondered if your ears were messed up from all the shooting the previous night. “But only because you’re top of the kill list this time.”

You frowned. “Mindy!” Tara snapped.

“It’s nothing personal,” Mindy waved Tara off. It sure felt personal, you didn’t know how being at the top of the kill list wasn’t personal. “They’re the love interest!” Mindy gestured at you and Tara as if to prove her point. “Box one checked! They’re a child of legacy characters! Box two checked!” You crossed your arms, you remembered from last year how being Dewey and Gales kid put more of a target on your back. “And…” Mindy glanced at you as if she felt bad for what she would say next. “They were the prime suspect last year.” You felt Tara squeeze your hand, it made you instantly unclench your jaw, you hadn’t realized you were doing that. “Kill off the one who was framed and suspected last time.”

“Like Cotton!” Chad added, quickly scribbling something down in his notebook. When Chad looked up, he was met by everyone’s glare. “What? Is that not right?” He flipped through a couple pages of his notebook, as if they would hold the answer.

“No, it’s right,” Mindy admitted. “Cotton was falsely accused for killing Maureen Prescott, then when he was exonerated, he was framed by Mrs. Loomis and Mickey, only to be the opening kill for Roman.”

“Great,” you mumbled. You weren’t sure if being at the top of the kill list was better than being the prime suspect. You certainly didn’t want to die but maybe if Ghostface came after you it would mean keeping Tara safe would be easier.

“But those two guys from class were the opening kill,” Anika said. “Right?” Her brow was scrunched together as she clearly tried to make sense of everything her girlfriend was saying.

“Yes!” Mindy said, pointing proudly at her girlfriend. “But if you ask me, that was more taking out the competition than killing someone the core friend group knows.”

“Can we,” Sam interrupted, shaking her head at the scene before her. “Just get back on topic here.”

“This is all relevant Sam,” Mindy gestured wildly with her hands. “But Fine,” she rolled her eyes. “Our suspects!” She turned on her heel and gave Ethan a devilish smirk.

“Me?” Ethan asked, his voice going up a notch. “Why? Because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate?”

“Roommate lotteries can be juked; you could have fixed it to get next to us.” Mindy didn’t wait for Ethan to respond because she was already turning to face her next suspect. “Quinn, the slutty roommate, a horror movie classic.” You suppressed a sigh, you didn’t think pointing out that this was real life and not a movie would do any good.

“Sex positive,” Quinn corrected but didn’t seem overly offended at being accused like Ethan had.

“How did you come to live with Sam, Tara, and Y/N?” Mindy tilted her head, though it wasn’t like she didn’t already know the answer.

“I answered their ad online,” Quinn shot the three of you a confused look.

“Say no more!” Mindy threw her hands in the air. “You’ve already implicated yourself enough.”

“It was an anonymous ad,” Tara sighed. “Plus, you know we vetted her.”

You nodded; you remember the meetings that were held for potential roommates. Several people responded to the ad and you, Sam, and Tara met with every single one of them. Some lasted longer than others, then there were some that arrived and Sam made leave before they ever stepped foot in the apartment. The handful of people that passed the initial inspection were subjected to a light Q&A, which you said seemed more like an interrogation. You didn’t participate a whole lot in that part, mostly just sitting silently at the table while Tara played nice cop, asking the questions, and Sam would butt in, asking her own questions or follow up questions, but mostly just glaring at said person. Mindy was also there, she was the one who came up with over half the questions for you guys to ask, even if some seemed very weird.

“Plus, her dad is a cop,” Tara added.

“And that makes it more likely that she’s the killer,” Mindy said, pointing at Quinn.

You tilted your head in thought at that. Your eyes slid over to Quinn, you did think it was suspicious Bailey had gotten the case, even if he said his buddy offered it to him. Something also felt off about him during the interrogation. Mindy hadn’t directly said Bailey was a suspect, but he was a cop, he’d know how to use a shotgun and could move like that Ghostface from the bodega. It also moved Quinn higher on the suspect list, her dad could have trained her how to shoot a gun and anything else she would need to know for defending herself, but those skills could also double in making her one effective killer.

“Do you not remember how these movies work Tara?” Mindy shouted, bringing you out of your thoughts.

You glared up at Mindy and pulled Tara closer. You knew this was just the way Mindy was, but Tara had really calmed down on the horror movie front, even though it was once her favorite genre. She still went to school for film she didn’t seem as excited about it as she once did. When she used to talk about going to college for film, it always involved the two of you moving together, but it also involved Amber. Amber was Tara’s best friend and someone who shared Tara’s love of movies, though she was less intense about everything as Mindy, well, at least that’s how she portrayed herself, it turned out she was even crazier than Mindy. After Amber’s betrayal it just seemed like Tara lost her original passion for the subject.

“And finally, Anika,” Mindy said, facing her girlfriend, and final suspect. Anika smiled and blew a kiss to Mindy, who happily blew a kiss in return. “Never trust the love interest.” Anika frowned at that, like she was hurt her own girlfriend didn’t trust her.

You liked Anika, she was the sweetest person you had ever met. You knew you had to have your guard up around her though, as much as you wanted to trust her you knew Ghostface could be anyone. You never liked Amber, but you had never imagined her as someone who was capable of hurting Tara. You glanced at Ethan, he was shy and dorky, someone who clearly struggled making friends. In the moment though, you couldn’t help but be reminded of Richie, he played the sweet supportive boyfriend to Sam, always coming off as incredibly awkward and a total dork, only to end up being a total psychopath.

“Great,” Sam said. “We have our suspects-”

“W-wait,” Ethan interrupted. “What about you guys?”

“I think it’s safe to rule out all of us who went through this last year,” Mindy said.

“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Who’s to say the trauma you all went through didn’t cause one or even all of you to snap?”

“Yeah, and why do they,” Ethan said, pointing at you. “Get a free pass? Just because they’re more likely to be a target? Come on,” he scoffed. “Weren’t they your number one suspect last year?” he raised an eyebrow at Mindy. Tara whipped her head around, shooting a furious glare at Ethan. “And that look is rather murderous,” he glanced at Tara out of the side of his eye and even went as far as to shift away from her, even though he was on a completely different bench.

“Accuse her girlfriend and feel Tara’s wrath,” Mindy mumbled. “But that is not the only reason!” she raised her pointer finger up high. You furrowed your brow, you didn’t know there was another reason you couldn’t possibly be the murderer. “They are also not physically capable of such a thing.” You frowned at that, not that you wanted to be excused of murder again. “They received significant injuries last year and quite literally could not move and chase us around like Ghostface needs to.”

“They could have a partner and they’re just the mastermind,” Ethan pointed at you. “Playing the innocent victim.” This time you and Sam glared at Ethan, along with Tara who had yet to stop her own glare.

“That’s true,” Mindy mumbled more to herself, stroking her chin as if she were in deep thought. Tara was quick to shift her murderous glare from Ethan to Mindy. Mindy’s eyes widened, as if she just realized she spoke aloud and slowly raised her hands in surrender.

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Sam said, ending the discussion before someone, most likely Ethan, got murdered, most likely by her sister.

Everyone got up and went their separate ways, most of them most likely heading off to class. It was just you, Tara, and Sam once again and Tara didn’t seem interested in heading in the direction of the class you knew started in almost half an hour.

“Let’s go home,” Tara said. She held out her hand and pulled you up from the bench. Going home would give the two of you the perfect opportunity to talk, even though a part of you just wanted to rest and spend time together.

Taglist: @mamas-evil-hag @thatshyboy1998 @btay3115 @idontliketoread2137 @nwestra

@honorarysimp @canyonyodeler @chxrry-lov3 @aceofspades190 @worstendingever

[biscuitdetective]

When I was in year 4 primary, every time we had a creative writing task I would find a way to make it about my cat OC who was called Scampey (he was an alley cat with ripped ears, but versatile enough that he could be both in universes where he was cat and humans existed, or universes where everyone was a talking cat). To me, these tasks were just writing prompts to expand on the Scampey’s Extended Universe. If the prompt was to write about someone overcoming a problem, it would be about Scampey figuring out how to outsmart a stray dog. If the prompt was someone’s first day of school, Scampey went to school now. I loved these tasks but my teacher hated that I did this. She was a very old fashioned woman who was frequently accusing me of causing trouble on purpose (when I was really just Being an Autistic Child), but something about the idea of talking animals really aggravated her for some reason. At first she’d say stuff like ‘would you like to write about someone OTHER than Scampey this time’, to which of course I’d be like ‘Nah that’s ok I like Scampey! :D’

I distinctly remember she set a writing task where the main character had to be a piece of material and we would write about how they were made into a product and I am 100% certain she did this because she didn’t want me to make it about Scampey. She was VERY SMUG about this task and I remember how much her face fell when she read my story about a piece of leather being made into a shoe which then got sold in a shoe shop and then lost and thrown out with the trash where it ended up in an alley to meet Scampey The Alley Cat and they became friends. After that, she warned me if I write one more story with Scampey, she would give me detention. She set another writing task, I forget what it even was, and so I innocently wrote a story about Scampey’s best friend Stacey instead (another alley cat).

The teacher called my mother about this, telling her (we still laugh about this) that there was clearly something wrong with me and I was either creatively stunted or deliberately trying to piss her off because all I ever wrote about was talking cats instead of humans like a normal person. My mums response was basically ‘idk what the problem is. I think that’s creative. I like Scampey.’

I think the thing that annoyed me the most about this was that almost every single other kid in the class just made themselves the main character in every single one of these stories except the product one, but they were never called uncreative (or threatened with detention)

what's the most demented thing you guys got in trouble for in school mine was when an english boy in my class made fun of my name and called my mum a (derogatory word for irish travellers) so i told him my ira uncle was in town and was coming to blow him up after school

[ordinary-barbie]

i burn for you.

rafe cameron x fem!reader.

summary: You hated Rafe Cameron. He lived to annoy you. There couldn't be anything more to your relationship—right?

word count: 3.5k

tags: fem!sassy kook!reader, enemies to lovers, cussing, sexual tension, underage drinking, dry humping, sappy ending

title from "Close to You" by Gracie Abrams!

~ • ~

It is a truth universally acknowledged that whenever you hung out with Sarah Cameron, her older brother Rafe was sure to appear. Didn't matter if it was at Tannyhill or the beach or some random Kook's party. Rafe always showed up at some point, to your utter dismay.

You'd moved to the Outer Banks the summer before ninth grade, feeling like you crash-landed on another planet. Kildare was not a huge place, and everyone else seemed to have known each other since birth, already forming their little cliques. You were a Kook—though you thought the whole "Kooks vs. Pogues" rivalry was pretty silly—but you felt like you couldn't fit in with all the pretty and popular girls. You thought making friends would be hopeless, until Sarah swooped in and took you under her wing.

Sarah was so sweet and funny; she quickly became like the sister you never had. It was just a shame that she had to be related to...him. Rafe Cameron had been the bane of your existence for years. The guy always knew exactly how to push your buttons, whether it was getting into your personal space, snatching stuff out of your hand and refusing to get it back, and constant sarcastic comments—though you could always give as well as you got.

Today you were chilling at Tannyhill with Sarah, watching the pilot episode of Gilmore Girls because she'd somehow gone 19 years without watching one of the most iconic shows of all time. It was such a comfort show for you, and you were happy to be experiencing it with your bestie. Well, until you know who decided to flop down next to you on the couch, radiating with irritating frat boy energy.

"Y'all decided to have a movie night and not invite me?" Rafe fake pouted, putting his arm around you. You scowled, pushing it away.

"First of all, Gilmore Girls is a TV show. And secondly, why would we invite you? Don't need your mouth-breathing self ruining the vibes," you snapped.

Rafe rolled his eyes. "Chill out, princess. I promise I don't have cooties," he replied with a smirk.

"Now that, I highly doubt," you muttered.

Sarah sighed, pausing the episode. "Really guys? This again?" Poor Sarah had been witness to years of arguments between you and Rafe, and you did feel bad that she had to be caught in the middle. But maybe he should be less annoying—then you wouldn't be forced to bite back.

Rafe raised his hands in a show of innocence, though you knew he was anything but. "Hey Sar, I'm just here to watch the show. Not my fault your bestie here wants to bite my head off."

You scoffed, trying your best not to roll your eyes upwards towards oblivion. "Yeah, right, like you give a shit about Gilmore Girls. And I want to bite your head off because you're an insufferable ass."

"So you think about my ass, huh?" Ugh, you wanted to slap that smug look off of his face. You hated how the amused glint in his eyes and his lazy smile stirred feelings in you that you absolutely refused to acknowledge.

"In your fucking dreams, Rafe Cameron," you answered, scowling.

Rafe's smirk grew deeper. "Please, you wish I would dream about you."

"I think I'd rather have a root canal," you snarked.

"Okay, chill! Rafe, either watch the show with us or go away," Sarah said wearily, rubbing at her temples.

Rafe scooted closer to you on the couch, knocking his knee against yours. "I'm down. What do you say, princess?"

Your annoyance had morphed into a slowly simmering rage at Rafe's favorite nickname for you. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and plaster a smile on your face before saying, "Sure, why not?"

You came to regret your decision as soon as Sarah pressed play. While you and Sarah could watch shows together in comfortable silence, only adding occasional commentary, Rafe would not shut the fuck up. He always had something to say, whether it was about the dialogue ("Why the fuck do they talk so fast?") or the characters' appearances ("Lorelai is a fuckin MILF, I gotta admit.") It was a wonder you got through the episode without completely losing your shit.

Before you could at least try to enjoy the second episode, Sarah's phone rang. "It's John B," she explained, smiling sheepishly. She got off the couch and went upstairs to talk to her boyfriend in private.

"Well well well, looks like it's just you and me, princess," Rafe purred, taking the opportunity to put his arm around you again.

Your heart hammered in your chest. You were so close to Rafe that you could smell him—that heady mix of sea salt after an afternoon of surfing with Topper, cologne, and whatever detergent the maid had used to wash his clothes. If this was any other boy, you'd lean in, inhaling the scent. But this was Rafe, so you squirmed out of his grip, your stomach churning.

"Can you behave yourself for one second? You're like a middle schooler," you snapped.

Rafe chuckled. "Relax, princess. Get your panties out of a twist for once."

Your eye twitched. "I'd call you scum, but that would be an insult to scum."

"I love scum, drop the s though," Rafe casually responded, flashing you a lecherous grin.

You pretended to gag. "You're a Neanderthal."

"Keep talking dirty to me, baby, I love it," Rafe said, dramatically clutching his chest.

You were so relieved when you heard Sarah bounding down the stairs. She settled back onto her place on the couch, seemingly unaware of the tension that had sparked up in her absence.

Sarah stared at you and Rafe, arching an eyebrow. "Did y'all manage to behave yourselves while I was gone?"

"Rafe was—"

"Oh, we had a great time together," Rafe interrupted, smirking. "Just hanging out with my bestie!"

"I am not your bestie," you corrected, your voice dripping with venom, though that only amused Rafe more.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Who's ready for episode two?"

You picked up the remote and pressed play, immersing yourself in Rory and Lorelai's quirky world. Thankfully, Rafe was quiet—but you couldn't ignore the feeling of his gaze, laser-focused on you the entire time.

Against your better judgment, you'd allowed Sarah to drag you to a party.

Normally, you'd be along for the ride. As long as the music was good and the snacks and drinks were decent, you could vibe, whether it was a frat party at UNC or a bonfire at the beach. But this wasn't just any party; it was a Topper Thornton party. And as Topper's best friend, Rafe would definitely be there.

"You better not make me regret this, Sarah Cameron," you grumbled, fiddling with one of the spaghetti straps on your black tank top.

Sarah just giggled. "C'mon, it'll be fun! I promise."

You weren't holding your breath, but you allowed Sarah to hook your arm in hers and lead you into Topper's house anyway.

"Ladies! Welcome to the shit show," Topper greeted you and Sarah, wrapping his arms around both of you.

Shit show was an apt description. Music was blasting so loudly that it was making the house shake. A sea of people was milling about the place, with dozens of overlapping conversations. There were even loud shrieks and splashes as guests messed around in the Thorntons' pool.

"Oh, _____, Rafe is somewhere around here, I think," Topper said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. "As if I would care where Rafe is."

Topper snickered. "Yeah yeah, sure."

Topper was convinced that you and Rafe had a thing for each other, which was, frankly, ridiculous. You and him? Please.

"You gonna get us some drinks or what?" Sarah asked Topper, putting her hands on her hips. Topper gave the two of you salutes and was back in a flash with two red Solo cups full of a bright blue liquid. He and Sarah may have been broken up, but there was still a part of him that was wrapped around her finger.

Sarah downed her drink immediately, but you were more cautious, giving it a sniff first before taking a sip. It tasted like blue Hawaiian punch with a dash of pineapple juice, vodka, and rum—not a terrible combo.

As the party rolled along, you began to loosen up. The playlist was banging, you and Sarah were having the time of your lives dancing, and the best part? Rafe was nowhere to be seen.

You dipped out of the living room area to use the bathroom, and when you came back, Sarah was putting her jean jacket back on, an apologetic smile on her face. "John B says the Pogues are having a bonfire at the beach so I think I'm gonna stop by there. Sofia's gonna pick me up."

You felt a pang of sadness but you understood. The Pogues were important to Sarah, and you weren't gonna keep her from her boyfriend and other friends.

"You wanna come? I'm sure Sofia has extra room in her car," Sarah offered.

You considered the offer for a second, but felt hesitant, as if some invisible tether was keeping you here. (A voice in the back of your head whispered thoughts of a certain guy, but you were quick to shove them to the furthest corner of your mind.) John B was chill, and his friends were always nice to you. But this time, you weren't in the mood for another party.

"Nah, I'll be fine here," you assured Sarah. "Go have fun! But not too much fun."

"Yes mom," Sarah responded, playfully rolling her eyes.

After a few minutes, Sofia arrived to pick up Sarah, leaving you to your own devices. You felt your social battery draining, so you flopped down on one of Topper's living room couches, mindlessly scrolling through social media to pass the time.

“Is this seat taken?” you suddenly heard a husky voice say. You looked up from your phone and were greeted by the sight of Spencer Bingham, who you vaguely knew from having a few classes together back at Kildare Academy.

To put it simply, the guy was cute. He had shaggy light brown hair, twinkling gray eyes, and the most dazzling smile. "Go right ahead," you offered casually, though you were internally swooning.

"So how've you been? I haven't seen you since graduation," Spencer wondered.

"Oh I've been good," you replied, smiling shyly. "Really enjoying it at UNC. How about you?"

Spencer matched your smile, putting his hands behind his head. "Oh I'm great. Loving Penn State and the lacrosse team. Though there are some things I miss about Kildare that I can’t find up north."

You giggled. “And what might those be?”

“Well, the girls, for starters,” Spencer answered, shooting you a flirtatious grin. “Specifically, you.”

Your mouth dropped open. You wouldn’t call yourself ugly, but you hadn’t exactly been Miss Popular with the boys of Kildare. You admittedly harbored a tiny crush on Spencer during junior year, but never even considered that he would be interested in you.

Spencer noticed your shocked expression and chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised! You’re a total catch—I’ve seen your Insta pics.”

You ducked your head down, suddenly feeling shy. Slowly but surely, you were being more confident in your looks and comfortable with your social media photos. You still had to get used to fielding compliments from people though, trying your best to silence that minuscule voice of self-doubt that lurked in the corner of your mind.

Spencer lifted your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Can…Can I kiss you?” he asked, suddenly more bashful than before.

You nodded, giving him the green light. You’d been kissed before, but it was an unremarkable smooch during a game of truth or dare in tenth grade. Spencer gave you a real kiss—soft and slow, like something out of a rom com.

Eventually the two of you parted, catching your breaths.

You rubbed the back of your neck. “That was—I really liked that, Spencer.”

Spencer grinned. “We could keep doing it, if you want.”

“And what do we have here? The nerd finally hooks up with the jock. So cute.”

You stiffened, scowling at that all-too-familiar voice. “Rafe. I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you, but I’d be lying.”

Rafe snickered, leering at you. “I noticed I hadn’t gotten to bother my favorite person tonight so I went looking for you. Imagine my surprise when I find you sucking face with Bingham. Are the pickings really that slim at PSU, Spence?”

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

"Don't you have some blonde girl with big boobs you could be making out with instead of bothering us?" you snapped.

Rafe's smirk deepened. "Bothering you is more fun, princess. You're pretty hot when you're angry."

Your stomach betrayed you by doing a backflip at Rafe's words. Damn him. "You're insufferable."

"Thanks baby, that means a lot," Rafe smugly answered.

Spencer cleared his throat, looking awkwardly between you and Rafe. "Look...I don't know what's going on here, so I'm gonna go. See you around, ____. Nice chattin' with ya." He flashed you one last smile before getting up, leaving you alone with Rafe. Wonderful.

"What the fuck, Rafe? There was a perfectly nice guy who was totally into me, and you just ruined it." You were absolutely fuming. It was annoying enough that Rafe lived to push your buttons, but to essentially cockblock you as well?

Rafe snorted. "Come on, princess. Bingham couldn't handle a girl like you."

You clenched your jaw, glaring daggers into Rafe. "And what is that supposed to mean?" you demanded.

Rafe crossed his arms, huffing. "He's just not right for you, okay?"

"And how would you know who's right for me?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

For once, Rafe was silent. You rolled your eyes at him and hopped off the couch, completely done with his bullshit.

"Where ya goin'?" Rafe asked, furrowing his brows.

"Home," you curtly replied. "I'll just walk."

"Right, because it's such a genius idea to walk alone...at night...in those shoes," Rafe snarked. "Let me drive you."

You sneered at him. "No thanks. You're probably drunk anyway."

"'m actually sober, sweetheart," Rafe replied.

You let out a huff of surprise. "Rafe Cameron, not drinking at a party? Either the world is ending or you must've hit your head."

"Jus' didn't feel like drinking tonight, all right? Especially since Sarah asked me to make sure you got home," Rafe said, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looked away from you.

You felt a pang in your chest. You loved Sarah for looking out for you, but you weren't prepared for Rafe to actually care about you or your well-being.

You sighed, not having the energy to argue anymore. "Okay, fine. Take me home."

The drive back to your place was uncharacteristically silent. Normally, whenever Rafe would drive you and Sarah places, he'd have a Spotify playlist blaring, or he'd be running his annoying mouth. But Rafe was focused on the road, not even sparing a second glance at you. You should've enjoyed this, relishing in the quietness. But something just felt...off.

You were relieved when Rafe finally pulled into your driveway. "Hey—thanks for driving me home. I appreciate it."

You went to open your car door, but Rafe put a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. He looked deeply into your eyes, and you felt rooted to your spot, transfixed by his unreadable expression. What you wouldn't give to know what was going through Rafe Cameron's mind right now.

Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt and moved closer to you, cupping your face in his hands. Your heart fluttered in your chest in anticipation. Then, he softly kissed you on the lips.

A million different emotions raced through your mind as you felt his lips on yours. Before you could fully process what was happening, Rafe pulled away, stroking your lower lip. You shivered at his gentle touch.

Rafe cleared his throat, his ears flushing a bright red. "Um. So. Have a good night, princess."

You opened the car door and climbed out, flashing Rafe a nervous smile. "Yeah, have a good night, Rafe."

You found yourself replaying Rafe's kiss in your mind that night. Spencer's kiss had been nice, but Rafe? Of course, he was the one that had your head spinning.

Things had definitely shifted since...that thing happened after Topper's party. You and Rafe, usually firey with each other, had cooled off significantly. You felt like you would combust every time he spared a glance at you. It got to the point where you would refuse Sarah's invitations to Tannyhill, not risking the chance of seeing Rafe around.

Unsurprisingly, Sarah grew tired of both of your bullshit. "You're coming over," she said while the two of you hung out in your room, her voice not leaving any room for argument.

"Sarah, I—"

Sarah held up a hand. "Nope! No excuses! You and Rafe haven't spoken to each other for a week, and it's kinda freaking me out. You're coming over right now and both of you are gonna sort your shit out."

Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Sarah, so you conceded and agreed to go back to Tannyhill with her. You just had to ignore that your stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics at the thought of talking to Rafe.

When you reached Tannyhill, Rafe was on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Sarah whistled to get Rafe's attention and he looked up, blushing furiously at the sight of you. You nervously looked away, wishing you could sprout wings and fly out of there. Why did things have to be so weird?

"I'll leave y'all to it," Sarah said, bounding up the stairs.

Rafe cleared his throat. "So...you wanna sit down?"

You gulped, nodding, and joined Rafe on the couch. You wracked your brain, trying to think of a way to broach the subject you and Rafe had been dancing around for a week. Hey Rafe! So remember when you kissed me that night? I know I hate your guts, but I actually liked that!

"So—"

"Well—"

You and Rafe laughed, slightly easing the tension.

"So...about that kiss," you said, twiddling your thumbs.

Rafe awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "Look, ____. I know I give you a lot of shit, but I actually really like you. Like, a lot. And I fucked around with you because it was the only way I could get your attention. When I saw you with Bingham that night? I was jealous. Because that should be me."

You took a deep breath, trying to process Rafe's words before you went forward with your own confession. "Rafe—I like you too. And I really didn't want to, especially with your charming personality." Rafe snorted.

"I tried so hard to push those feelings down to protect myself," you continued. "But when you kissed me, everything just bubbled to the surface. So I ran away instead of actually dealing with my emotions. I really liked that kiss. And I'm scared of how much I enjoyed it."

Rafe gazed at you fondly, and you felt like you would melt right there on the couch. You wished he would look at you like that for as long as he wanted to.

"You're probably the funniest girl I know. And you're kind, and smart, and hot as fuck," Rafe said, lazily raking his eyes over your body.

"You're all right too, I guess," you replied with mock indifference, shrugging your shoulders.

"You're insufferable," Rafe muttered, rolling his eyes, though there wasn't any real heat to his words.

You smirked. "But you like me anyway."

Rafe grinned. "That's true." He leaned in close, looking at you hesitantly before you silently gave him permission. Rafe kissed you deeply, pinning you to the couch. You eagerly kissed him back, wrapping your arms around him.

"I've been wanting to do this for so fucking long," Rafe admitted, littering the side of your neck with kisses. You let out a whine, arching your back. You were such an idiot. You could’ve been experiencing Rafe’s mouth on you all this time.

“I think little Rafe is trying to say hello,” you wryly remarked, feeling a bulge poking you in the side. Rafe chuckled, his laugh warming your insides.

“So say hi,” Rafe purred in your ear, shifting you so your clothed crotch was right on top of the bulge in his jeans. You started grinding against his clothed erection, the two of you letting out moans of pleasure at the friction between you. You were trying your best to be quiet since Sarah was right upstairs, but it felt so so so good.

“Gonna cum, princess,” Rafe muttered before letting out a grunt. “Fuck…I haven’t cum in my pants like that in a while. You see what you do to me, baby?”

You shyly giggled, burying your face in his neck. Rafe softly smiled at you, kissing your forehead. The two of you laid on the couch, enjoying the comfortable silence before falling asleep.

Click!

Your eyes fluttered open at the intrusion, noticing a grinning Sarah holding her phone at you and Rafe.

Rafe stirred soon afterward. “Baby, what…” he trailed off, noticing his sister. “Sarah?”

“Sorry, but y’all looked too cute,” Sarah replied, giggling.

“I’ll forgive you if you send me that pic,” you said.

Rafe pouted. “Babe, I’m probably drooling and shit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Calm down, it’s not like I’m gonna use it to hard launch us or anything. But it’s scientifically impossible for you to look bad in a photo anyway.”

Rafe smirked. “Wow, you’re really obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, giving Rafe a shove. He just laughed, giving you a peck on the lips.

You and Rafe’s phones both dinged twice with messages from Sarah, one with the candid photo and a follow-up message that said “You guys make me sick ❤️”

You looked at the photo, your heart swelling as you gazed at the image of you and Rafe. You were sleeping soundly, with your face pressed against Rafe's chest and his arms wrapping around your midsection protectively.

"Making this my lockscreen immediately," Rafe said, warming your heart.

Sarah pretended to gag, but she looked fondly at you and Rafe. "Glad y'all finally got your heads out of your asses."

"Me too. Especially Rafe. His was stuck waaay up there," you joked.

Rafe playfully rolled his eyes at you. "I was waiting for you to pull it out, babe."

"Okay, now I'm getting sick again," Sarah deadpanned, flopping down on the couch next to you.

You laughed. "Hey, why don't we watch Gilmore Girls again? I haven't forgotten your Stars Hollow education, Sar."

"Hey, I'm down," Sarah said, finding the remote and turning on Netflix.

"Where did we leave off?" Rafe asked.

"We didn't make it past episode 2 because someone decided they were bored," you dryly responded, shooting Rafe a pointed look.

Rafe smirked. "That was the old me, baby. I swear I've changed."

You shook your head, but you couldn't hide your ear-splitting grin. As Sarah started the episode and Rafe pulled you close to him, you felt a sense of peace. You never could've imagined yourself in this position a few weeks ago, or even yesterday. But in this moment, everything felt right. And while you were annoyed by it before, you'd let Rafe follow you wherever you went.

[steddieas-shegoes]

i hate the way i don't hate you

for @steddielovemonth inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You

rated m | 2571 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: inspired by 10 things i hate about you but it's so short so keep that in mind, enemies to friends to lovers, time skips, getting together, falling in love, modern au

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

“Let me get this straight: you asked him out as part of a bet.”

“Mhm.”

“Because he’s insufferable and everyone in your little misfit group decided it would be funny.”

“Uh huh.”

“And your plan was to stand him up at prom so he would know how it feels to be heartbroken.”

“In a nutshell.”

“And then you fell in love with him.”

Eddie blinks at Robin, who looks like she might kill him with her bare hands. Honestly, he deserves it. He kinda hopes she makes him suffer.

“All signs point to yes,” he says.

She sighs. And then she sits down. And then sighs again.

“This is absolutely bullshit, you know that right?” She finally asks. “Steve’s a good person. He never deserved to be treated like his feelings don’t matter.”

“I know. And I should’ve known that from the beginning.”

“You fucked this up. He’s gonna hate you.”

Eddie knows that’s a good possibility. He hopes Steve is forgiving, but he knows he doesn’t deserve to ask him to be.

“If he does, I deserve it. But I came to you because I couldn’t lie anymore,” Eddie knows his reputation with his friends is on the line. He doesn’t care. “I’m gonna talk to him tonight and let him make his own decision.”

“You’re gonna tell him the day of prom that his prom date is an asshole?” Robin stands up again. “You’re gonna ruin his senior prom.”

“I’m ruining it either way. People are gonna tell him about it at prom if I don’t tell him before,” Eddie argues. “He deserves to hear it from me.”

“He deserves to not be a circus act,” Robin says, but nods. “Make sure you return your tux tomorrow. His card will get charged a penalty if it’s late.”

Eddie doesn’t tell her he already returned the tux. He figures it’s probably not the time.

He knows Steve won’t want to be near him after he tells him about the bet.

****

One month earlier

“You’d never land a guy like that anyway,” Gareth jokes. “Steve Harrington wouldn’t even glance your way let alone date you.”

“He’s so uptight, he’d laugh in your face if you even tried,” Frankie adds.

Eddie watches Steve carry Robin’s books to her locker so she can carry her trumpet case and science project.

“Wanna bet?”

****

Two weeks earlier

“You write music?” Steve asks as Eddie closes his notebook.

“I try,” Eddie smiles at him. “It’s not always good. It’s rarely good.”

“Could I hear some of it?”

“Maybe.” Eddie lights his cigarette, smirking around it as Steve’s cheeks turn a rosy pink. “Do you like metal?”

“I’ve never really listened to it,” Steve admits. “But I’d give it a shot if that’s what you wrote.”

“Come to my band’s show this weekend. I might play an original song as our encore,” Eddie says. “Might even dedicate it to you.”

The blush gets deeper.

****

The night before

“You know I used to wanna be an astronaut?” Steve says as he leans his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. “Still would if I was any good at math. I mean, I get by in class, but I’m in the easiest classes. Probably not astronaut material. Plus, I get seasick.”

Eddie laughs, something he’s done a lot with Steve. Something he never expected to be doing so much, actually.

“You could still work with NASA. Maybe you can’t go to space, but you could help people get there,” Eddie offers. “They’ve got plenty of people working in the office.”

“Yeah, but I think it would be hard to be so close, yet so far, ya know? Like I’m technically no closer to space there than I am right now. If anything, I’d be farther because I’d be stuck in a building, but here I’m with you,” Steve says simply.

Eddie leans his head on top of Steve’s, looking ahead instead of above.

His heart skips a beat when Steve’s hand rests on his knee.

“I’m glad I get to be here with you,” he says quietly.

Eddie swallows around another lie.

****

Present day

“Eddie! What’re you doing here?”

Eddie hates how excited Steve is to see him. It’s gonna make this so much harder.

His chest aches as he gives him a small, fake smile. Steve notices immediately because of course he does. Steve sees Eddie in ways his own friends don’t.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, and Eddie can hear it already in his tone, the way his body is rearing up for disappointment. Steve’s said it himself before: he’s always prepared for the other shoe to drop because everyone’s got two feet.

“Can we sit?”

“No. You can tell me whatever it is just like this.”

Eddie accepts it because arguing now isn’t going to help anything. Sitting or standing, Steve is going to be pissed at him.

“I can’t go to prom with you.”

Steve is looking at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean? Was something wrong with the tux? It’s not a big deal if you wanna go in jeans. I promise I was kidding about leaving you in a corner.”

Eddie gives an unamused laugh. “No, that’s- no. I lied to you. For over a month now. I only asked you out because my friends didn’t think you’d even talk to me, let alone agree to go to prom with me.”

Steve’s silence hurts almost as much as the tears that are gathering in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I ever even bet them that I could get you to go out with me. I’m sorry that sorry isn’t enough.”

Eddie can feel tears in his own eyes, but it’s not fair of him to cry. He caused this. He’s the reason Steve is upset. He shouldn’t get to be upset in front of him.

“Steven! The tux is pressed!” Steve’s mom yells from the front door. “Come inside so I can make sure the tailor got the sleeves right.”

Steve breathes in slowly before turning to his mom and telling her he’ll be in in a minute. He turns back to Eddie and sniffles.

“I guess I’ll see you at school.”

“Steve, I’m sorry. Really.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Steve walks into the house, leaves Eddie in the driveway.

****

Eddie paces his room.

There’s not a lot of space to do that, but he manages to wear a track in the carpet. Wayne will be home any minute asking him why he isn’t at the prom, why he isn’t with Steve.

Eddie will tell him and he’ll give him that same look he did when he told him about turning a kid away from Hellfire Club. It’s disappointment, and Eddie hates it.

The front door opens, Wayne’s footsteps echo to the kitchen while he puts away his ice pack and leftover containers from lunch, he pops open a can of beer, and then walks to Eddie’s room. He knocks on the door.

Eddie starts crying.

Wayne rushes into his room, sets his beer on the bedside table, and gathers Eddie into his arms.

“What’s goin’ on, son? Thought you’d be getting ready for your dance,” Wayne says, but it just makes Eddie cry harder.

Eventually, he calms down enough to explain.

Wayne keeps holding him because Wayne will always hold him, even when he’s disappointed in him.

“Well, he didn’t punch ya in the face,” Wayne finally says. “You apologized?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t matter. I still hurt him and he won’t forgive me.”

“You think you deserve to be forgiven?” He wasn’t asking meanly, just genuinely inquiring.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

If he’d asked earlier, he would’ve given a resounding ‘no.’ But he knows how sorry he is, and even though Steve probably never will forgive him, he does hope he will.

“If you’re really sorry, he’ll forgive ya,” Wayne settles on.

Eddie shakes his head, wipes his eyes and then his nose, frowning at the snot on his fingers. He wipes it on his shirt and falls back on his bed. Wayne laughs at him, pats his chest, and stands to leave.

“You could do something big for him,” Wayne suggests.

“Like what?”

“I dunno, you showed him that song you wrote about him yet?”

“I can’t show him that! Not now!”

“Why not? It’s about as big a declaration of love you can give.”

Eddie hates when Wayne’s right.

****

He gets Robin on board with bribery. A lot of it.

Money is definitely involved, more money than he really should spend, as well as his best weed (“it’s not for me!”) and free rides for the entire summer whenever she wants.

But she agrees to get Steve to The Hideout on Saturday night. She’s not good at lying, but she manages to tell a half-truth and Steve believes her.

Eddie’s a nervous wreck. His bandmates were read the riot act from him and from Wayne. They all apologized to Steve at school, though he didn’t really accept them.

It didn’t give Eddie much hope at all.

He’s doing it anyway.

Robin put in the effort of getting Steve here, so he’s gotta do it.

“You know ‘em and sometimes like ‘em just fine…Corroded Coffin!”

The guys all go on stage ahead of him when the crowd starts cheering. He takes one more deep breath and follows.

Gareth counts them in and they play.

It’s good, maybe one of their liveliest crowds yet. He can’t see many of the faces, but he knows Steve’s there. He saw Robin’s shirt when the lights dimmed between the first song and the second. She wouldn’t stay if Steve left.

Jeff introduces them after the third song like always, but pokes a little fun at Eddie.

“Sorry about our guitarist being a bit moody. He’s feeling deeply emotional about love,” Jeff starts the next song before Eddie can argue.

It’s a great show.

Everyone’s having fun, even Eddie.

But then the guys all sip on water and it’s Eddie’s turn to introduce his song. The song for Steve.

“Hey everyone,” Eddie starts, awkwardly. He’s not usually like this on stage. “Got a new song tonight. I wrote this for someone who I don’t deserve, but who I care about a lot. I know he’s mad and he should be. It may not fix anything, but I hope he knows that I mean every word.”

Gareth’s drums are soft for this one, just there to keep the beat with Frankie on the bass. Jeff moved out of the spotlight, still playing rhythm, but keeping the attention on Eddie while he sings.

He sings about falling for someone unexpected, wanting to create a love story better than Shakespeare. He sings about the boy who wanted to discover the stars, and the boy who wanted to hold his hand while he did. He sang about not knowing that he was capable of this kind of love, and wanting to have it forever.

When the song ends, the crowd claps, but they clearly aren’t here for the romantic ballad he just sang.

He lets Gareth count in for the next song and they go back to the loud, chest-thumping music they usually play.

He doesn’t see Robin anymore, and he decides then that if Steve left, he did everything he could for now. He can’t be more sorry than he is and he can’t force Steve to think more of him.

“Good show guys,” Jeff says as they tear down the stage. All of them are responsible for their own equipment, but they also help out the bar manager by unplugging the electrical and rolling the wires when they’re done. “And a great job on your song, Eddie.”

“Thanks,” Eddie gives him a small smile as he closes his guitar case. “Don’t know if it worked.”

“It did.”

Eddie turns at Steve’s voice, nearly falling over when he sees how good Steve looks. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and ripped jeans, something outside of his norm, probably trying to fit in with this crowd a bit. Eddie wants to kiss him.

“Steve.” Eddie isn’t sure who’s talking, but it must be him because Steve’s looking at him with shining eyes and the same smile he always gave him when he looked like he wanted to hold his hand. “You’re here.”

“Robin insisted,” Steve admits, stepping closer to Eddie. “But then I told her to head home so I could talk to you.”

“Oh.”

Steve’s mouth lifts in a smirk for a moment before he schools his features again.

“So you wrote that song for me?”

“Yeah. Is it too much?”

Steve steps closer again, only a few inches separating them now. He shakes his head. “Not too much, no. Maybe just enough.”

“Enough for you to forgive me?”

“I might be on the path of forgiveness.” Steve touches his chest, palm over his heart. “But can I ask you something?”

“Anything. Whatever you want.”

“What were you hoping to happen when you made the bet?”

Eddie has to think about that. Of all the things he’s thought about, this isn’t one of them.

Steve waits for him, though. He’s patient. One of the many amazing things about him.

“I think I just wanted to be right about you,” Eddie finally admits.

Steve nods once. “A lot of people wanna assume things about me because of who my friends were a couple years ago, and who my parents are, and how I always dress nice and act like a bitch. It’s easier to just think I’m a bad person than think I have any depth at all. Especially in high school. Even though most of us are adults now, no one really acts like it.”

“I’m extremely immature. You should probably know that if you’re gonna forgive me,” Eddie says.

“You’re not as immature as you pretend to be at school,” Steve smiles. “I’ve seen you, Ed. I know the bad boy against the grain guy isn’t all you are.”

“And I know there’s a lot more to you than your pretty face, though that’s a bonus.”

Steve kisses him and the guys all cheer for him. He’s laughing against Steve’s mouth, waving one hand at the guys to make them leave.

“Robin said you were crying when you told her,” Steve whispers against his mouth.

“She’s a traitor.”

“So you were?”

Eddie sighs. “Yes, I cried. I hated how much I knew it would hurt you to find out the truth.”

“You still have to make it up to me a little,” Steve says.

“Oh yeah? How?”

“Well, I remember something in the song about worshiping me on your knees? Or was that a weird religious reference?”

Eddie kisses Steve again, smiling so much that their teeth clack against each other almost painfully.

“I’m an atheist,” Eddie replies.

“We’ve got a long night ahead of us then, don’t we?”

Eddie groans. “I still have to help load all our stuff-”

“Dude. You were forgiven by a guy who definitely could find better than you. We can handle the stuff. Consider it more of an apology for us being dicks, too,” Jeff interrupts.

Steve grabs Eddie’s shirt and tugs him along. “I’m not gonna tell them I forgive them until tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” Eddie looks down at the way Steve’s ass fills out the jeans he’s in. “On second thought, maybe next week sometime.”

[paragraphcommenter]

As a kid watching httyd you dont really register how horrible Hiccup was treated in the movie-

It was all kinda 'ooh cool dragons!'

At most a 'Oh, his dad doesn't listen to him! Parents never listen to what kids have to say! '

Only to get sidetracked by

'Awww cute dragons!' Once again

But i rewatched httyd again today and holy shit man

Like eveyone of his peers openly hated on him even going as far as wishing him death to his face

Like when Gobber asked what everyone's mistake was in training everybodies response for Hiccup was 'He didn't get eaten' or 'He's still alive'

And you can say 'ooh they were just joking!'

But they weren't friends

You dont tell someone they should've died even as a joke

Evenless so with someone you aren't close with!

For gods sake, Hiccup's father, Stoick, returned from his voyage to all his tribesmen patting him on the back saying things like 'out with the old and in with the new!' and laughing and congratulating him 'thank god, nobodies gonna miss that walking hazard' and his first thought is

'Hiccups gone'

He genuinely believed his tribesmen would be having a jolly good time and congradulating him if his son, Hiccup was gone

( dead or run away- it really could be either with that phrase but for they'd think he wouldnt last on his own which means him running away equates to him being dead)

And thats fucked up

Stoick tells Hiccup to his face that he gave up on him- that he was so glad that the worthless bag of bones he was for his entire life 'wasn't actually all there was'

Hell even Gobber wasnt as supportive as I remember him being

And then everybody just kind of, moves on and is all buddy buddy with him

His father is the only one he gets an actual apology from!

[sketchunit]

in my elementary school we had, for a short period of time before the teachers locked that shit down, a combo dodgeball-tag game going around where whoever was It would have, you guessed it, one of those big ass handballs that made the Sound. It was a pretty straightforward game; you chuck it at someone and if you hit them they’re also it and gotta go get a ball (or you could work together with one ball). Ricochets were allowed but if it was caught before it hit the ground then the people hit were safe. Headshots weren’t allowed but after like the first four accidental incidents the teachers closed shop on us :(

we ALSO had extreme cherrybomb. For those that don’t know, it’s typically played on a play structure of some sort, and the person who’s It has to try and tag all the other people the catch is when they’re up on the structure, they have to have their eyes closed. However they can periodically call out “cherrybomb” and if any of the players are off the structure and on the ground at that point in time (which was sometimes vital for avoiding being tagged), they’re it. If there’s multiple people you either do a high stakes It game or they rock paper scissors, woe to the defeated. the supervisors also Hated us for that bc some of the more spidery-inclined kids (myself included) found out they were 1. capable of climbing on the OUTSIDE or ROOF of the structure to evade, and 2. We’re very good at it, and until the tagger figured it out, was an almost 100% success rate. And even after they figured it out it still had a high success rate bc you could just hang out where the tagger couldn’t reach with ease.

anyways that one got shut down Not bc my friend walked off the top of the rock wall while It (despite everyone’s yelling to stop. He thought we were trying to keep him away from tagging someone and so kept going) and got a concussion (fear not, he was ok), but bc one guy who was Known for being really whiny and a sore loser and a tattletale stepped off the Normal Stairs while It (which he already wasn’t happy about because of the aforementioned Spider Antics), tripped on the last one and ate woodchips, and then went crying to the supervisor and ruined everyone’s fun.

lately my kids have been playing Baby Knife, which consists of somebody acting as a baby with knife hands chasing people while going "baby knife baby knife" over and over. is this a thing or are they just insane

[killinqpills]

★─── yandere sagau. ii

𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄.

𝕽𝗘𝗚𝗥𝗘𝗧 doesn't really go away at all. It's almost like a stain against our skin, and the longer you leave it to fester without wiping it away, the faster it'll seep into your bones. Until eventually, it drips onto your souls and becomes permanent, a haunting reminder of a tragedy you created for yourself.

"why did you do it?"

Venti asked without a thought or anger, an emotion he ironically feels like he's drowning in, but for some reason couldn't express. Perhaps it's because he realizes that he's already shattered, held together only by false hopes and endless what if's, bitterness might as well leave him scattered against the ground like ashes in the winds.

But he didn't know who to be angry at. The easiest answer would've been himself, but his cup of self loathing was already full to the brim, practically overflowing without a sense of direction.

Besides, the blame had always been easier to pin on someone else when we're reluctant to hate ourselves a little more. It's a small mercy we grant our hearts, the fleeting lie that we're still redeemable, with flaws and all.

Venti prays, no matter how selfish it would be, that you'd be returned to his undeserving hands once more, swearing on everything, that he'd cradle you gently this time.

What amusing thought, right? He, a god who his people once prayed to, now kneels on the grounds himself and begs for salvation. Like a lost lamb blindly searching for its shepherd whom it ran away from, desperate to make it back to them.

Back to you.

"why didn't you stop me?"

Zhongli asks him, just as dully.

A question for a question, because neither of them knew the answer to either one. Or perhaps they did, but the weight of the truth was simply far too heavy for them to carry.

He feels everything yet nothing at all.

That's a lie though, there's something unbearably ugly simmering at the very bottom of his heart, on the edge of boiling and spilling all over him like it did all those years ago; despair.

It felt just as heavy as it did when you first left.

Although at that time, you had left on your own, disappearing off of the face of teyvat while those who you've left behind scrambled to keep you alive through their own means. Endless tales were woven through the silks of history, and everyone made sure it'd remain to be one of the few things left unaltered by time.

And now you're gone once more, away and out of his reach and there he was, begging for you to return despite being the one to cause it.

Zhongli might've been many things, but he was not made to be gentle.

He was sharp and pointed to every edge, and although time had done its job to soften his jagged thorns, blades that are blunt and rusted tend to hurt the most.

He's nicked you more than enough times in the past, as the young, prideful god he was, stubborn and violent. Unused to your gentleness in a world that seemed to thrive in conflict, yet still so enraptured of the way you brush off the sting so easily, letting him close despite it all, over and over again.

"I miss them." Venti utters, no more than whisper, something you could almost disregard as a small gush of wind in the night. But the quiet confession would be the loudest thing Zhongli would ever hear in his decades of living.

Grunting, Zhongli looks away, eyes unreadable as he gazes blankly at the sorry excuse of a land that's been left to spread after the false creators death.

. . .

A violet cry was heard behind him, as violent as the winds became as Venti raised a weapon against the creator.

Gasping, Furina watched horrified as an arrow fused with anemo flew through the air with an almost violent whistling sound, then, a body slumps.

The grating laughter that once infested her ears now is nothing more but a deafening silence, like waiting for the inevitable worst to come, but being unsure of what exactly it is.

"You─.." Ei muttered, stunned.

There, sitting on a golden throne like a looming shadow, once the oddity which called itself the creator, was now nothing more than a corpse with an arrow embedded in their chest. Dark, thick and almost obsidian colored blood oozing out from their wound.

Then, panic struck.

"We.. we've committed a grave sin!"

Once the unnamed man shouted such words, the archons watched as their people scrambled to leave, pushing against the other and screaming their heads off in hysteria.

At lost for words, they could do nothing more but try and fail to calm them down with gestures and soundless pleas because their words simply get lost in a sea of anguished cries.

"T─this can't be!"

"The creator will punish us!"

"No─ no! I did not even want to be a part of this!"

"Please, I don't want to die!"

At that moment, something catches Xiao's eye. Turning his head to the throne, he observes as the corpse bloats ever so slightly, skin rippling as if something wretched was wiggling beneath it, attempting to pierce through the skin, as though it was about to:

"Explode." He gasps in realization.

When a god dies, their divine power is released back into the world, often causing significant environmental changes and disruptions, while their consciousness fades away, effectively marking their death.

"Get away from the throne─!"

His shout echoes above all other voices, effectively catching the other's attention. But by then it was already too late, in horror he watches as the body erupts, causing him to close his eyes on instinct despite knowing that doing so wouldn't shield him from the impact.

...

Zhongli closes his fist, it trembles slightly, aching ever so slightly from overexerting himself to create a shield large enough to prevent anyone it can reach from being exposed to the utter chaos he sees now.

A large patch of land now lay wasted, covered in a dark substance that looks as though it's spreading ever so slightly, like water that spills without end.

Clearly, not everyone had managed to avoid being hit by it. Bodies upon bodies lay in the substance, looking almost as though they're melting into it in a sick and twisted way. The false creators final display of possession over something that was never theirs in the first place.

Your body was in there too.

Swallowing vile down his throat was no easy task this time.

Xiao, who barely managed to escape, stands beside him, head titled down and unable to look at anything or anyone without being overwhelmed with shame and guilt.

Zhongli could not bring himself to comfort him this time, for they're simple two souls drowning in grief, he's unable to keep the other afloat without the threat of being submerged himself. All he could offer now, was a silent apology.

"Is there no way to get rid of it?"

Ei asks, coming up beside them with Yae following suit, the pair walking in sync with heavy expressions on their faces. Venti shrugs, almost bored, but they knew not to take it as that, for this was the bard expressing defeat.

"Let's just hope we find a solution, before it gets rid of us."

He says casually, looking back towards the wreckage, the others following in suit. They watch anxiously as the substance spreads, looking as though it was trying to devour everything in its path, vile and unforgiving, things you never were.

For a moment, Zhongli wonders what would've happened had you not descended as quietly as you did in your mortal body. But unlike Venti, Zhongli was not content with settling on endless what─if's.

Shuffling, Yae notes the way the grass beneath her feet seemed rotten, dried and dead as though they're no longer able to rise with life. Actually, looking around, she realizes that everything seemed awfully.. dead.

Everything looked gloomy, the air was cold and lacked sunlight, the trees wilted and some if not most had already fallen, not a single animal in sight, not even a soft chirp from a distant bird, or a cricket from an insect to be heard.

"At this rate, it doesn't seem like we'll be able to live long enough to see that."

She sighs grimly, and with a quick look around, nobody else could find it in themselves to argue otherwise.

From afar, paimon worriedly gazes at her surroundings, feeling utterly helpless at the outcome of mankind's greatest mistake. Her heart aches as her eyes darts from one place to another, not liking the way everything just seems so devoid of life.

Aether stands near her, observing as well, but instead of despair like many others, his stare was contemplative.

Things have been rather difficult for the last few days, the citizens briefly exposed from the dark substance began falling ill one after the other, and although food and medicine had yet to become scarce, with the rate of natural life beginning to dwindle all across teyvat, everyone knows it'll just be a matter of time before everything starts going downhill.

Not like it hasn't already, though.

"Is. . . is this really it?"

Paimon's voice quivers, tears welling up in her eyes as she floats closer to the traveler for comfort.

Is this how it's gonna end?

There's an unsettling silence that engulfs them for a moment.

"No."

Startled by his sudden words, or rather, word. Paimon whips her head towards Aether, stunned and equally confused at his seemingly unwavering resolve.

"wha─ what do you mean?" She asks hesitantly.

For a moment, Aether refused to answer, perhaps too caught up in his own inner thoughts which were a mess of indecipherable words and unsure possibilities. But then, he opens his mouth.

"A god who willingly died at the hands of their own creation─"

He pauses.

"Do you truly think that such a person who loves more than anything, would allow this to happen?"

Conflict struck Paimon and she feels a sinking pit at the bottom of her stomach. Defeated and ashamed, she lowers her tearful gaze to the ground.

"No, but that kind of mercy.." Her voice trembles, struggling to let the words fall from her tongue.

Aether turns to look at her, a look of grim understanding that she shares being passed between their gazes.

"It's not something we deserve."

Your love, the kindness that flows through your veins, the warmth in your eyes, the pureness of your heart, your nature which remains merciful.

All of which we are undeserving of.

The truth had never tasted so bitter in Aether's tongue before. Somewhere, deep─ deep down, he hopes you are truly dead.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 :

Woah?? my lazy ass actually made a part 2? surprise.

Anyways this is a lot shorter than I would've liked it to be, but honestly I'm at lost on what to write. Thanks to those who reblogged / commented and stuff, it was a great source of motivation.

Stay tuned for more (maybe)

Taglist : @n0tmentallystable @iris-arcadia @starboye @sims-4lifers

[astrow1zar6]

Astro Observations~ 48

Venus square Pluto men tend to have a really weird relationship with women. Can have a big love-hate relationship when it comes to women. I’ve seen these men treat their guy friends with more respect than their partners

Leo sun x Pisces sun mix in friendship is so underrated. They really match eachothers creativity & can inspire eachother a lot art wise

Jupiter in the 1st house makes someone very jolly naturally. Even if they are in a bad mood it rarely shows. Can also make someone pretty tall in a lot of cases (not all)

Cap risings can have very visible bones. Could’ve been told by others to “eat a sandwich “

You can feel more likely to create art or sing when the moon transit is in Pisces (even if you’re not the type to want to do that stuff on the regular).

Venus in the 8th house natives are very into hookup culture. Gets into a lot of unconventional relationships. Not really the types that wanna be “wifed up” I’ve noticed. They just here for a good time fr.

Pisces sun Aries moons are great manifestors (especially with an earth rising to stabilize the energy) with a cap rising for example I can imagine these people to be unstoppable when they have a goal.

Mars in Taurus’s usually prefer slower sex to fast sex. (Unless it’s in the 8th house) they are super sensual and want to enjoy every pleasure to the max. Going too fast can piss them off/leave them unsatisfied.

Venus in 2nd house synastry can have very long make out sessions together. Even if you aren’t comfortable with kissing this aspect will make you want to kiss them for HOURS.

Saturn in the 8th house people on the other hand kinda lack sensuality a lot of the time. They can skip foreplay and go straight to the act. Very “cold” sexual experiences.

Juno in the 1st house people are the best people to marry. Can attract some pretty selfish partners tho unfortunately:(

When a Gemini Venus has a crush on someone it’s like painfully obvious. Everyone usually already knows.

Jupiter in the 8th gives big 🍆 energy

Uranus in the 5th house are rarely ever fully single. The types to go on a lot of dates or dates someone outta nowhere or unexpectedly

Saturn in the 5th house have a natural awkwardness around their crushes

Venus in Libras pull game is so strong, they have so many admirers & ppl who have crushes on them

Having a Venus in retrograde in a detriment sign (Aries/scorpio) can make you come off as really rude to others or super vain

I also notice if not severely afflicted Venus in retrograde natives actually have a higher chance of marrying their soulmates than direct Venus natives

Taurus moons either have very a sloppy basic asf sense of fashion or its super chic & creative as hell no in between.

Lilith dominant women are usually treated like shit by other women a lot. Men can see them as someone they just wanna hook up with. It’s actually really sad what these people go thru.

Most fucked up friendship award goes to Pluto in the 11th house folks. Friends could’ve been really jealous of you or your relationship with other friends. Ur friends could also lack extreme boundaries with you and almost act more like a toxic partner. Friends get super obsessed & possessive of you!

Sun in the 9th house people have a gift usually for learning new languages. Could be the types to speak multiple languages.

Pisces mars can be super lazy. Could be the types to ask you to grab the the remote when it’s right next to them

Jupiter in the 4th house prevents you from being homeless. Regardless of your income you always tend to find a really spacious cute home.

People with a 10th house stellium are more likely to “fall in love” with their career. They are also really love $$.

Sun in the (1st, 5th & 11th) house people usually thrive in big social settings.

Sun in the 2nd house could be the breadwinners of the family. Could’ve been the first to break a poverty generational curse. Usually seen as the ones who “made it out the hood” iyk what I mean.

Venus in 2nd house natives face cards are LETHAL

[klonoadreams]

Now that everyone is awake and Malleus is jumpscaring Idia at the door, I just wanna yap about the fact that a lot of this really fucking adds up to why having severe abandonment issues spanning from WHILE IN THE EGG and then hatching is a serious issue and Lilia is not exempt from it either because he's been doing his god damn best, but there's still this distance he puts between him and Malleus WHEN YOU'RE HIS DAD TOO DAMMIT

Like the fucking dead dudes need to be exorcised, but Lilia, please, when you're teaching Malleus to cherish the transient lives of those around him with GaoGao, YOU HAVE TO ALSO EXPLAIN IT TO HIM.

Like it's a massive miscommunication that led to this situation because Malleus HATES being lonely. But also don't mind my AuDHD ass bringing up RSD cuz him reacting the way he did was that fucking feeling like someone was clawing your heart out at the idea that those closest to him were leaving him like that (abandoning him) WITHOUT HIM is peak rejection sensitive dysphoria doing its thing.

Legit, it's honestly sad, but this is very much the fucking Senate's fault overall, and I hope the consequences go entirely to them because Malleus is legit the equivalent of someone who just turned 18 and expected to be 100 percent mature, WHEN HE LITERALLY JUST TURNED 18 AND WILL BE LIKE THAT FOR A DAMN WHILE. It's like turning 18 in the states, but you're only legally an adult and can vote, but fuck if you can't drink nor do anything most other adults are capable of, like taxes, paying bills, and all that shit.

Throw in that elitist senate ripping a baby Malleus out of Lilia's arms, and then keeping the two away from each other, and you have the most horrifically stunted, traumatized person around who has yet to realize that there are better ways to cope.

Consequences be damned, I want Ace to talk some sense into Malleus and Lilia again like in endless halloween. GET THEIR ASS.

[luvfae]

CLEAN, PT 2

summary: after rehab, you reunite with thanos, sharing love, passion, and a fresh start together.

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: mention of addiction, swearing, smut, oral (both receiving), fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (don’t be an idiot), p in v.

part 1

Three months ago, Thanos had dragged you—kicking, screaming, and cursing his name—into the same rehab facility where he had gotten clean.

Today, you were walking out.

With no family to pick you up (Thanos didn’t even know if you had any who cared), he was the one waiting.

Three excruciating months apart. He spent every day wondering if you hated him, if you were okay. But no calls from the facility meant you weren’t doing too bad. Meanwhile, you had spent those months drowning in withdrawal, fighting everyone who tried to help, refusing therapy—until eventually, you gave in. And for the first time in years, you felt normal. You started to remember the girl you used to be before the drugs took her away.

Then came the shame. The time lost. You should’ve graduated from art school by now, but instead, addiction had dictated your life. You regretted cutting off your family, pushing away friends until you had none left. You regretted how you had treated Thanos when all he ever did was try to save you.

And now, standing at the door, your hands trembled. Would anyone even be waiting for you?

Then—

“Y/N.”

You blinked.

Thanos.

You didn’t think. You just ran.

Throwing yourself at him, you hugged him so tightly it knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice shaking. You pulled back slightly to look at him. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me,” he murmured, brushing away your tears.

“I didn’t deserve your help,” you admitted, pulling away completely. He caught your hands, grounding you. “I was so awful to you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know what it’s like to be an addict,” he replied. “Everyone deserves help.”

Sniffing, you wiped your eyes as he led you to his car.

It was strange. You had known Thanos for nine months, lived with him, had sex with him, and yet… you didn’t really know him. Your brain had been so fried on drugs you barely retained any information.

And Thanos was the same. He had taken care of you, paid for your rehab, seen you at your lowest, and yet he didn’t know who you were.

Maybe it was time to change that.

The car ride was quiet at first. You were still getting used to the feeling of sobriety, of being aware. But as the city passed by through the windows, you glanced at Thanos.

“I used to paint,” you blurted out.

He looked at you. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Before everything… I loved painting. I was good at it, too. I was supposed to graduate art school a few years ago. Art was my dream.”

Silence settled for a moment before you continued. “I had a good life. A good family. My parents weren’t perfect, but they cared. I had a future. And then I got caught up with the wrong people.” You swallowed. “I let it ruin me.”

Thanos tightened his grip on the wheel. “It’s not too late.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh. “You sound like my therapist.”

“Well, your therapist is right,” he said, glancing at you. “You’re clean now. You can start again.”

You didn’t reply, just watched the city blur past.

“What about you?” you asked. “How did you get into rapping?”

Thanos smirked slightly. “It was either rap or go to jail.”

Your brows furrowed, but you stayed quiet, waiting for him to explain.

“I was a street kid,” he said. “Grew up bouncing between different family members. No real home. I got into some bad shit—gangs, drugs, fights. Ended up locked up a few times as a teenager. But music…” He sighed, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Music was my way out. I started writing lyrics in juvie. Got out, kept at it, got lucky. Somehow, I made it big.”

You stared at him, realizing this was the first real conversation you’d ever had. “Do you love it?”

Thanos was quiet for a beat. “Yeah. I do.”

You smiled softly. “I’d like to hear your songs sometime. Really hear them. Not just in the background while I’m high out of my mind.”

His lips quirked up. “I’d like that too.”

And for the first time in a long time, you both felt like you were finally getting to know each other.

Thanos had loved you before—loved you in your worst moments, through the chaos, the anger, the addiction. But this version of you? The version that was bright-eyed, passionate, full of life again? He loved this version even more.

As he stole glances at you in the passenger seat, he really saw you for the first time. Your cheeks had filled out, your skin looked healthier, your eyes were wide and alert instead of hazy and half-lidded. And that smile—soft, genuine, real.

You were beautiful.

He pulled into the driveway, and you blinked, tilting your head.

“This isn’t the place I remember,” you said, glancing up at the massive mansion in front of you.

Thanos shrugged. “Bought a new house while you were gone.” He put the car in park and looked over at you. “Wanted to leave the bad memories behind and make good ones here instead.”

You let out a small laugh. “House? More like a mansion.”

Thanos smirked, pushing open his door. “Being rich and famous has its perks.”

You stepped out after him, following him inside. The space was opulent—high ceilings, sleek furniture, stunning artwork lining the walls. You turned in slow circles, taking it all in.

“I’ll donate them to charity,” Thanos said.

You glanced at him, confused. “What?”

“The paintings,” he clarified. “I’d rather have your art on my walls.”

Your cheeks burned, and you ducked your head, kicking at the floor. “I haven’t picked up a paintbrush in years,” you admitted. “Not sure I even can anymore.”

Thanos smiled. “I bet you can.”

Before you could argue, he took your hand and led you up the grand staircase, past a few closed doors, before stopping in front of one. He pushed it open, revealing a bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city.

“This is your room,” he said simply.

You stepped inside, breath catching. It was beautiful. Warm-toned, cozy, welcoming. He walked over to the closet and pulled open the doors, revealing racks of neatly hung designer clothes, tags still on them.

“I even got you a new wardrobe,” he added.

You stared at the clothes, shaking your head. “Thanos, this is too much,” you whispered. “After everything I put you through… You shouldn’t have to take care of me anymore.”

He turned to you, gaze steady. “I want to.”

His words sat heavy between you. No hesitation, no doubt.

For the first time in a long time, you felt happy.

Real, genuine happiness. The kind that made your stomach flip and your heart race.

Or maybe it wasn’t just happiness. Maybe it was something deeper, something terrifying in its intensity.

You stared at him, eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you.” Your voice was barely a whisper, afraid that if you spoke any louder, the moment would shatter.

Thanos met your gaze, unwavering. “You’re welcome.”

You stepped forward hesitantly. “I don’t remember a lot from when I was using,” you admitted. “But I remember you.”

His brows lifted slightly. “What do you remember?”

You swallowed hard. “I remember you force-feeding me when I refused to eat. Flushing my stash down the toilet. I remember screaming in your face, kicking holes in your walls.” A tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept going. “I remember sleeping with strangers, with your friends—right after you told me you loved me.” Your voice cracked. “I was horrible to you. But that wasn’t the real me. I swear.”

Thanos nodded, watching you carefully. “I know,” he said simply. “But there were good times too, right? You remember those?”

You did.

You remembered the way he’d tuck you in at night, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The way he’d run a bath for you after you got sick all over yourself, holding you steady as he cleaned you up. The way he kissed you like he was willing to set the world on fire for you. The way he touched you, loved you, even when you were too far gone to truly feel it.

“I remember how you made me feel,” you whispered, stepping closer.

His lips parted, his breath hitching as your fingers traced up his chest.

“I remember your hands,” you murmured, voice turning sultry. “Your mouth. Your tongue. Your fingers.” Your hand slid lower, brushing over the hardening bulge in his jeans. “Your cock inside me.”

Thanos inhaled sharply as you pushed your palms against his chest.

You had spent weeks thinking about this—about fucking him sober. About feeling everything for the first time.

“You made me feel so good,” you purred. “So fucking good, Thanos.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “My real name is Su-bong,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

You smirked. “Well—Su-bong…” Your eyes darkened with intent. “Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how good I can be.”

That was all it took.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and demanding, his hands gripping your waist as he backed you toward the bed. You gasped as the backs of your knees hit the mattress, and he wasted no time pushing you onto your back, peeling his shirt off in one swift motion and tossing it to the floor.

You sat up slightly, dragging your fingertips down his toned abdomen, your mouth practically watering at the sight of him.

He was already hard for you.

And this time, you were completely, devastatingly sober.

You dragged your nails down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His skin was warm, firm—real. For the first time, you were feeling him, not just through a hazy drug-fueled blur, but with a clarity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Thanos—Su-bong—looked down at you with dark, hooded eyes, his lips parted slightly as he took you in. “You’re teasing me,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

You smirked, trailing your fingers lower, letting them ghost over the waistband of his jeans. “Maybe,” you mused. “I owe you, don’t I?”

His hands slid up your sides, rough palms skimming the soft fabric of the shirt he had given you months ago—the same one you had walked out of rehab in. Slowly, he peeled it up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor.

His gaze roamed over you, drinking in every inch of exposed skin, every little mark and scar. You weren’t the frail, hollow version of yourself anymore. You were whole.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, his fingers trailing over your ribs, then up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You let out a soft gasp, arching into his touch.

His mouth found your throat, lips pressing firm, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck. He sucked lightly at your pulse, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin, making you shudder.

“Su-bong,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair.

He groaned at the way you said his name, his hands sliding down your body, squeezing at your waist, your hips, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You tugged at the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button and pulling the zipper down, your fingers slipping inside to brush against the hard length beneath his boxers. He let out a sharp exhale, hips jerking forward slightly at your touch.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his forehead dropping against yours. “You really want this?”

You wrapped your fingers around him, squeezing just enough to make him curse under his breath. “More than anything,” you whispered.

His lips crashed against yours again, hungrier this time, his hands gripping your thighs as he pushed you back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. You gasped as he kissed his way down your body, his mouth hot and insistent against your skin.

When he reached the waistband of your jeans, he hooked his fingers into them, glancing up at you for permission.

You lifted your hips in response, breath hitching as he dragged them down, taking your panties with them, exposing you completely to him.

His eyes darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust.

Then, without hesitation, he leaned down and devoured you.

His tongue flicked against your clit, slow and teasing, sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. Your fingers twisted into his hair, hips jerking instinctively, but he pinned you down with a firm grip on your thighs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned against you, his breath hot, his voice thick with hunger. “Missed this pussy so much.”

A whimper slipped from your lips as he flattened his tongue and licked a long, slow stripe up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth. Your back arched, thighs trembling, but just as the pleasure built, just as you felt yourself spiraling, you pushed at his shoulders.

Thanos pulled back, his mouth glistening, brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

You took a shaky breath, trying to clear the haze of pleasure from your mind. “This is about you, not me,” you murmured, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “I’m paying you back.”

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “If it’s about me, then I should get to do what I want,” he countered, voice low, dangerous. “And what I want to do is fucking taste you.”

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, heat surging through your body.

Before you could protest further, he dove back in, his tongue circling your clit while two fingers slid inside you, curling just right. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your hips bucking as he worked you open, relentless and precise.

It didn’t take long—he knew exactly how to unravel you, exactly how to have you gripping his hair and gasping his name. Your orgasm hit fast and hard, your body shaking as he held you down, licking you through every wave until you were panting, overstimulated.

Only then did he pull away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking so fucking smug.

“Fuck,” you muttered, still catching your breath. “I forgot how good you were at that. Feels even better sober.”

His smirk widened. “Unforgettable, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. Pushing him onto his back, you straddled his hips, hands sliding up his chest, fingers teasing over his nipples before raking down his abs.

“My turn,” you whispered.

You kissed down his body, taking your time, nipping at his collarbones, sucking marks into his skin just to watch him tense beneath you. When you reached the waistband of his jeans, you tugged them down, freeing his cock, your mouth practically watering at the sight of him—thick, hard, already leaking.

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slow, teasing. His breath hitched, his head tipping back against the pillows.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers curling into the sheets. “You gonna take care of me, baby?”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his tip, then dragged your tongue along his length, watching the way his stomach tensed beneath you.

“Of course,” you murmured, voice dripping with promise.

And then you took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as he let out a deep, guttural moan, his hands flying to your hair.

Your tongue worked him slowly, dragging along every inch of his length, teasing just to hear him groan. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat, moaning around him just to feel the way he twitched in your mouth.

“Shit, baby,” Thanos growled, his fingers tightening in your hair. “Missed your mouth—so perfect, so fucking good for me.”

The praise only made you more eager. You bobbed your head, stroking the rest of him with your hand, slick and messy, making sure to keep your eyes on him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his jaw clenched, his muscles tense as he fought to keep control.

But you didn’t want him to be in control.

You pulled off him with a lewd pop, kissing up his abs as you moved to straddle his waist. His cock was hard, flushed, throbbing against your soaked folds as you rubbed against him, teasing both of you.

“Hey,” he hissed, gripping your hips. “Quit teasing.”

You smirked, leaning down to kiss him, slow and deep, your fingers threading into his hair. “You always take care of me,” you whispered against his lips. “Let me take care of you now.”

Without breaking eye contact, you reached down, guiding him to your entrance before sinking down onto him in one slow, delicious slide. Both of you gasped at the sensation, your walls stretching around him, molding to him perfectly like you were made for this.

“Jesus,” Thanos groaned, his head tipping back, fingers digging into your hips as he tried not to lose himself completely.

“You feel so good,” you breathed, placing your hands on his chest, rolling your hips slowly, savoring the way he filled you so perfectly. “So fucking good, Su-bong.”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his real name on your lips, dark and wild with lust. He sat up suddenly, wrapping an arm around your waist, his mouth latching onto your neck, sucking bruises into your skin as you continued moving, grinding against him, taking him deeper.

You moaned, clinging to his shoulders, kissing him desperately, your tongues tangling, the pleasure building between you like a fire. “Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, rocking faster, harder. “Thank you for saving me. For never giving up on me.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he flipped you onto your back, keeping you pinned beneath him, his hips snapping against yours, hitting deeper, harder.

“You’re mine,” he muttered between kisses, his voice rough, possessive. “Always fucking mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped, nails raking down his back, legs wrapping around him to pull him even closer. “Only yours.”

His pace turned desperate, his thrusts brutal yet somehow still so full of love, his forehead pressing against yours, his hand slipping between you to rub your clit, determined to drag you over the edge with him.

And when you came—hard, clenching around him, gasping his name like a prayer—he followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning into your mouth as he filled you, his entire body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in the aftermath, your breathing heavy, your hearts racing in sync.

Then Thanos kissed you again, softer this time, lingering. “I still love you,” he murmured against your lips. “I always have.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. “I think I love you too.”

And when he pulled you into his arms, holding you close like he never wanted to let go, you knew—you meant it.

You lay there for a while, tangled up in each other, your skin slick with sweat, his breath warm against your neck. The weight of him felt comforting, grounding, like you never wanted him to move.

But eventually, you stirred, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before slipping out of his arms.

“Where are you going?” Thanos mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

You giggled, running a hand through his messy hair. “Relax, I’m just grabbing a towel.”

You padded to the bathroom, your legs still wobbly, but you didn’t care. You cleaned yourself up before wetting a towel, you returned to the bed, settling beside him as you began to clean him up, running the cloth over his stomach, down between his legs, gentle and careful.

Thanos watched you, his expression soft, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. “You don’t have to do that,” he murmured.

“I want to,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Let me take care of you for once.”

He huffed out a small laugh, letting you do as you pleased, though his hands never stopped touching you—gliding over your arm, your waist, like he needed the reassurance that you were still here.

When you were done, you tossed the towel aside, crawling back into his embrace, peppering kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

Thanos smirked. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I think you fucked the happiness into me,” you teased, making him chuckle before he suddenly rolled you onto your back, hovering over you, nuzzling into your neck.

You giggled, your hands slipping into his hair, tugging him up so you could kiss him properly. Slow, lazy, sweet.

After a while, you pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing his damp hair from his face. “Thank you for the room,” you said softly. “But… I think I’d rather share a bed with you, if that’s okay?”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, his thumb stroking your cheek. “That’s more than okay,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You smiled, burying your face in his chest, and for the first time in years, you felt home.

You still had a long road ahead—staying clean, rebuilding bridges with your family, reenrolling in art school. But those were worries for another day.

For now, you stayed wrapped in Thanos’ arms, making up for lost time, showering him with the love you should have given him all along.

[twistedpink]

Who’s your valentine? @/cafekitsune banner

And the spinner says….

Idia + getting sick + quality time

“Hey… I know how this looks.”

The cabinets clatter violently with how you scramble against the wood- Veggies, boullion, and way too much water go in the pot. You hope he tastes the anger.

“Glad you’re self aware, Casper!”

“The friendly ghost?? Mid reference.”

The ‘how to not murder your boyfriend’ council in your head is screaming at him to shut up already, but you kind of want him to keep going. Just to watch him talk himself into a corner, like your shit-stirrer so often does. The least he could is entertain you after this royal betrayal,,

If there’s anything you regret about tonight, it’s not hating Idia more (not that you do hate him, but everyone can sympathize with a little trouble in paradise!). It doesn’t matter anymore if it was a work function or family dinner- He promised to go, and now even his immune system’s flaking!

The half-hate soup simmers in the background while your true crime show is playing ‘FBI torture: not clickbait!’ as a duet to Idia’s shakey sneezes.. God, you’re mean. He doesn’t even like this show, he’s just compliant enough to sit in on it! Because he likes you!! “Dinner’s ready.”

There’s something special about the way he looks up at you- His hair pools in a waterfall down his hunched back after jailbreaking from a low pony that you gave him, and his little sickie nose twitches at the warmth… He’s way too cute to stay mad at!! The hot spoon full of fresh soup presses faithfully against his lips, and you’re soon to realize that he’s never looked guiltier.

“You good, babe?”

“UH. um. Never better, babyface..? This soup’s totally meta, YEAH, that’s it! Just thinking about soup!”

“It’s not that good! But I’m not here to yuck your yum, let’s get you better. Love you.”

“Yup! That too,,”

. Cheezy catchphrases and emote sound effects blare from your surround-sound system (Ids insisted on on the thing, and you’re weak to begging), echoing off the comparatively bare boned living room setup. One thing you convinced Idia to do was drag all his gaming into the living room “to share” (you’re hardly allowed to touch anything, much less any guests) you just couldn’t ever sell him on the “normal” knickknacks, barely avoiding anime figures for decor.

He’d only half persuaded you into starting this rpg- All the fantastical races and classes usually melt together whenever mods come into play, but you’re really starting to enjoy yourself! You’re so invested in the current dialogue that you almost don’t notice a boyfriend-shaped beartrap wrap around your arm. Almost.

“Idia, are you sure everything’s okay?”

He forces out a weak ‘m sorry, and the game’s forgotten pretty quickly to start loving on him (great! Now you have to catch up later), you lavish kisses all over his face, mumbling pet names into his sensitive ears- Avoiding his crusted nose and making your way to his neck before he shoves a palm in your face with a little too much force. It’s not like you can get away with all his weight piled up on your thigh, that’s just rude!

“I’M FAKING!”

what

“What?? There’s no way you’re faking this, how dumb do you think I am?”

“It’s stupid. I licked a Petri dish at work so we wouldn’t go out. I’m super sorry!”

Before you know it, you’re giggling uncontrollably at the mental image of Idia licking a Petri dish, and running away- Leaving only licks as evidence. He is HORRIFIED. Maybe this is your murder giggle?? Regardless of whatever he’s thinking, the grip on your arm gets tighter, and he joins you with a couple entertained huffs.

“SHUT UP, YOU DIDNT! You’re the funniest guy I know! Next time, just let me know when you want to stay in. I’m pretty slippery when I want to be :),”

“Really?”

“Really. Either way, it was a good Valentine’s Day. Are you up for icecream?”

“Sure! And, uh,, happy Valentine’s Day. Ilyt.”

[xi-vz]

Girl hear me out: OG!SQH and Airplane as Twins. Mobei-jun has two hands. What's not clicking. (Btw love your content)

Thanks for the kudos 🖤, and remember: You asked for this.

•

•

•

The thing is that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky would have rather have stayed dead. Honestly, what was with this reincarnation-transmigration bullshit? No. If a person dies, they should stay that way. Instead, he was born the youngest of nine (NINE!) children and a twin at that. To none other than his precious scum villain, Shang Qinghua.(He reminds himself it could be worse; he could be Shen Jiu.)

Shang Houhua and Shang Feiji (their parents really hated them when they decided on names.) The two were nearly identical except for their eyes. A-Hua’s eyes were a darker honey color. A-Ji’s were a bright apple green. Although no one really paid that much attention to that small detail, so the two often were confused for one another.

This is how A-Ji finds himself on a specific mission in place of his brother. They swapped places because Airplane had an exam he was wholly unprepared for, and A-Hua hadn’t wanted to go on a particular mission. It was easy, really. And maybe that was the issue.

The mission was easy: a handful of An Ding disciples bringing back scrolls, books, papers, and inks. Simple and straight to the point.

It was when the System, something that A-Ji mostly ignored, made a happy announcement that a new character would be introduced that made him pause during the mission. A new character? It was confusing until a shard of ice impaled the disciple beside him. Then all hell broke loose.

A-Ji couldn’t tell you what happened, except he wound up with Mobei Jun. He, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, took his brother's place as the scum spy! He panicked, cried, and felt like everyone knew he was now a traitor. And the fact that Mobei Jun was able to get onto An Ding without sounding off the wards! He knew his king was amazing, but he was totally OP! And he wasn’t even an adult yet!

The thing was that A-Ji was terrible at keeping secrets from his twin. They had some weird connection, so A-Hua knew something was up!

You’d think those would be the biggest problems. No, the biggest issue was that Mobei Jun opened a shadow portal into his room one night when A-Hua was there with him.

“Um,” A-Ji froze in his seat at his desk.

A-Hua stared from the bed.

“Two of you,” Mobei Jun blinked, bright blue eyes narrowing from one to the other.

It was the look on his face that threw A-Ji off. Was his king blushing? Over the fact that they were twins?

"Hello there," A-Hua murmured, admiringly glancing at the demon prince. Which was fair, because Mobei Jun was hot. But also, no. No way! Airplane made that man for himself, thank you very much.

Mobei Jun kept his gaze on the two, interest slowly forming on his face.

Oh, absolutely not! PIDW had its share of kinky and shameful elements, but there was never any Lannister-style twincest nonsense in the plot or initial drafts. (And the readers had pushed for Binghe to get down with twins and triplets in threesomes and foursomes, but there were some things that even Airplane couldn’t bring himself to write for money.)

“No!” Airplane shouted, grabbing his brother by the elbow and forcing him out of the room. “Don’t be a narc about this either.”

“As usual, you sound crazy,” A-Hua commented—he often said that when he didn’t understand what A-Ji said— as he was shoved out into the hallway. “We’ll talk about this later.”

A-Ji could finally breathe once the door shut behind him, only to find Mobei Jun gazing at him and then sadly at the door.

What the fuck?

[treatbuckywkisses]

The yearning and tension are so well written:( this made my tummy hurt in the best way😭😭 all mixed in with a very enticing side story this was so incredible it felt like I was really there in the room !!!! 

     Your stomach twisted at the words, the culpability of your actions threatening to eat away at it. Even after everything you said, even after running away from him and deserting him at the fair, he still only wanted to know you were safe. There were so many things you wanted to say. Nothing, however, was a good enough response in your mind. There was nothing you could say that wouldn’t leave a door open for more. No matter what you told him it would either crush his heart or give him hope.      You didn’t dare do either. :( when we start with the angst it really gets me😭 the last part of this is SO good 

     Natasha sighed, her lips in a tight line,” Y/n, you’re joking right? You two have already been something more to each other for a long time now. Please, none of us are blind to how you two favor each other over the rest of us.” You took a second to let her words sink in. idiots in love 💕 I'm a SUCKER 

     But in this case, it was okay, because at least in this case you were the bad guy. You were the heartbreaker and everyone can hate you. No one has to pick sides because you made it easy for them to choose Bucky, and you were okay with that.  baby:( this paragraph punched me in the gut so hard

     Bucky was one of those people. When your eyes locked as you looked out into the sea of the trial audience he sent you a small smile and gave you an encouraging nod. That was all you needed to knock your closing statement out of the park. UGH WHEN IS THE LOVE COMING I'M SICK THEY ARE SO IDIOTS IN LOVE😭😭

     “You’re scared of things changing, but can't you see they already did?” iconic nat always so smart

     There was a slight shifting sound on the other side of the door before he spoke, “Look, these past few weeks I tried really hard to push my feelings away, but I was only getting more frustrated with myself. In pushing my feelings away, I pushed you away and I don’t want that. I miss you,” his voice broke toward the end and he paused before continuing, “I want you—no, I need you to be a part of my life even if it's just as friends. Y/n, don't think for one second I regret taking you on that date because I don’t, but I can’t keep going on acting like we don’t know each other anymore.” shutup im crying:( this is sooooo precious:(((((( my heart is HURTING for him

     You were in love with Detective James Buchanan Barnes. GOOD YES FINALLY😭😭😭😭 IT'S LIKE I CAN BREATHE AGAIN

      The cookies were to sweeten up your apology, which was a long thought-out one you wrote in the notes app on your phone before going to bed. It could honestly rival any speeches you had ever given in court. so relatable (I live in my notes app) 

     The apologies, the loneliness, the anger, the sadness, the frustration, and everything in between melted away leaving only the love that was blossoming between you two behind. I love angst with a happy ending ( this made me physically ill and if I didn't read love soon I would DIE ) this is so cute I love them: ( even though it hurt

love them love you🫶🏻

Conflict of Interest - II

Pairing: Detective!Bucky Barnes x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: After deserting Bucky at the fair, you are left dealing with the consequences. This becomes difficult as you are all assigned to a new case. 

Word Count: 8.5k

Warning(s): crime show level of violence / homicide investigation details / drinking / angst / fluff / mentions of a car accident and injuries, but no major details / slight cursing / anxiety / overthinking / insecurities / lots of back and forth / misunderstandings / angst with a happy ending 

a/n: It has been a while, but part 2 of this beautiful duo is finally out! ❤️ I hope the length of part 2 can make up for how long it took me to finally finish writing it. It’s angsty with a happy ending, although the happy ending doesn’t come so easily. 👀 Thank you for reading! ❤️ Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! 💕

➵ Prequel Drabble // ➵ Part I 

     You tossed and turned in your bed once more, the sunlight peeking through your blinds, disturbing your sleep. The events of last Saturday weighed heavy on you. So much so, that you hadn’t gone to work in the past two days—today would be the third. You claimed you came down with the flu, putting on the best performance you could when Natasha called you. You were never able to lie to her face, but over the phone wasn’t as hard. Eventually, however, you would have to go back. 

     Eventually, you would have to face him. 

     Bucky called you a few times that night after you deserted him at the fair. The guilt set in almost immediately and you were too ashamed to answer him. You managed to read one message before silencing all of the notifications on your phone.

     Can you at least let me know you got home safely?

Keep reading

[1withestars]

🛸⋆☆˚.⋆ nct dream as high school students

sophomore year!dream

mark

the guy that sits in the middle of the class like middle middle

very chill (chill guy epitome)

turns in all his assignments mostly on time and gets A’s on all of them

BUSYYY he’s part of the student council (may or may not be president OR vp)

stays until school’s closing time; he’s either in his class or in the library

his desk is organized

listens to music 24/7 (headphones in allllll the time)

part of the basketball club but doesn’t compete (he’s too busy man)

everyone’s crush…

pen spins pen spins pen spins

renjun

spends his free time in the art room

sits closest to the door

is also part of the student council

his desk is messy but like the kind of full of books and stationary messy

fashion icon, best dressed

makes origami creations in class

he doesn’t really like wearing his glasses or contacts so he’s just squinting throughout lessons

falls asleep at his desk while working in the middle of the night

theatre kid (non-derogatory)

big ass water bottle he brings everyday and fills it in 2 period intervals

jeno

sits beside the wall in the middle-back-ish row

very smart jock

brings a quite large backpack but the only things in there are his laptop, some crumpled up assignments, his water bottle, gum, a single pen, and probably his airpods

stays up at night playing games so always end up being sleepy throughout the next day

sleeps in class and probably has a hoodie to use as a pillow

games in class on his phone

is always on his device whether it’s for taking notes or not

perfect scores in pe

hates the school lunch so he orders delivery food almost everyday. every other day, he doesn’t eat

comes late to school when he doesn’t feel like it

haechan

very popular but sorta annoying in a good way

flirts with everyone, especially with the guys

sits next to mark to annoy him

has a mountain of overdue assignments of subjects he doesn’t like and then (forcefully) speeds run those assignments before the teachers finalise the report card scores

is in the dance team

is also part of the school band

codes and learns coding for fun

most probably has beef with the most random people ever

always has snacks in hand and shares with the class

plays dti during breaks

jaemin

procrastinates but still gets his work done (does his work 30 mins before deadline)

dgaf but get straight a’s in each subject

very back, very corner

surprisingly outgoing despite his idgaf front

low profile and no one can seem to find his socials but the people who sees him irl fawns over him (he's so pretty omg)

at least a cup or two of coffee a day

spaces out a lot

airpods in during lecture, doesn’t bother covering it up though

eats in class

goes to the gym after school

chenle

in the basketball team

best friends with all his teachers

sits super close to the teacher’s desk

he’s probably in the music room playing the piano after school

submits assignments on time

bounces his leg at any given time

fidgets fidgets fidgets

either walks or rides his bicycle to school

hangs in the basketball court after school

never late to school

jisung

wears hoodies all the time even if it’s hot

sits at the back in the middle

also sleeps in class

is also in the dance team, he’s even assistant captain

asks chenle for help with his assignments

talks to himself quietly

holds his pencil/pen rather uniquely 

cannot sit still so he’s most definitely fidgeting or doing something during lectures

quiet™

his mom packs his lunches

back w another hc!! i love writing headcanons :)) if you've noticed any changes from my last post that i edited probably like 1000 times, i learned how to do the gradient text thing and im obsessed w it. have an great rest of your dayyyy (interactions are greatly appreciated!)