#i was Feeling It i needed to Rant About He

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

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

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

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

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

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

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

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

So you did.

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

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

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

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

And then you disappeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

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

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

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

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

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

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not fair—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

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

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

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

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

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

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

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

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

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

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

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

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

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

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

You had to.

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

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart flat-out stopped.

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

Bangchan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t any steadier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still. Easier said than done.

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

Like a true gentleman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you looked at him the same way.

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

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

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

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

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

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

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

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that was enough — for now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

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

It was like the world paused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

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

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

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

You turned, confused — and there he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.” He mumbled.

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[revelboo]

May I request a one off of ROTB Mirage giving his human some comfort after a stressful shift at work. Cuz after a day of dealing with some angry customers over the phone, I want my big blue bot to hold me, lmao. 👉👈

Sure!

Scenario-comfort

ROTB Mirage x Reader

• Transforming as you come into the garage, he crouches with his arms open and you just walk straight past him. Like you don’t even see him, you’re so dead on your little feet. “Ow. Just rip my spark out then,” he mutters, straightening and watching you go sprawl face down on the couch, legs hanging over the end. Walking over and leaning to nudge the bottom of one of your feet, you groan. “That bad, huh?” Hates seeing you like this, exhausted and miserable.

• Head turning, you blow out a breath and smile weakly. “People suck,” you manage instead of going on a rant and he sinks down to sit with his back to the couch so you’re caged between him and the back of it as he twists slightly to look at you. And some of the tension eases because it’s him. Just being around him enough to make you feel better. Draping an arm against the back of the couch and he nods seriously to make you smile.

• “They’re the worst,” he agrees, leaning closer with a wicked grin. “I mean it’d be a pity if their cars got chucked in a lake.” Warming when you just snort and immediately redden in embarrassment even though he finds your laughter adorable. Finds you adorable.

• “I thought you Autobots were supposed to do no harm?” Relaxed even though he’s pretty much caging you with his frame and you love how easy he is to talk to. That he can smile and joke with you. Tease and flirt. A servo reaching to play with your hair as those optics stare at you like he’s seeing into you. Seeing all of you. And your breath catches as something shifts that you’re not sure you want to acknowledge, not yet.

• “To living things,” he counters, leaning so his head gently bumps your forehead, so he can feel your breath on him. Close enough to kiss. “Optimus never said anything about property damage.” And you laugh, that warm sound spilling through him sweetly. Making his spark ache. Needs this so bad, the warmth of your smiles, your laughter, because he’s so tired of war and fighting. Just wants to play, to live. And to not scare you off, because you’re his hope, his little spot of light amid all the bad.

[xoxosierralane]

| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

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

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

✎ warnings: language

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

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

9:53 AM.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then—

“Maya?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, I hate her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

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

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

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

I blink. Paige?

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

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

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

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

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

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

God help me.

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

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

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

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

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

—

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

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

I brace myself. Here we go.

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You always this friendly?”

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

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

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

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

“Bet you were thrilled.”

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

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

“You always this funny?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

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

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

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

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

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

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

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I blink. “Scary?”

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

“…Thanks?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

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

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

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

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

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

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

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

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

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

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

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

Then, Paige starts talking.

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

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

I blink. “Uh…”

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

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

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

It’s… unsettling.

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

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

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

I stop too.

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

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

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

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

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

This cannot be real life.

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

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

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

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

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

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

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

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

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

This is going to be a nightmare.

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

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

[rox-of-iu]

More head disciple era doodles because i love these idiots

(EDIT i just noticed the mistake there was supposed to be "shimei" instead of "shijie" mannn whatever im not fixing that bye)

theyre so stupid and so fun. anyway more of my headcanons under cut if you wish to see

these are just my headcanons im not saying this is the correct way to see them just me having fun ok lets go (this is mainly MQF cuz duh yeah who would have guessed hgjfk)

MQF usually doesnt insert himself into the inter-peak messes and dramas, but does enjoy the fact that people tend to come to him to rant about the latest nonsense so he does get the latest gossip without a need to personally get dragged into trouble

Just the same, he is also not one to start tomfoolery (too busy for that and somewhat responsible, rip to him) but he does actually feel touched when the others think of him and ask him to be included in their tomfoolery. thats why he usually folds and accepts to take part despite his better judgement

dont be fooled MQF is also stupid silly kid just a different flavour that looks dignified on the surface but will not think twice before testing his newest antidote experiments on himself

if anyone is familiar with my fics then you know i love giving MQF a bad habit of gambling, inspired by the donghuas hilarious decision to use his model in that one scene just for the sake of it (originally rando in the book). absolutely brilliant. QQQ enables him in this most of the time and loves to take his money because she is the reigning betting champion

speaking about being inspired by donghua, one MQF background scene where he is posed on his sword is meant to look like a battle stance, but to me he mostly looks like hes trying not to fall hgjkf, thus spawning hc that he does not enjoy flying too much (on his own)

QQQ and LQG light-heartedly fight both with words and fists over the stupidest things. its enrichment

WQW's has a brand of humour that is sometimes hard for people to get and understand that he is actually joking, especially for people that dont usually interact with him. It is easier to clock for his closer circle though. (inspired by the extras)

this also continues as WQW grows more into adulthood, because he gains somewhat of a severe resting face, despite his jovial nature around his friends. He looks intimidating and grows to be more restrained and exasperated at nonsense that takes his time for no reason, but still keeps his mischievous spirit

damn i had more notes written but i misplaced them somewhere so this is it ok bye

[yukioos]

dying eijiro’s hair

eijiro wasn’t always the confident, uplifting boy he was today. he used to have low self-esteem and worried about how he was able to use his quirk to save others. watching heroes and their classmates do so much to help out other students made him hesitate, did he want to be the same person as them?

he did.

so he decided from then on, after he saw mina saving her classmates from a villain in middle school, he would become a hero too. he worked towards his goal, and when he was accepted into UA, he dyed his hair, hoping to have a fresh, new start and leave his past behind.

he told you all of that a couple of months into dating you after you noticed his hair wasn’t naturally red. instead, his roots were black, so sometimes you would help him dye his hair, as he didn’t want it changing back.

and that happened again today. the two of you were walking to the common room when he kneeled to take a textbook from his backpack, having to review a topic for math when you saw his roots. black poked out of his scalp, a sign he needed to bleach and dye it red again.

you played with his hair and mumbled, “eiji,” earning a hum, his head turning towards you with curious eyes, “we should probably do a root touch-up, huh?”

he agreed with a nod, “yeah, it’s been a couple of weeks since i last dyed it,” he paused, thinking for a minute, “i already have the bleach and dye. wanna help me this time?” he already told you of his past, you understood why he dyed it, so why not have you help him every time from now on?

your heart warmed at the question, and you nodded, heading to his dorm with him, hand in hand. the two of you chatted along the way, and he quickly grabbed all the supplies he needed to bleach his hair, then headed back to the bathroom.

you stood behind the tall, muscular boy as he ranted about something you weren’t paying much attention to. instead, your eyes were on his, and the sweet smile he showed whenever he was fixated on something.

once you arrived at the bathroom, he placed all the supplies on the counter and lifted you by your hips to hoist you onto the counter as well. a small help came from your mouth, emitting a small chuckle from your boyfriend’s lips. you rolled your eyes, getting to work as you already knew what to do with his hair. you’d seen him dye it a million times, so you had a clear idea of what you were to do.

eijiro stood in between your parted legs with his large, rough hands on your thighs. he was talking about katsuki threatening to explode his ass to pieces, and you nodded each time he told you more of the story. even as you separated his hair into sections with your colorful clips, he still looked adorable, smile not faltering for even a second.

so you put on your gloves and mixed bleach products into a bowl, then picked up a smooth amount on your brush. you turned eijiro around, starting at the back of his scalp as he still talked. once you were done with his whole scalp, you waited for some time before letting eijiro shower and wash his hair, feeling better once your nails scratched his scalp so soothingly.

you then mixed the red dye into a separate bowl and changed brushes and gloves before brushing it onto his hair. after following the instructions and waiting for the amount of time said on the back of the container, you washed eijiro’s hair again.

he looked into the mirror, checking all sections of his hair before grinning and praising, “woah, babe, you did a really good job! normally i miss a few spots but you did perfect! thanks!”

your cheeks became warm at the praise, and you playfully rolled your eyes before gently grabbing his cheeks and holding them in your hands. you looked up into his loving red eyes and placed a plush kiss on his lips, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

“you’re so handsome, eiji,” you mumbled, moving your body closer to his with a smile.

eijiro placed his hands on your hips, then moved one up to comfortingly rub your back, “god, you treat me too well,” he muttered before smirking and placing another kiss on your lips.

i don’t know anything about dying hair so sorry if this was inaccurate

[painsandconfusion]

Writers, here’s your reminder that you should be doing warm-ups!

Athletes need to warm up. Musicians need to warm up. Artists need to warm up. Heck, I even have to play a few matches in video games before I get into a groove every day.

Warm-ups help you get into the right headspace, give you more control of your actions and word choice, get you comfortable in your physical setting (eg: with your keyboard, notebook, tablet, or whatever you're writing with), and spark creativity.

Even if you don’t think you have spoons to write, sit down and do a couple warm-ups. If you still don’t want to, that’s alright. But. I think you’ll be surprised how often they help break that ice.

5-15 minutes is all you need. I personally set a timer for ten minutes each time and do not stop writing until the time is up. Your warm-up can be anything at all so long as it gets you writing and starts nudging those creative juices.

Here's some common warm-ups:

Journaling. Just jot down some notes about your day. Feel free to really lean into something that you noticed. We're going for description and details -- try to avoid settling into a spiral or focusing on something negative that will upset your creativity.

Short story prompts. Type that into Pinterest and pick the most ridiculous, cliche thing you can. Write a little scene, story summary, or even a rant about why you do or don't like the prompt. Just write.

Vocab challenge. If you like a bit more critical thinking to get you in the zone, have a random vocabulary word generator spit out five or so words. Check their meanings and jot down a little story or thought that includes all five. You get more familiar with beautiful and descriptive language, and it gives you a much narrowed prompt (which is lovely if you're like me and suffer each time there's an open-ended task assigned).

Character moments. Try putting your character into a generic setting and write down almost meticulously what their thought process would be. Follow them realizing they've just stepped in mud or dreading the start of the day. Pick a mundane thing and describe them working through it. This will not only get your writing going, but it will wake up the character's voice in your head.

Ongoing storytelling. Did you know that Whinnie the Poo was A.A. Milne's warm up story? He would jot down a quick little story with those very basic characters and did so every day. Whatever came to mind. He kept writing little tidbits on the same characters and eventually it turned into a series. Having that ongoing plot with isolated scenes and simple characters can help you feel more motivated to sit down and write.

Get-to-know-you-questions. Google a list of basic first-date questions (there are a million out there) and answer one yourself. Go into specifics. Where do you most want to travel and why? Let yourself ramble until the question is fully answered.

Writer's block blues. This is a favorite of mine. If you're truly stuck, write about being stuck. Eg: 'I'm supposed to write for ten minutse, but that feels so stupid and impossible. No one is goign to read this anyway. I have no ideas and the page is so overwhelming when its blank. I used to be able to write on and on and nothing could stop me. it was like breathing. but now I have nothign and do nothing and I can't even do a stupid prompt-' Even the rambling and ranting got me writing. It made things easier. It made writing this post easier. Also -- notice the typos? Yeah, don't fix those. You're in writing mode, not editing mode when you're doing this. If you edit while you write, you're forcing yourself to stay in your executive and calculating headspace rather than falling fully into creativity and dream. Ignore the mistakes. That's for future you to handle.

I've officially rambled far too much, but I hope that helps even a little bit. Live well and write often, my friends. Best of luck to you <3

[angeliteeyes]

Multifandom: Caleb (LADS), Castorice and Sparkle (HSR), Ei and Ganyu (GI)

I adore aus where the characters are aware of you in some way even though they're still in another world. My favorite of those concepts is an au where instead of them being your favorite gacha characters, you're THEIR fave.

I like to imagine that this version of them doesn't take place in their reality that we know of ingame. Instead, it's more of a modern au where they're just as chronically online and cringe as us lmao. Spamming their social media accounts when you get a new card (or whatever your game does) in all caps, falling asleep to videos of you talking. Maybe even writing long, angry replies on Reddit defending you and how you're best char. Here's some of the characters I feel particularly suit this idea

cw: mental illness (they're gacha addicts what else would you expect lol), mentions of death, light angst for some characters

-Caleb-

Listen, I can't NOT talk about Caleb here. This concept is practically made for his clingy, traumatized ass.

In this version of him, I imagine he started out pretty normal for a while actually, making friends pretty easily in his youth and all of that. Slowly but surely, though, things shifted. Family deaths piled up at an age where he just wasn't ready to handle that kind of emotional burden and... well, you know how guy friendships can be. He didn't really feel like he could turn to any of his real friends the way that he desperately needed to stop his entire world from falling apart.

And then there was your bright smile on his screen all of a sudden. He'd seen ads for the game you're in before, but he never got around to actually trying it out. Until that fateful day. After having gone through yet another funeral, his brain felt so fried and tired that he barely even processed his finger movements as he went through all the install screens, clicking the repetitive buttons and whatnot.

It's not like there's something wrong with the other characters or anything. They're fine and all, but he quickly started to realize just how much you stood out to him. How soothing everything about you was, as if you were actually there telling him everything would be okay. It doesn't take very long before he's full-on obsessed with you.

As a fan, he'd be so so pathetically jealous. Of course, he logically understands that he can't stop other people from looking at you, pulling for you, loving you... But holy hell if he doesn't want to just have you for himself, as ridiculous and impossible the notion is. He's the type of dude who'd legit get so heated over seeing someone mischaracterize you that he'd either send them a 1000 word rant or insta-block them. No in-between.

And yes, he would listen to your sweet voice every time he feels particularly lonely or grief hits too hard. You aren't going to judge him for crying, after all.

-Castorice-

Castorice in a modern au, in my opinion, would totally be a hospice worker. Ever since she was a child, she's had a knack for finding injured animals and would cradle them in her palms each and every time until they took their last breath. She's like an angel attracted to poor, suffering souls. Unfortunately, her young kid mind misinterprets the situation and believes she's cursed instead. It ultimately culminates into a full-blown phobia of touching people with both of her hands; it's just that ingrained in her that holding someone equals death.

Thankfully, as she gets older, she manages to cope with her fears a little better by putting her talent to good use. Whenever a patient in her care clearly expresses that they're ready to go, she's more than happy to help them pass on. But... it's still so achingly lonely. A real romantic relationship doesn't even process as an option to her, because, yknow. Physical intimacy.

That's why she grows so painfully attached to you, viewing you as her only real hope of having the lover she yearns for. Sure, she's not delusional. She knows you have a screen permanently forcing you two apart, but that's even better in her book. This way, her curse will never, ever harm you.

Castorice would absolutely be part of the hugging-a-pillow-and-imagining-it's-you club. Every single night, without fail, she wraps her arms and legs around her body pillow while imagining you. How warm you would actually be in her arms. She'd even go as far as to spray a scent on it—whatever reminds her the most of you while she's out shopping one day and picks it up.

As far as her online presence, she's definitely on the calmer side. Her account is filled to the brim with wholesome fanart of you, both reblogs and her own works. If anyone talks smack about you, she'll just block them and cleanse her soul with that adorable birthday art of you. Why waste precious energy on them when you're here to love and adore?

-Sparkle-

Sparkle is THE number one online troll, you can't convince me otherwise. Everyone else hates her so much, but somehow, they can never get rid of her presence. Aw, they blocked her newest account? Too bad, she's already got 3 other ones ready to go. But no matter how many times it changes, one thing remains consistent: that damn profile picture of you.

In a bizarre way, her determination to troll combined with your face being plastered next to her username kinda lets her... claim you? Nobody else would dare to use that photo of you as their profile pic, at least. It's not exactly the most orthodox way of showing her affection for you, but it gets similar results.

Now, everyone hates her and all, but most people have learned by now that she's best handled through methods like ignoring or blocking her. If they do that, typically Sparkle's attention wanes and she moves along to her next victim. But one person, one damn person, takes things too far. They start spamming insults towards you in her dms, tagging her in hate posts about you, everything to get under her skin. And it works like a charm. She's literally seething behind her dusty computer screen, losing her mind at every stupid notification sound.

Let's just say, that person won't be using social media again any time soon. Not once she's done with them.

-Ei-

It feels a bit strange, this version of Ei. Trust me when I say that every ounce of elegance and social skills her Genshin counterpart has flat-out doesn't exist in this world. I'm talking doesn't brush her hair most days, constant eyebags, won't even order at a drive-thru due to needing to talk to others, the works. It's not even necessarily that she's got social anxiety or anything like that. Ei plain old doesn't like people in this au, or at least, anyone other than you.

You're her rock that keeps her going every day. Why bother "making friends" when you're already here by her side every day? Why bother "taking care of her appearance" when you love her all the same? Her parents tried so hard to intervene and force her to act normal. They took away her devices and even forced her into therapy for as long as they legally could, but she just... wouldn't change. When they took her phone and computer, they'd expected her to switch hobbies. Maybe she'd pick up reading again. But every time they peek into her room, she's just sitting there with a vacant, empty expression. They can't hear it, but in her mind, you're still there right next to her keeping her company. It's honestly so heartbreaking to watch that they give up and let her have everything back again.

Truly, nothing else matters to her but you.

Unlike the others, she actually wouldn't have any social media presence whatsoever. Ei's stuck so far in her delusional attachment to you that she barely even can register the fact that she isn't your actual friend or partner. How could you not be, when you're together every moment of every day?

-Ganyu-

Ganyu's honestly probably the only one here with a genuinely healthy attachment level toward you, even if she admittedly uses you a lot to cope with her insecurities. You're just so, so sweet to her, having so many uplifting voice lines.

Her absolute favorite card of you is one where you're eating pastries with your game's mc. It comes with a corresponding unlockable event, where you encourage them to eat as much as they want. You even reassure them that no matter how they look or how much they weigh, you'll always love them. Essentially, you give Ganyu a free therapy session, and one that she greatly needs.

As much as she loves you, work forces her into being a filthy casual. Don't worry, though! She always makes time for limited content with you in it, like event stories and cards. Plus, she earns so much from her hard work. She can afford to spend an extra hundred... or five hundred... on duplicates of you. Even if your game's company is greedy as all hell, she still takes pride in funding them. If your game ever got the dreaded end-of-service announcement... she doesn't know what she'd do.

Her whale habits carry into social media, where she pays the bills of so many artists. They practically view her as a saint, both for how often she commissions them and for how willing she is to pay full price. Her? She's just happy to have all this extra content of you to admire. What a sweetheart ♡

[animeshotsh]

General White Rabbit x Fem!Reader HCS

Warnings: HCS - Protective - Full!Demon Rabbit - NSFW + SFW - Maybe OOC - I need him -

SFW:

You two met when he was just starting to bring Malakians to the human realm and just happened to ran into you.

He avoids killing when he can. Still gets worried you will rant him out so he most likely ends knocking you out till he decides what to do with you.

You end being on a trial time. Like he is teasting you. You will probably be scared of him at first. Since you are filled with Demon propaganda.

Then you start to see that not all demons are bad just like all humans are not good. Its not black and white but grey.

You end helping them adapt to the human world and usually go to get them food, medicine and whatever they may need.

End suggesting being in the countryside may be better than staying in the city, plus more fresh air!!

The romance between you two would be slow. First a friendship that evolves in romantic feelings.

White Rabbit probably falls hard when he sees you helping the other Malakians and how honest you are. Even more when he sees the process of you being scared of them because of the human propaganda to understand them.

He really aprecciates the open heart you give him and to the rest. And all the help you have done around.

If Darkcom even comes near you they are as good as dead. The White Rabbit its possessive and obssesive. Protective over his peopel , he would make sure they are safe before going to battle.

And If you ever get taken by Darkcom or a fellow Demon.

Its a blood battle. One that its going to end being win by him.

He ends being so sorry for putting you at risk.

He has seen how humans courts their S/Os and tries to replicate it as much as he can. He probably has been courting you in Demon ways but you never noticed it.

So he beings you flowers and asks you to drink some tea with him with your favorite sweets too! Will try to even have some music too. Hopeless romantic.

Probably kisses you on impulse. Maybe you are teaching some young Malakians some human thing and he cant help but just feel it. So once you end the lesson he does to you, his intention was to tell you how much help you have gave but ends kissing you.

Or you two are escaping from Darkcom and after making it he kisses you because he was afraid he would lose you.

So, Demon courting. Back in Hell he would have to fight others to show that he is strong. But he basically protects you and the rest 24/7 so he will try with his intelligence. Ends showing you some very complicated projects of him, and while they are good and amazing and all. You wont get the hint. Not even when the poor Rabbit has to help himself from jumping when you tell him how suprised you are with these.

Probably would try to get you valuable things....from hell standars. So while most Malakians are shipping you two hard after seeing him giving you some special rock from their home place...well you see it as a friend's gift.

Poor Rabbit will probably wonder what he is doing wrong.

NSFW

STAMINA. He is a Demon and a Rabbit no less. He can go for so many rounds.

Biting. Loves to leave his mark on you. Its a thing about being possessive but also romantic. Bite him back please he will love it.

Over sensitive. He feels more since his senses are sharper and that includes his nerves. When your bodies are connected he feels so much more than average. Every pulse from your core, every breath you take and sound you make.

RUT. Maybe he goes into it because he finally has someone in his life. He is over you during it. Probably has a private room for it too. With his smell and toys too.

His after care its 10/10 since he knows he can be quiet demanding during sex. Water, food, words of ressurance....all of it just for you.

A secret kink of his is getting you pregnant even if he does everytning to prevent it.

Doggy style its his favorite position since it awakes his more primal side. He is able to reach deeper and mark you better. If you are tired dont worry, he has enough streght to hold you and keep going.

Is able to smell your arousment so never think of hiding it. He probably gets pussy drunk too.

First time he smell it he was confused because it was coming from you and was having an effect on him...

[neurospiczzzziee]

what do you think of blitz being shocked when stolas kisses him before relaxing in sinsmas?

I LOVE THIS DETAIL SO MUCH!!!

(I'm going to be mainly looking at this from the Perspective of Blitzø)

The reaction of shock we first see shows that Blitzø wasn't expecting it. He didn't feel that he was owed payment like a kiss. He was just happy that he saved his favorite bird. He would have just been happy lovingly looking at Stolas with the sparkle in his eyes.

I think the sensation Blitzø is experiencing is relief.

For the longest time Blitzø and Stolas were on complete different pages. Their ideas and opinions of what one thought of each other was completely different.

When Stolas is shocked states to Blitzø

"you've just risked your life to save mine"

Blitzø doesn't respond in a Cocky way with his mask like the old him would have. He doesn't brag about himself. He doesn't berate Stolas for making him risk his life. For making a stupid choice.

Instead he just says in the most gentle way "well. . .so did you."

He is showing Stolas RECIPROCATION!

This is the first time his feelings have actually properly reached Stolas and the kiss shows it.

Since the Mastermind, heck even at the end of the apology tour Blitzø was trying to show Stolas that he actually cared about him.

Because you need to remember in during the song ALL 2 U Stolas sings the lyrics:

"I don't think you meant to hurt me

Cause I don't think it

meant a thing at all"

That line is the one that DESTROYS BLITZØ.

Cuz what's going on in his head is he realizes that Stolas thinks that he doesn't care at all. That he never cared for him.

The opposite of love is indifference and Stolas thinks he's indifferent.

Blitzø was in love with Stolas but his own armor of self loathing/doubt blinded him of reciprocating his feelings.

That's why during ghost fuckers he's so upset Because is so mad at himself for hurting Stolas and the fact he self-sabotaged himself from the possibility of being happy and having an actual loving relationship. He is wallowing in his own self pity.

(side note I think if Verosika hadn't told Blitzø to lay off that he would have kept trying to pursue Stolas. I do think it was a good thing because he needed time to evaluate himself and how he actually feels. The boy needed introspection.)

During Mastermind Blitzø assumed that Stolas had moved on and it wasn't until Stolas came in and risked his life that Blitzø realized that Stolas still cared for him. Because of what happened he was in a way given the second chance to show Stolas that he actually cared for him back. But the problem is Stolas is rightfully in shock and depressed. Blitzø understands this so he just in a way quietly loves him by caring for him. (Side note I do think if mastermind didn't happen and Stolas was in trouble or anything like that Blitzø still would have gone out of his way to help him and try to show Stolas that he cared for him)

From what I've seen I don't think Blitzø at all expects Stolas to reciprocate feelings for him. I think Blitzø in Sinsmas just wants Stolas to be happy again. He just wants to make sure Stolas doesn't feel like he's alone. Because he knows what it feels like to be alone, to feel abandoned. I think Blitzø would have been happy continuing to just admire Stolas from afar in a quiet way. So Blitzø just continues to quietly love him.

That's why I think the kiss shocked him so much because it lets him know that his feelings finally reached Stolas. Stolas realizes that Blitzø actually cares for him. For the longest time they weren't on the same page and they finally are experiencing mutual receprocation.

What we are seeing is for the first time that sensation of relief and ease on both parties!

Thank you so much for sending me this ask. I truly love this detail of the kiss and I love talking about this silly show so much 🥹💕. For my friends that read this whole thing. Thank you for reading my little rant 😊.

-✨Neuro✨

[whenmaddiefallsinlove]

Okay. I need to rant about Bobby because I'm genuinely mad about it and idk anyone irl who watches the show, so tumblr void here we go.

I'm actually angry. Normally, when characters die, sure I'm sad and a little bit mad, but that's normal. This isn't that. The main reason i watch 9-1-1 and enjoy it so much is because the characters DONT DIE. I stopped watching shows like Grey's Anatomy because I don't like being constantly stressed about my favorite characters dying. 9-1-1 is a show where that isn't supposed to happen, and that's one of the main reasons I like it! I enjoy being able to watch the emergencies and enjoy the action without being legitimately worried. By killing Bobby, they've opened the door for any other character to die, so I will literally never be able to enjoy the show the same way again. 9-1-1 is a comfort show, and now i won't even be able to rewatch old seasons the same way because I'll always know that Bobby doesn't survive, and knowing that will ruin all of the happy scenes that came before his death.

ALSO, the show relies heavily on the found family dynamic. It's another one of the main reasons i love it so much. Killing Bobby irreparably damages that dynamic. He is arguably the most important aspect of the found family dynamic, he is the glue that holds them all together. None of the characters or their relationships with each other will ever be the same again after this. Even if buddie does go canon, I won't be able to enjoy it knowing that Bobby never got to see it happen. Those first few episodes of this season where Bobby wasn't captain were not as fun to watch, and that wasn't just because of Gerrard, it was because Bobby is such an integral part of what makes the 118 enjoyable to watch. Don't get me wrong, I love all the other characters, but come on.

I guess I feel cheated almost?? This isn't the show I signed up for. The creators of this show lulled me into a false sense of security and then ripped that away, and I'm pissed about it. I genuinely don't know if I'll be able to enjoy the rest of the show without him in it, especially knowing now that anyone could die. I think that they will lose a lot of viewers from this, and this may sound ridiculous but I hope they do. You can't take away a massive part of what makes a TV show enjoyable and expect to maintain viewership.

AND PLUS ALSO I'm mad that Tommy was there and Eddie wasn't. Idk who was behind that horrible decision but I hope they're ashamed.

This is very long winded and probably entirely too dramatic, but I really needed to get these thoughts off my chest before I went to bed.

God I hope the show can recover from this enormous fumble.

[hayley4682]

Hunger Games Fandom Rant

I feel like some people use that Haymitch quote from Catching Fire "you could live a hundred life times and never deserve that boy" to be weirdly misogynistic to Katnisses character

Because Haymitch sees a lot of himself in Katniss, and in this moment, he is projecting. It's not about Katniss in this scene he's projecting his own thoughts and feelings. PLUS, love is not about being deserving of the other person it's about choosing to love that person for who they are

With that, the fandom can be misogynistic to Katniss. Is that they say " he's too good for her," "she doesn't care about Peeta at all," etc

And it's like Katniss is a teenage girl in poverty, lost her dad, had to provide food for her family, volunteered to save her sister, gone though traumatic events in the games and now Snow is trying to kill her by forcing her back into the arena again.

She's does care about Peeta but she's not going to care for him all the times she needs to think about her sister, her mother, Gale (who has been her best friend for years and has helped her family survive) and most importantly her role as the Mockingjay.

Katniss has enough on her plate she's not entirely focused on love as she sees survival as important, and that's all she's ever known. AND ALSO Katniss has done things for Peeta aswell she's not selfish at all she's just a teenage girl.

[lucifertheanalyzer]

You know what would make Cherri Bomb a better character?

Have little moments throughout the show of her texting and calling Angel Dust to see how he's doing. Like in Episode 2 after the activities, he gives her a call and rants a bit about Sir P and how he he kind of feels left out... even realizes how it weas kind of his fault for not engaging with the others.

Then in Episode 4 after he storms out of the hotel, he runs into her and they go to a bar to relax and calm down. Cherri could give him a bit of a pep talk that if things ever get too much at both work and the hotel, he can go crash at her place, ending with her needing to leave for something and making sure he'll be alright on his own before leaving.

Finally in Epsode 6 when she takes him and the others to a bar, she could be skeptical of them even caring for Angel's wellbeing considering what's happened before, but eventually starts warming up to them when they start to show they really do care in protecting him and Niffty from Valentino when it looked like things were gonna start getting ugly.

And I just came up with all of that at the top of my head!

Having Cherri being in contact with Angel before she appears would have been a great way to show their friendship.

To add to this, Angel could also contact her after hearing those messages from Val and maybe Cherri would have Angel the idea that Sir P was up to no good.

If we want to remove that scene, Angel would have called Cherri to vent about how Charlie made him play a crackhead the play, Charlie praising Sir P even though Sir P was only there for a day while he has been there for longer.

It makes so much sense for Angel to run into Cherri at the bar, she likes to party and drinking. She knows that Angel is trying to improve himself and after seeing Angel's self-destruction at the bar. She is the one to stop Angel from being drugged. During the pep talk, she would have sprinkle in how she finds the hotel to be ridiculous and is not really helping him mentally.

In EP6, Cherri would have been one who noticed Val and for Angel's mental wellbeing, she makes sure that Angel does not notice him. Once Angel does, he starts to have anxiety attack and Cherri and Husk try to calm him down.

*Insert steps how to comfort someone when they are having an anxiety attack here*

Cherri and Angels' friendship is an aspect I hope that improves in Season 2. Cherri tries to not bring up Angel's self-destruction side and we also see Angel supporting Cherri is her backstory is explored. I mean, there has to be a reason why Cherri likes to spend her time getting loose in the club. (I do not know if Izzi still apart of Cherri's lore though).

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Quick wee ficlet because I am, shockingly, actually still capable of writing fiction after this long in the academia trenches.

Edwardian Era

"I never want to be like him." Jack spat the words out like burnt espresso. "As a man. Or a brother."

"You aren't." Zee turned to look at him from her reading. "I wouldn't put up with you if you were." She wouldn't call him kin if he didn't act like it.

"Promise." Jack replied. "Promise me no matter what if I ever treat you like that you'll throw me into a geyser and never speak to me again."

"Obviously. Is that even a question?"

"Course not,'" He said, the words far more sure than his tone. He looked at her, face pinched in a rare flavor of uncertain. She loved him for it, letting her decide where the geyser would come into play.

"Good." She returned to her paper. There was a quiet moment and she could feel him push himself down the sofa and he tipped himself over, coming to a soft landing mostly on the center cushion and his head in her lap. Oh good lord, he was in one of those moods. Bothering her was always his favourite sport. The worst and to sweetest type of bother were when he needed to know something only she could tell him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." He said, and she might have believed him. Sometimes he was so easy to console, solving his problems with just affection. But not just now.

"Jack." She said, trying to keep her tone below "Well let's have it you piss baby" but above "Take your time."

"You're sure I'm not like... That?"

"Positive." She said and turned back to her periodical . "Is that all?"

"You mind giving that thesis some supporting arguments?"

"Good lord someone finally got you go pay attention to father's rhetoric rants."

"Zee."

"Oh fine, you bloody infant."

"Hey, I'm older!"

She gave a snort that came out a bit meaner than she'd meant it. They sat there for a momen, Jack quiet.

"You put me down." She said finally.

"What?"

"Supporting evidence." She said. "When I was little and told you to put me down, you put me down."

He snorted. "Or you were just heavier than you looked. Wee Rosie, round as a rose hip." He almost sang his made up nursery rhyme.

"I mean it."

He went quiet and his eyes flicked up, gone soft again.

"I was little and you heaved me about with you because we're most of a century older than plush toys. Squeezing me until my eyes were bloody well about to pop when you were frustrated or scared or lonely or sad."

"Wasnt sure you remembered that." It was almost a grumble.

"More than you ever do."

"Suppose I did though." He said, like he wanted to deny it but but knew it was pointless because her memory was better than his and he always had loved her more than his dignity.

"And you cried." She said.

"Eh?"

"You cried. When I told you to put me down. You sobbed like— well like children do when they get the thing they love most torn from them. But you put me down."

He looked unconvinced, as if that wasn't enough. Like it wasn't everything.

"Is easy to be generous and kind when everything is easy. With our—" She paused. "With what we are and how you were alone before me. I was all you had. Are you put me down."

"You asked me too."

"Exactly. It's all the supporting evidence I'll ever need."

[persona-confessions]

Okay so this a VERY SPECIFIC and VERY PETTY confession I have. There’s this Persona AU I really like called “Flowerchild” where the premise is that the P5 Protagonist is the adopted son of Jun and Tatsuya. Almost every single fic I’ve read with this AU slaps hard but I’ve noticed that a lot of them shift the focus to Akira’s relationship with Tatsuya rather than focusing on Jun and Akira’s relationship and it bugs me A LOT.

Sure I can see WHY this happens: Both Akira and Tatsuya are protagonists and Tatsuya has more screentime than Jun across both Persona 2 games (Jun should’ve been 10x more important in Eternal Punishment’s story but that’s besides the point) so it makes sense more people know what Tatsuya’s deal is, but it still annoys me that it’s all about Tatsuya sometimes. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s more TATSUYA centric Flowerchild fics than Jun centric ones. Like, why is Tatsuya the only one who has sole legal custody over Akira most of the time? Why does Akira have Suou as a last name most of the time and not Kurosu? It’s much closer to Kurusu. Why is Jun treated like a side character most of the time? Do people really think he’s too weak and emotional to raise a kid and needs Tatsuya, who has proven throughout both P2 games to not know what the fuck he’s doing half the time, to do all the important work?(Granted that last one is mainly due to how most people woobify Jun but that’s a rant for another day)

The only reason the AU even exists in the first place is because of the parallels between Jun and Akira as both of them are called Joker, have similar themes, and, last time I checked, Tatsuya wasn’t the Joker. Is it so hard to make a couple of Flowerchild fics that revolve around Akira’s feelings towards Jun and their overall relationship? I want more of those. I mean I’ll still keep reading Flowerchild AU fics in general cuz again; they’re really good, but I just want Jun to be more involved in his own goddamn AU.

Look, what I’m trying to say is that you should read “The Definition of Found Family” by hawkeing_eta

this is really interesting actually... i myself have never really delved too much into aus made by other people [though i've made a concerning amount myself lmfao] but i really need some more p2 content so i think i will check this out sometime! thank you anon :)

[hungryforhungergames]

Kill The Songbird

Short summary

They lie tangled in love, but the ghost of Lucy Gray still lingers.

Unwelcome.

Unspoken.

Author's note

So this was totally not planned but in the end Coriolanus becomes kinda darkish idk?!?

Anyway hope you like it, I even slipped some Olivia Rodrigo lyrics in here

Oh wait also thank you so much for all the love my stories have been getting, it means a lot to me xxxx

The Story

Lucy Gray Baird.

The name of the girl that haunts Coriolanus Snow.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he still can’t let her go. 

The way she ran away from him in the forest, leaving him alone. He thought they had something, he wanted her to be his, but she ran from him. He never speaks about her and isn’t planning to do so in the future.

He thinks his girlfriend doesn’t notice the way Lucy Gray Baird still haunts him, but she does.

She notices everything. His girlfriend knows that girl is still in his mind and she hates it. She wants to know the truth.

It was a rare quiet evening in the Capitol penthouse. Coriolanus just got back from work, tired and ready to spend the evening with his girlfriend.

All he wanted was to enjoy some dinner, prepared by his personal chef. Afterwards he would lay down on the couch with a good book, enjoying the company of his girlfriend who would be wrapped in his arms. Then they would get ready for bed and lay down on the mattress, talking and kissing for hours before they finally drift off to sleep.

It was their usual routine and he loved it. Because Coriolanus Snow was the man of routines. Routines calmed him in the chaotic life in the Capitol.

But his girlfriend has other plans for the night. Yes, she would ruin the routine Coriolanus loved so much. They just had dinner, a perfectly good meal which was accompanied by a good glass of wine. She let Coriolanus rant about all the drama from work and answered his questions about what she did today.

Unlike Coriolanus, she doesn’t have a routine. Sometimes she goes to a pilates class with her friends, the other times she goes shopping for a new dress or some lingerie that Coriolanus loves. Today, she went on a simple walk through the large park in the middle of the Capitol.

After dinner, Coriolanus left to change into something more comfortable than his suit.  

The two of them are laying next to each other on the couch, tangled in each other's limbs. She’s laying on top of his chest, while he rubs a hand down her back while he holds a book in his other hand. Occasionally, Coriolanus presses a kiss to her temple and whisper’s sweet nothings in her ear.

She loves moments like this, moments where he could let his guard down and they could just be together. She knew Corionanus is powerful in the Capitol, some even fear him. But when he’s just with her, he isn’t the scary man with power at all. He’s just Coriolanus and she loves him.

But she knows she needs to ask him about Lucy Gray Baird, because that name has been haunting her as well.

“Coryo?”

She whispers, moving her head so she can look at him. His eyes don’t leave the book, but his hands move from her back to hold her waist.

“Yes darling?”

Coriolanus asks, slowly rubbing her waist. She takes a deep breath in, a sigh of hesitation. She knows this could hurt him and that means it could hurt them. But she needs to do this, so she drops the bomb.

“Wo was she? Lucy Gray Baird?”

She asks, the name dropping like a knife between them. She can feel Coriolanus stiffen beneath her and sees the way his eyes darken. For a moment he doesn’t say anything at all, the silence thickens like smoke.

“What did you just say?”

Coriolanus asks and drops the book from his hand, his eyes finally meeting hers. She knows he doesn’t want to talk about it by the tone of his voice, but she doesn’t care about that. She doesn’t care about anything but the truth.

“You heard me.”

She tells him and moves out of his arms, straddling his hips. She’s now looking down at him and notices the way his jaw clenches.

“Tell me Coryo, who is Lucy Gray Baird?”

She continues, trying hard to keep her voice steady. Her heart is racing, this is the moment.

“That name does not belong in this home.”

He hisses while grabbing her waist. He sits up and makes her shift so she’s straddling his lap. It’s his way to show he’s in control, but she doesn’t scare away. They’re eye to eye now, but she won’t back up.

“Why does she matter so much to you?”

She presses, knowing she’s poking the beast. Coriolanus can get very mad when he wants, but he hardly gets mad at her. Sure, sometimes he’s frustrated with her but they always make it up some moments later with a kiss or a good round of sex.

“She doesn’t matter to me.”

Coriolanus says and pinches the skin of her waist to warn her she needs to drop it.

“Why do you bring her up, Rose?”

“I saw her name when I was cleaning your office. You wrote it on some paper.”

She tells him honestly, remembering the moment. 

She didn’t mean to snoop around, but her eyes saw the name before she even realised. Then she went to the Capitol archives in the library and searched for her name, only to find out she was the winner of the 10th Hunger Games.

That was the only information she could find about her, it was like she was supposed to be forgotten by the Capitol. Somebody removed all the information of Lucy Gray Baird, somebody tried to erase her.

But she had to mean something to Coriolanus if he wrote her name down, right?

“I don’t like you snooping around through my things, Rose.”

He reprimands her, squeezing her waist once again. She doesn’t have time to react, because he continues almost immediately.

“As I said, she doesn’t matter to me.”

“Please don’t lie to me, Coriolanus,”

She pleads, dropping her hands on his firm chest. He knows she’s serious now because she isn’t calling him Coryo but Coriolanus. He hates it when she does that and she knows it.

She looks at him with a pleading look, begging for answers. But Coriolanus is stubborn and he won’t give in to that. 

He slowly moves away, gently pushing her off his lap. He stands up, adjusting the hem of his shirt even though it doesn’t need to be adjusted.

“I told you she doesn’t matter.”

Coriolanus tells her before starting to walk out of the room. She is quick to stand up from the couch and walks after him. When she finally reaches him, she wraps her arms around his waist.

“I’m not jealous, I just want to know.”

She whispers, feeling him stiffen by her touch. Her heart sinks, she doesn’t want this to change them.

“No, you just want answers. But there are some parts of my past that are not yours to touch.”

He says, his voice firm. She slowly unwraps her arms from his waist, feeling hurt by his words. She can’t believe he won’t drop anything about Lucy Gray Baird.

“I deserve to know about her, Coriolanus. I love you, but I can’t love all of you if you hide certain parts from me.”

She tells him, her voice trembling and her heart breaking before continuing.

“It’s not fair.”

“I’m not fair.”

 He replies simply while turning around. His large hands cups her cheeks and he wipes away a tear that has escaped her eyes. 

 “I’m not kind. And I am not going to explain a mistake that happened a lifetime ago. Let it go.”

He places a kiss on her forehead and keeps his cold hands rested on her hot cheeks. He has to admit, she looks beautiful right now in the dim light of their penthouse.

“You love who I am now. That’s all that matters.”

He tells her and now places a kiss on her lips. She accepts the kiss, but doesn’t kiss him back. She doesn’t have to, Coriolanus knows she still loves him even though she doesn’t want to show it. She’s his and he’s hers.

 “But don’t you ever think about her?”

She tries again for the last time. He looks at her with the eyes she fell in love with and she knows that he will not answer that question. She already knows the answer.

Yes, he does still think about her.

But Coriolanus thinks his girlfriend doesn’t need to know how Lucy Gray Baird appears in his dreams and he still thinks about the songs she used to sing. 

He doesn’t answer, but instead leans in again and kisses her. The kiss is long and deep, but filled with unspoken things.

When they pull away, both still catching their breaths, he leans his forehead against hers. 

“She’s gone. And I won’t lose you by digging her back up.”

He whispers, kissing her forehead once more. Then he steps back and retreats back to the couch where his book is waiting for him.

It’s clear, the conversation is over because Coriolanus Snow just decided that. 

Her heart feels heavier than ever because she still doesn’t know anything about Lucy Gray Baird and Coriolanus made it clear that he won’t ever speak about her.

Even though he’s a few feet away from her laying on the couch reading a book, a part of him feels farther away than ever.

…

The night is quiet, the citizens of the Capitol can no longer be found on the streets, but can be found in the comforts of their homes. The penthouse is dark, but some moonlight still manages to shine through the curtains.

Coriolanus has pulled his girl close tonight, wrapping her in the warmth of his arms. He knows she loves it, it’s part of their routine.

They both sleep better when they sleep together, tangled in each other. She lay in the crook of his arm, her head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand had found its way to her waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the fabric of her nightgown. 

The moment is peaceful and quiet, for a moment they can both forget the conversation they just had. Coriolanus hadn’t said much to her after the conversation about Lucy Gray Baird and she knew he needed space.

After he retreated back to the couch, she went to the bathroom to start on her skincare routine. He didn’t mind her leaving him alone for a while, he needed to gather his thoughts.

Coriolanus knows his girlfriend, if she’s really intrigued by something, she wants to know all the answers. But he can’t have that, he can’t have his perfect girl dig in his ugly history with Lucy Gray Baird.

He wasn’t proud of falling in love with someone from the districts, he had made a fool out of himself. But now he has everything he ever wanted. A good job, a wonderful penthouse and his loving girlfriend. 

No, he won’t have her ruin this.

“Never bring her up again.”

His words were blunt, maybe even hard. His voice held no room for argument, no softness. It was an order, a command. Her body stiffened slightly, but she didn’t move away from him. She didn’t say anything either and he needed her words for him to know she understood what he had said.

“Do you hear me, darling? Never bring her up again.”

Coriolanus repeats himself. The silence in the room felt thick and both of their bodies were tense. She doesn’t say anything for a while, she just listens to his heartbeat.

She wonders what Lucy Gray Baird did to him to make him reluctant to say anything about her. Did she try to kill him? Did she embarrass him? She will never know, because Lucy Gray Baird has been erased from the Capitol.

She feels a pinch in her waist, a reminder that Coriolanus wants to hear words coming out of her mouth.

“Okay, I promise.”

She whispers almost immediately, closing her eyes to avoid having to look at him.

“Good girl.”

She hears him say and she feels him press a kiss to her temple, before he says: 

“I love you, princess.”

She leans into his touch, feeling his muscled body against hers. He makes her feel safe, even though they both know he is hiding stuff from her. It’s okay, it’s how it will always be for them. Cause how could she ever trade something that's good for what’s right?

Coriolanus hears his girlfriend whisper a small goodnight before she drifts off to sleep. Sleep doesn’t come easy for Coriolanus, because he keeps thinking about that day in the forest.

The day where she ran away from him, while he risked everything for her.

He knows his girl won’t ever try to leave him, because he treats her too good for that. She doesn’t need to work, she lives in a penthouse and they spend all their free time together.

Coriolanus regrets a lot of things, but there’s one thing that’s on top of his list.

The fact that he didn’t kill the songbird.

[siriusly-dc]

THIS. because the batkids more than anyone i think fall into a trap of thinking bruce is whole or okay. when he has always been anything BUT and just eternally trying his best.

they forget that Bruce is human, and I love when fics explore that. like

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63644935

is an awesome example, but even a r*pist!talia fic, i feel like it only ever scratches the surface, like I want something that really goes into it, from Bruce's childhood where the kids find out or realise just how much Bruce has been through and the fact that he isn't idk a rogue and is still here trying and kind is such a testement to the kind of person Bruce is

!!this is not a bashing this!! the kids are kids and they don't have the whole story, but its the assumptions they make despite it going against all they claim to be and were taught to be. Like it does confuse me that there aren't more fics of the kids (re: Dick) finally saying f it and doing a deeeep dive into Bruce's history.

His time with his Uncle, Gala's alone after his parents with shady people with too much money, in a corrupt gotham with no consequences, a distant Alfred who is more of an older brother friend figure than a father. (be so fr). A Bruce who was left to wonder, who saved his city before he turned 12 (Gotham!tv show esque). A bruce who left to train at 13, came back, adopted a scared angry kid who seemed hellbent on getting himself killed.

Like i think it would start with Bruce just getting tired, all the shit that has happened in his life just coming to a head, his tired, and he's sick of failing, and he tries, because there are people who need him (are there?) but he's tired, and they say they don't need him. Gotham barely needs him and he slowly lets himself go.

At the kids just realise HOW MUCH BRUCE HAS DONE, still does. and go. Oh shit. we need to save our dad cus wtf that's not normal. like wow. like not even oh haha were bad and Bruce is just worse because Bruce is WORSE, he will just push and push and keep pushing, because he legitimatly does not care about himself, even for the sake of himself, the only time he's taken care of himself it's been for someone else's sake. Just ugh the ANGST

sorry for the rant..... i should probably do it myself instead of complaining of the lack of fics but effort

I have read some scenarios, but not enough fanfiction about the batkids seeing Batman take care of a child, and them feeling the angst, jealousy, and whatnot. Maybe even fanfics about Bruce thinking he does not deserve his kids or Alfred and then, they comfort him when they found out. I know these fanfictions are out there.

I read a few, but not enough.

(I don't know what I want. I just want to suffer and cry with a good hurt/comfort batfam fanfic because it helps me cry about my suppressed emotions later on. If you all have recommendations to help my continjed self crying session, it is very much appreciated.)