#this is a fun question and you are the first one to ask it ever

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

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

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

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

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

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

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

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

So you did.

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

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

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

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

And then you disappeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

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

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

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

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

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

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not fair—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

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

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

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

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

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

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

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

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

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

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

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

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

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

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

You had to.

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

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart flat-out stopped.

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

Bangchan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t any steadier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still. Easier said than done.

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

Like a true gentleman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you looked at him the same way.

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

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

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

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

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

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

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

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that was enough — for now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

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

It was like the world paused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

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

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

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

You turned, confused — and there he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.” He mumbled.

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hummingbird24220]

Can I please request reader gifting sanji a new tie. It's one of those gimic types (shaped like a fish or with a naked lady underneath type) and he appreciates the gift so he has to wear it but reader keeps gifting him increasingly ugly ties until sanji eventually breaks and has to tell him that while he loves the gifts he can't take one more ugly tie.

(Sorry for all the sanji! I definitely have a favourite, hope you don't get bored of writing for him <3)

Anon, do not apologise. I too, like you, have an obsession with this man. I could write about him for DAYYYYYYS.

I really liked this prompt^^ as a lot of fun to write.

Enjoy!

--

Tie-ranny

Sanji x reader

The first tie was a joke. You swore it was a joke.

It was a silk monstrosity in the shape of a koi fish—glossy, orange, and just the slightest bit too anatomically accurate. You found it in a tiny market stall on an island known for its quirky fashion, and you immediately thought of Sanji.

Because of course you did.

The man wore suits like second skin, cooked like a god, and smoked like a noir protagonist. He had style. He had grace. He needed a stupid tie shaped like a fish.

So, naturally, you bought it.

You approached him in the galley after dinner service, when most of the crew was lounging about the deck, nursing full stomachs and half-lidded eyes. Sanji was wiping down the counters, still wearing his signature black shirt and that sleek, boring tie.

Time to change that.

“Sanji,” you chirped, hands behind your back. “I got you something.”

He glanced up, smiling instantly. “For me? Mon amour, you shouldn’t have.”

You snorted. “Trust me, I probably shouldn’t have. But here.”

You revealed the tie like it was a weapon. The way his smile twitched said he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t.

He took it gently, inspecting the silky koi fish with a kind of cautious reverence. “...It’s a tie,” he said, after a beat.

“Not just a tie. A statement.”

Sanji paused, then let out a light chuckle. “It’s definitely saying something.”

You wiggled your eyebrows. “You hate it.”

“I love it,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “No one’s ever given me a tie before. I’ll wear it tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Of course.” He smiled at you—warm, charming, and with just a hint of terror behind the eyes. “Merci, my dear.”

You were kind of joking. But now you were also kind of obsessed.

The next morning, Sanji wore the tie.

He actually wore it.

Full suit. Polished shoes. Orange koi fish flopping limply down his chest.

Zoro nearly fell overboard laughing. Usopp asked if it was cursed. Luffy tried to eat it. But Sanji—oh, bless his elegant little soul—kept his head high, his tie straight, and served breakfast with the air of a Michelin-star chef who had absolutely not lost a bet.

You were delighted.

He was doomed.

You gave him a second tie a week later.

This one was a standard black, but when pulled, it flipped up to reveal a tiny cartoon woman in a bikini winking suggestively. Sanji paled when he discovered this—after wearing it to serve tea to Robin and Nami.

He wore it for three days out of sheer politeness.

The third tie played “La Cucaracha” when touched. The fourth one glowed in the dark. The fifth? A neon green knitted monstrosity with googly eyes stitched on like some kind of haunted seaweed.

You were testing him now. You had to be.

And Sanji—poor, noble, increasingly sweaty Sanji—endured them all.

But something in his eye had started to twitch.

-

Sanji didn’t cry.

But he did sigh like a man who had seen war.

“This one sparkles,” he said faintly, holding up tie number six between two fingers like it might bite. “It’s—bedazzled.”

“Exactly,” you grinned. “It matches your sparkling personality, Sanji-kun~”

He blinked slowly. “I don’t sparkle.”

“You do in my heart.”

He paused. “...That’s very sweet,” he said, voice hollow. “Excuse me while I go make dinner and question everything I’ve ever known about fashion.”

The next time you docked on an island, you dragged Zoro along on your usual supply run. Not because you liked him (you didn’t—he was a menace), but because he owed you a favor and you wanted a pack mule.

You didn’t expect him to actually get into it.

“Oho,” Zoro said, plucking a tie from a dusty clearance bin like it was Excalibur. “This one’s got a cat riding a shark. That’s a power move.”

You gasped. “Oh my god. And look, this one’s got… is that a chili pepper? With sunglasses??”

“Hell yeah it is.”

Suddenly, you and Zoro were in the middle of the store, doubled over with laughter, holding up increasingly cursed neckwear like you were art collectors discovering lost masterpieces.

“What about this one?” Zoro asked, barely holding it together. “It’s a chicken. But with abs.”

“Sanji would hate that.”

“Then we’re buying it.”

It became a game. A secret mission. Operation: Drive Sanji Mad With Fashion.

The tie haul that day was devastating:

One with a holographic dancing skeleton.

One that said “HOT STUFF” in flaming Comic Sans.

One with googly eyes that rattled when he moved.

A skinny tie that looked like a strip of bacon.

You didn’t even try to hide your glee.

And the worst part? Sanji still wore them.

Maybe not with pride. Maybe not even with dignity. But with a kind of resigned, tragic elegance—as if he’d accepted this was his life now, a living shrine to the gods of bad taste.

“Y/N…” he said one afternoon, when you handed him a tie shaped like a squid.

“Uh-huh?”

He looked at you. You looked back, all innocence and sunshine.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Sighed.

“…Merci,” he whispered, like it hurt.

Back on the Sunny, Zoro leaned on the railing, watching Sanji stir soup with his squid tie flapping obscenely against his chest.

“You think he’s gonna snap soon?” Zoro asked, sipping his drink.

You leaned beside him, smug. “I’m giving him three more ties. Maybe two if I find the one with the whoopee cushion.”

Zoro grinned. “Let me know when you go shopping again.”

The alliance had been forged. The chaos was escalating.

And Sanji?

Well, he was hanging on by a thread.

A very ugly thread.

--

The final tie was the ugliest thing you had ever seen. Which is exactly why you bought it.

It was fuzzy. It was fluorescent. It had two giant googly eyes, a felt tongue that dangled like an accusation, and a built-in squeaker that wheezed every time it moved.

Zoro saw it first.

He stared at it for a long moment, then simply muttered, “Oh, he’s gonna die.”

You nodded solemnly. “Or finally confess his sins.”

You presented it to Sanji after dinner, the rest of the crew scattered and full and blissfully unaware of the oncoming storm. You held the box like it was a precious heirloom.

“Sanji,” you beamed. “From me to you.”

He froze. You saw his soul briefly leave his body before he schooled his face into that familiar, worn-out smile.

“For me?” he said, voice soft like a dying man’s last words.

You nodded with dangerous excitement. “It squeaks.”

There was a long silence as he lifted the lid. His face didn’t change. Not at first. But you saw the exact moment his spirit cracked.

His eye twitched. His cigarette drooped. And then—very gently—he closed the lid.

“Y/N,” he said.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

You froze. “Wait, what?”

“I love you,” he repeated, fast now, like he was running downhill with no brakes. “I love your smile and your laugh and the way you talk to my soup like it’s alive. I love your voice in the morning and how you hum when you’re bored and yes, even how you and the mosshead formed some unholy alliance to torture me with these godforsaken ties.”

You were completely stunned.

Sanji took a breath. “But if you give me one more tie that squeaks, glows, sings, or looks like it crawled out of a clown’s nightmare—I will burst into flames. And not in the charming, smoldering way. In the literal spontaneous combustion way.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then blinked. “...So you’re saying you do like them?”

Sanji stared at you.

You grinned. “You do!”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Mon Dieu, please spare me.”

But you stepped closer and leaned in, voice soft now. “You could’ve told me from the start, you know.”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“You’ve worn a tie that said ‘Grill Me Daddy.’ I think we're past shame.”

That got a reluctant laugh from him.

You reached into your bag and pulled out one last item—not a tie this time, but a sleek, dark blue one with a subtle embroidered pattern. Tasteful. Elegant. Something that actually matched his wardrobe.

He blinked. “Wait… this one’s not hideous.”

You shrugged. “Well, I did get you like eleven gag ties already. Thought you earned one nice one.”

Sanji looked at you like you’d just handed him the moon. “...Thank you,” he said quietly.

You smiled. “You’re welcome, Mr. Grill Me Daddy.”

He groaned again—but this time, when he tugged you in for a hug, he didn’t let go.

[literaryavenger]

DOPPELGÄNGER

Summary: In a universe where Sebastian Stan not only exists but he's also your favorite actor, you swoon for him when you happen to meet him up and about New York one day, having no idea he's not who you think he is.

Pairing: sort of Sebastian Stan x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Misunderstandings. Kind of manipulative Bucky but he's still a sweetheart. Kind of naive and clueless Reader. No mentions of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 3.8K

Requested by: @myfavbuckyfics

A/N: I'd like to thank @myfavbuckyfics for this ask which I had so much fun writing and I'm sorry it came like almost a full year late 😭 Her beautiful idea was basically 100% done, I just wrote it out and the result is just amazing! Also, I promise I'm still working on requests and they're slowly coming. Also, my messages/ask box are always open and I'm always delighted to receive requests to challenge myself with. I'm gonna try harder to find time for writing because it really brings me so much joy, especially when I find people that read and appreciate my work. Thank you to all of you who do!

Masterlist

The first time it happened, Bucky didn’t think much of it.

He’d accepted to go out for a breath of fresh air with Steve for the first time since he joined the Avengers and moved into the Compound and he was a little overwhelmed when a group of girls came up to them, fangirling and asking for photos. 

But Bucky understood, it’s Captain America, he assumed they were just excited to see Steve and asked Bucky to join the photos because he was Captain America’s friend, just to include him. After all, it hadn’t been announced yet that he had joined the team and nobody had any idea that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was back.

Then it started happening when he was alone too. Girls coming up to him and asking for photos with him. But he figured, from what he understood of the internet, that it got around that he was Steve’s friend so people asked for photos with him because it was better than nothing.

But what really puzzled Bucky was when they would call him a name he didn’t recognize: Sebastian. 

That’s how Bucky found out that there was an actor that coincidentally lived in New York too, called Sebastian Stan. Sam and Scott made Bucky watch basically all the man’s movies and, as much as Bucky could agree he was a talented and versatile actor, he didn’t love the fact that they looked so similar. But what could he really do about that? 

So whenever Bucky got asked for photos he would try to politely say they had the wrong person or, if he was in a good mood, he’d just pose for the photos and move on.

You’re out and about in the streets of New York when you spot him: Sebastian Stan. Just standing outside of a coffee shop, like he’s waiting for someone. You didn’t expect him to have hair that long or a stubble like that, but you did read he’d been letting it all grow for the shooting of an upcoming role.

He’s your all time favorite actor since all the way back to 2010 when he starred in Hot Tub Time Machine, but you never thought you’d ever meet him, despite living in the same city. New York is pretty big after all and full of people you’ll never meet.

You debate whether to approach him or not, worried you’re gonna bother him, but then tell yourself you’ll just say hi and, if he feels like it, ask for a photo. 

“Excuse me…” Your soft voice instantly grabs Bucky’s attention, but he keeps looking at his phone just in case it’s not directed at him. “… Sebastian?”

The tentative question annoys Bucky a little, today he’s definitely not in the mood to deal with fangirls, not after he’s been waiting close to two hours for Sam because he’s late. He turns around fully intending to shut this down right now, but the moment his eyes land on you, he feels like his heart stops entirely.

She’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you talk again. “Hi, I… I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, and I’m sure you get this all the time, but I’m a big fan and just wanted to say hi.”

God, he thinks it’s so cute how nervous you seem to be as you try to be polite. Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself and he’s talking faster than his brain can comprehend.

“Don’t worry about it. Thank you, it’s always nice to meet a fan.” He gives you a charming smile that makes you giggle and Bucky’s heart flutters at the sound, making him feel like the care-free young man he used to be back in the 40s.

“Could I give you a hug?” You ask shyly, dying to know how it feels to hug him.

“Sure.” Bucky answers a little too eagerly.

What the hell am I doing? I don’t like people touching me.

But Bucky’s thoughts are quickly squashed when you hug him. For a moment he doesn’t know what to do, awkwardly hugging you back, but then it hits him all at once. It’s warm and comforting and it makes him feel something he hasn’t in decades… Peace.

Right there as you pull away he decides, I can’t let her get away.

“Anyway, if it’s not too much to ask, could we take a pi-”

“Do you wanna get some coffee?” Bucky interrupts you, surprising not only you but himself too.

Did Sebastian Stan just ask me to get a coffee with him?

Did I really just ask this girl that thinks I’m somebody else to get coffee with me?

Both of your minds are racing and for different reasons, just staring at each other until you say the one word that makes Bucky both incredibly happy but also incredibly nervous: “Yes.”

Bucky tells himself that it’s okay, it’s just coffee, he’ll tell you the truth after, but the more you talk the more his resolve weakens. 

Talking to you is easy, it makes him feel carefree like when he was a wide-eyed young adult, not fully tainted by the world’s cruelty yet. And it brought out a part of him he didn’t think existed anymore, the part that flirted shamelessly with you the entire time, the part that got a rush of satisfaction at every giggle he got out of you and a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach with every shade of red he managed to make your cheeks turn to. 

It also didn’t help that you gushed over him, recounting every movie and tv show you’ve seen him in and how important each and everyone was to you. Bucky’s knees almost buckled [Bucky buckled lol] at the look of pure adoration in your face, that sparkle in your eye as you looked at him as if he was a real life shooting star in human form.

So he, when the date ends, as the words ‘I’m not Sebastian Stan’ dance on his tongue, what comes out instead is “Can I have your number?”

“Really?” You ask a little incredulous but he’s already taking out his flip phone, weird choice for an actor but okay, and you put in your phone number.

“Uhm, do you… Do you live close?” Bucky asks as he puts his phone back in his pocket. 

“Fairly.” You say vaguely. It’s not like you think he’s a serial killer, but he’s also a man you just met. “I could… Walk you, if you’d like?” Bucky offers, feeling protective over you and wanting to ensure your safety, but also desperately trying to prolong your time together. He just doesn’t want to let go of you.

You hesitate before agreeing, thinking he is a high profiled celebrity after all so there’s no reason to doubt him, right?

You feel like you’ve fallen into a fanfiction [ironic, I know] as you not only met your celebrity crush but he’s flirting with you and asking you out.

And so starts what, for you, is a fairytale romance, while for Bucky is more like a mission, his objective clear: Not let you find out who he really is. At least not yet.

As you keep going on dates and getting to know each other, or more like he gets to know you, Bucky does his best to become the man you seem so enamoured with.

In good trained spy fashion, he does all the research necessary about this Sebastian guy, the first and only time he abused his power at SHIELD to get into someone's personal files, determined to do everything he needs to keep you.

Bucky does the most, going as far as cutting his hair when he sees the actor’s haircut is slightly shorter and carefully planning his missions for times when he knows Sebastian will be away on press tours or shooting or crap like that and, when he doesn’t have missions, he just pretends to be out of town while barricading himself in the Compound, not willing to chance you finding him up and about.

He even gets himself an iPhone, going through the painful process of letting Peter teach him how to use it because the kid is the only one Bucky knew would do so without asking too many questions.

Sometimes he feels bad about lying to you and he considers coming clean, but every time he sees his face he falls more in love with you and he keeps convincing he’ll tell you the truth soon. But that time never comes.

He knows you’re falling too and he can’t bring himself to burst your bubble, not when you look at him with those bright, beautiful eyes full of love that sparkle adorably every time he’s around. He'll be Sebastian Stan forever if it means he gets to see you and be in your life everyday.

Still, he feels too guilty being intimate with you while you’re not aware of who he really is, so he makes a point to never go too far past pecks on the lips, which you accept and reassure him profusely that you’ll go at his pace, waiting patiently like the angel he believes you are.

He’s also aware that if you saw his Vibranium arm you’d immediately know he’s not actually Sebastian Stan, and not only that but he’s scared you’ll be horrified and run for the hills when you see just how broken he is, so he always keeps it hidden. 

You take notice of him always wearing long sleeves and leather gloves, but you don’t say anything about it as you don’t want to embarrass him if it’s about something he feels self conscious about, telling yourself he’ll eventually address the fact himself.

For six months everything goes smoothly, Bucky even manages to impress you with his Romanian skills, which he is more than happy to know get you fairly hot and bothered, but he keeps his promise to himself not to go too far with you until he tells you the full truth, always finding a way to come to you so he can make excuses about work stuff to not stay overnight.

But, as all good things do in his life, it comes the day where it all blows up in his face.

You’re waiting for Sebastian in front of his favorite sushi restaurant where you’re having your date but when he gets there, he almost walks past you without a glance and, thinking he just didn’t notice as he was looking at his phone, you grab his attention.

“Seb.” You walk up to him before he reaches the restaurant’s door and hug him hello, kissing his cheek like always.

Except this time, instead of returning your affections, he almost leaps back away from you. “Excuse me??”

He looks almost panicked as he looks at you like you’re crazy. “Who are you??”

You frown before you realize he’s messing with you. “Oh, nice one, Seba.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Acting like you don’t know me.”

“I’m sorry, are you a… A fan or something?” Sebastian asks confused.

“Are you gonna play the celebrity card on me after six months? Really?” You chuckle.

“Six months? What are you talking about?”

“Come, Sebastian, it’s me.” You sigh and cross your arms, starting to get over his little joke. But you have to hand it to him, he’s a really good actor. “We’re supposed to be on a date here.”

“Look, I don’t know you.” He says in a firm voice that makes you freeze, never having heard it before, you watch him take a step back like he’s afraid of you.

“Seb…” You say weakly, your arms dropping as you’re not sure what’s happening.

“Stop calling me that.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen you before in my life and I certainly don’t have a date with you.” 

I can’t help but feel hurt by his borderline cold tone, feeling tears starting to burn behind your eyes. “I-”

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble,” He cuts you off. “but please stop this distasteful joke or whatever this is before I call the police.”

Just as you’re about to cry out of both hurt and embarrassment all the same, Sebastian turns around to see a man standing behind him with a sheepish look as he avoids your eyes. Bucky.

“Uh, I’m sorry man, that’s my girlfriend. She was waiting for me.” Bucky apologizes to a gaping Sebastan, the actor can’t help but be amazed as he looks up and down at a man that looks so much like him, down to his own haircut. It’s like looking in an all-black dressed mirror.

Bucky keeps his eyes on his more famous version, but it’s not because he’s impressed by the similarities. He’s determined to keep his eyes away from you, his stomach churning so much he’s convinced he might throw up any second.

He saw everything, rounding the corner just as you approached Sebastian Stan. He remained well-hidden, his feet feeling stuck to the concrete as he witnessed the encounter in borderline horror and seriously debated just turning around and running away, but when he saw you were about to cry his protective side got the better of him and he felt the need to step in and save you.

He still can’t look at you though, fearing he might have just lost you for good.

“Wow…” Sebastian pulls Bucky out of his thoughts. “This is… Bizarre.” “It is.” Bucky forces a chuckle. “You can see how she’d be confused. Have a good night.”

Bucky’s quick to dismiss Sebastian as he feels like the more he stands there the more time you have to stew in your confusion and probable anger, and Sebastian doesn’t seem to think much of a man that looks like him with the same name too. Weirder things have happened in New York.

“Yeah, sorry I yelled.” Sebastian apologizes as he opens the door to the restaurant. “Have a good date, guys.”

Once Sebastian is gone, Bucky gathers all his courage just to look at you, the shock on your face clear before you snap yourself out of it and your expression goes blank.

“Who are you?” Is all you say and Bucky almost winces at your low, cold tone.

“I–” He gapes at you, not sure where to even start as the two of you just stand on the sidewalk. He sighs and runs a gloved hand down his face. “Look, I-I know you’re angry, just… Please come inside? Give me a chance to explain?”

You scoff but he starts pleading before you even get a chance to go off on me. “Please, I just want you to hear me out. Just give me a chance to tell you the full truth. You don’t have to say anything and you can leave after, just let me get the words out. Please.”

You hesitate, wanting nothing more than to turn around and run away from what you know is a potentially dangerous situation, but you know deep down that you can never say no to Sebastian, or whoever this is that you’ve spent the last six months falling for.

As you sit down in the furthest, most secluded corner of the restaurant you cross your arms and Bucky, as he told you his name is, tells you everything. And I mean everything.

He decides to tell you his entire history from the start just to paint a full picture, displaying an honesty that he’s never had with anyone, not even his therapist or Steve. But after the way he deceived you for six months and how horrible you must’ve felt during the encounter with the real Sebastian, the least he can give you right now is full honesty.

“... And I know there’s no excuse for what I’ve done, but I was just so terrified, doll.” He sighs, his eyes lowered in shame. “Terrified you’d run, terrified you’d think I’m a monster… I know I went about it in the worst ways, but I started falling for you the moment I saw you and I was so scared of losing you that I tried to do everything I could to keep you around.” You remain stoic the entire time, listening to everything that happened to him hurts deep in your soul but you can’t bring yourself to be sympathetic right now.

The last six months, everything you went through, it was all a lie. You thought you knew who you were falling for, but you were sorely mistaken. Even the cute nickname he calls you that you teased him so much for but secretly loved how adorably old fashioned it is, now feels hollow and just wrong.

When he finishes talking, you let a moment of silence pass between the two of you before you grab your purse, jacket and leave the restaurant without a single word.

Bucky doesn’t even attempt to stop you, after all you held the end of your agreement and listened to everything he had to say. Now all he can do is watch you walk away, knowing he’s lost you for good, the one good thing he ever had, just because he’s an idiot that made all the wrong choices.

A month.

That’s how long you mull things over before you’re ready to talk to Sebas–Bucky again. You went to the Compound with surprising ease but you were met in the lobby by Captain America instead of Bucky, who informed you his best friend had spent the last month wallowing in his apartment in Brooklyn, which you wish you’d known before you drove to the once again surprisingly easy to locate home of superheroes in Upstate New York.

So here you are, knocking at the apartment Steve told you Bucky sometimes resides in when he needs to get away from superheroing.

You almost gasp when he opens the door, your eyes widening at his disheveled state. You thought Steve was exaggerating when he underlined the severity of Bucky’s current mental state, but he was absolutely not.

He has dark circles under his eyes, his beard is unkept, his hair sticking out in odd places and it looks dirty. He’s obviously spent the last month in bed, not bothering to shower or even eat by the looks of it, his eyes red and puffy giving away that he’s done nothing but cry.

“Oh my god, Bucky…” You frown, the entire speech you made in your head on the way flying out of your mind as your concern overrides your anger or logic.

“Doll…” Bucky says quietly, his voice raspy and hesitant as if he’s not even entirely sure you’re actually standing there in front of him.

You stand there for a moment before you sigh. As much as you want to discuss things rationally and maybe even yell at him, I know I can’t when he’s in this state. For better or worse, you did fall for him and you can’t bear to see him like this, so you take it upon yourself to take care of him.

You make your way into his apartment and his eyes follow your movements as you silently take his hand and close the door behind you. Without saying a word, you help him shower, change into clean clothes, order food because he doesn’t have much to cook with and help him organize his apartment as you wait for it to arrive, although he doesn’t actually have many possessions to make an actual mess so it’s mostly just sweeping, dusting and gathering his dirty clothes in the hamper.

You can feel his eyes on you the entire time, he doesn’t look away for more than five seconds at a time, and you can tell he wants to say something but you’re not sure if he even knows what.

The only moment he looks away is when you help him take his shirt off, not wanting to see the horror and disgust he’s certain will be in your face, but to your credit you don’t comment or even react to his metal arm at all or any of the scars on his body, not even the massive one on his shoulder, but what you felt was something more akin to pity.

After you’ve eaten, you take a deep breath and finally turn to him.

“Listen… I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and… What you did was… Beyond wrong.” You say bluntly. “But I also can’t deny that, despite all the lies, I didn’t fall for you because I thought you were Sebastian Stan. I fell for you for all the talks we had, the way you look at me like I’m everything to you, the way you’re so sweet and flirty and cute… And that’s still you.”

For the first time in a month, maybe in seven months, Bucky feels like he can actually breathe. Your words are like a balm to his soul, hearing you say that not only you indeed fell in love with him but you fell because of him, because of the glimpses of who he actually is and not who he was pretending to be, that’s all he needs to hope again, hope that you’re coming around.

“I… I really am so sorry for lying to you.” Bucky says quietly, his eyes wide and hopeful. “And… I know I have no right to ask this, but I need to know… Is there any chance you’d consider giving me a second chance?”

“It’ll take some time for me to forgive you.” You say after a pause. “And even longer because I trust you again… But I think I want to give you a second chance.” Bucky can’t help but beam at that, but you’re quick to give him a pointed look.

“Solely on the condition that from here on out you be honest with me. No more lies, no more secrets. Just complete honesty.” You say firmly and, to your surprise, Bucky agrees with no objections. “I promise, I will never lie or keep anything from you ever again.” He says honestly as he takes your hands in his, touching you with his Vibranium hand for the first time without gloves. “Complete honesty… I’ll always tell you everything. I never want to risk losing you ever again.”

You can’t help but melt at that and sit a little closer to him, leaning in and pecking his lips. “For the record… I don’t think you’re a monster or anything. I think you were a victim of very bad things and you’re incredibly strong for having survived that.”

Your soft words make Bucky’s eyes teary again, although this time it’s for a different reason. He can’t hold back anymore and hugs you tightly, relief flooding through him as you don’t push him away but instead hug him back.

There’s still a long way to go before your relationship is fixed, but, right now in his arms, you can feel it– Forgiving him is the right thing to do.

And what are the chances that, if you work out, you invite Sebastian Stan to the wedding, explaining he’s the reason it all happened and thanking him. And he shows up too.

[spocks-husband]

Okay, wait, hang on-- we can all agree that Bruce is Autistic, that's common knowledge, no suprise there just look at the man-- but the real question is this; when he was a kid, which of the typical ND Little Kid Hyperfixations™ did he have? Because there are so many fun things we can do with any of them.

Bruce as a marine biology kid. He collected shark teeth, made his parents/Alfred take him to the aquarium all the time, can draw any species of shark from memory, etc. He never talks about this with anyone until one day, after a JLA meeting, he asks Arthur some super obscure question about a species of deep sea jellyfish that was just discovered by the surface world, and Arthur just... Stares at him. Because, sure, Batman knows a lot of random information-- but he's, like... Subtly vibrating with excitement as they talk about it. He's bouncing just a little on his toes. Is he okay.

Bruce as a Greek Mythology kid. He read Percy Jackson OBSESSIVELY and also probably listens to Epic: The Musical in the Batmobile as a fully grown man. The first time he finds out that Circe is real he loses his god damn mind. He starts pestering Diana for "strategic information" about various things from Olympus, but it's so obvious he actually just wants to infodump with her.

Bruce as a Dinosaur kid. He forced his old money parents to buy him khaki explorer clothes so he could dress like a paleontologist all the time (Thomas hated that phase) and owned nearly every Dinosaur Encyclopedia that had ever been written-- he carried his favorite one with him everywhere, full of sticky notes and annotations. Alfred would bury chicken bones in the yard for him to dig up and 'discover' (it made his job harder, but the look on baby Bruce's face made it worth it <3). And then, of course, as an adult, he keeps his robot dinosaur in the Batcave and pretends it's there for as a trophy or whatever-- No it’s not. You just never got over it.

Bruce as a geology kid. I was a crystal-obsessed kid myself, so I'm biased, but still. His parents bought him actual museum-grade crystals and meteorite fragments-- and he loved them, but he had no problem analyzing the rocks on the playground either. He probably had a phase where he was obsessed with earthquakes and tectonic plate science. He absolutely had a tiny rock hammer and a jeweler’s loupe he wore around his neck at all times. It's a whole thing. Oh, and of course as an adult it's still there, just a little bit; He personally designs earthquake-resistant housing for low-income neighborhoods under WayneTech even though he has entire teams of architects to do it for him. When he first finds out about Terra he gets super excited-- and then of course she turns out to be the double agent in The Titans and he's genuinely so sad about it. He gives his kids presents with their birthstones all the time.

I just. I think about little boy Bruce a lot. He's important to me.

[maddie0101]

game on

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

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

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

word count: 7.2k

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

You met Octavia in lockup.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you met Bellamy.

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

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

You didn’t mean to stare.

But he did too. Just for a second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And slowly, carefully, he started letting you in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But everything shifted the night you went missing.

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

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

They’d taken you to Mount Weather.

──────────────────────

Bellamy didn’t take the news well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were his.

──────────────────────

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

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

But still, nothing.

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

Then he saw you.

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

His heart stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m almost done—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

Except now… now Bellamy was flirting back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

It started out like any other sparring session.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he thought you were beautiful. Dangerously beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

He gritted out, “Get off me.”

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

“I already fucking lost.”

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

He raised a brow. “Dramatic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed again. “You didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why didn’t you stop me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

“My name. Say it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guilty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bell?” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

author’s note:

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

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

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[golden-loona]

"i'm too old for this shit stuff" | j.j.k

one thing jeon jungkook has always been is competitive. when you were friends, when you started dating, then into your marriage, even into fatherhood. always competitive. now as a father, he gains entertainment out of being competitive. challenging your five year old to different things, always claiming that making her lose “builds character.” 

today, however. he’s asking to lose. “babe the new season of jujutsu kaisen just dropped,” jungkook says with an excited smile, you nod and sip your coffee. “gonna watch it when we go to bed?” you ask softly, placing your mug on the table. “i’m gonna stay up and watch it all” jungkook responds with a proud smile, you snort and laugh. his face is serious, making this all the more amusing. 

“what’s so funny?” he questions curiously, you laugh lightly. “baby, you can’t do all nighters” you say honestly, “not like you used to anyway” you can see the cogs turn in jungkooks brain as you respond to him, the ones that tell him to challenge you. “wanna bet?” he says exactly what you expect, making you smile. “it’s a bet” worst mistake jungkook could make. 

that evening, he had hoped. prayed, that you had forgotten about it. but no, he married a woman with the best memory ever apparently. “so are you excited to binge watch j.j.k tonight, babe?” you ask with an amused smile, brushing your daughter’s hair ready for bed. jungkook internally groans, cursing himself for even challenging you in the first place. “very,” jungkook replies, a playful glare sent your way making you giggle softly.

“can i stay up?” jungkook’s mini-me asks with a little pout, you shake your head. “no, baby” you finish brushing her hair and kiss her head, “time for bed.” she huffs slightly and moves to sit next to jungkook on the couch. “but daddy gets to,” your daughter argues, jungkook chuckles tiredly. “that’s because daddy shouldn’t take bets with your mom,” jungkook tells her, running his fingers through her hair gently.

after finishing tucking the youngest member of the house into bed, you find jungkook sneaking into the guest room. you quickly and gently grab his wrist, “where are you going?” you ask sternly with a slight smile, he sighs defeatedly. “i wanna go to bed, babe,” jungkook whines making you laugh lightly. “a bet’s a bet,” you shrug, he groans and begins to pad back down the stairs. “and don’t even think about sleeping on that couch” you say as he gets to the bottom, “i’ll come check if you try to trick me, jeon” you add, hand on your hip. jungkook smirks and does a mock salute, “okay, jeon.”

so here he is, the tv glow is the only light in the room. a beer resting between his legs as he sits on the couch, watching the new season of j.j.k as he wanted. asking himself why he ever thought it was a good idea to challenge you, he knows he shouldn’t. you always prove him wrong. jungkook can feel himself dozing slightly and keeps slapping himself gently to stay awake, does it work? absolutely not.

its 3:47am when you trudge down the stairs to check on your dear husband. beer bottles, empty coffee mugs and snack packets litter the couch and coffee table, your jaw drops. “i sure hope you’re gonna clean this up,” you say with slight firmness in your voice, jungkook jumps and sits up. “jesus, you scared me” he says, startled. a hand on his chest. “having fun?” you ask, joining your tired husband on the couch, he pouts. “no, i’m not” he whines softly, immediately laying against you. gently running your fingers through his silky hair, you see him being lulled to sleep already. “the joys of adulthood, hm?” you say softly, he hums in response. “i guess i learned one thing from this,” jungkook murmurs, “what, baby?” you respond. “i’m too old for this shit.”

“language, jungkook” you scold him quietly, jungkook chuckles sleepily to himself and smiles. “fine, i’m too old for this stuff,” he corrects himself.

a/n: fyi i know nothing of recent animes and j.j.k was the first one that came to mind so that'll do i guess hahahaha and yes this is inspired from that one himym episode

golden-loona 2025

[ahappydnp]

i went thru the lost vids list u linked in a previous anon ask and one was a lost vid by emma blackery called “the perfect boyfriend” that she said was about dan. i was watching all of them back then but i have no idea what thats about. did emma like dan? is there something she’s talked about referencing that?

oh christ. yeah uhhh yeah that was a whole thing (also general disclaimer that this was well over a decade ago blah blah don't send her hate now she's talked about regretting it publicly)

basically in 2012-2013ish emma was actively trying to get dan's attention/ tweeting and emailing him asking for a collab while also trying to make her youtube persona essentially "girl dan" (x) she'd answer questions like "do you like llamas" "do you have any youtube crushes" etc etc. she also did some sketches that were beat for beat very dinof (x) and would make videos about the same subjects shortly after dan did. in the now deleted "perfect boyfriend" video she basically just described dan word for word and people caught on adsafdsagkj

anywayyy after all that didn't work she got angry and started hating on them/making fun of them/befriended charlie and talking about private things in public for attention (x) and telling everyone that dan and phil "just didn't like her" (an important note is that she was just. like that. with everyone afdssfskj she was notorious for getting into fights and being petty so it wasn't a specific dnp thing). here's the whole idb thread about her that has some of the screenshots from her tweets and some clips (x)

while all this is happening she and dan have to work together twice in 2013 (interviewing placebo and also geek week) where she apologizes to dan in person...and then cornered him and begged him to follow her on twitter (dan unfollowed her two months later and DMed her to say it wasn't personal, he just didn't like seeing drama on his feed).

in a 2015 article (x) she talked about how dan was one of the first youtubers she ever watched and how she was obsessed with him, then lashed out at him when he ignored her

[rollinouttahere-writes-misc]

Hi hope you’re doing ok ! Would it be ok if I request yandere Itadori with his best friend reader who nearly gets killed by a cursed spirit please 🙏

(If possible can the reader be female if not gn is fine with me ^^) (romantic if possible if not platonic is fine as well XD )

Lassitude

Yandere Itadori Yuji x Reader

2.9 k words

Summary: You just got to meet up with a friend you hadn't seen in a while, and now you're headed home after a fun day out. But you can't shake the feeling of being watched. It's nothing... right?

Warnings: female presenting reader, universe typical violence, injury to reader, death, yandere if you squint

“Thanks again for meeting up with me today, I know it was really short notice.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m just happy to see you again. When you transferred out of school so suddenly, I got really worried about you. I’m just glad that you’re okay.” You look over at Yuji and smile half-heartedly, “Sasaki and Iguchi have been asking about you a lot. You should probably reach out to them, too. I feel a little bad hogging you all to myself like this.”

A glimmer of hope sparks in your heart. Maybe there’s a reason he reached out to only you?

“Oh, are they? I didn’t think we were close enough for them to be worried about me.” Yuji scratches the back of his head, looking a little flustered. “But thanks for letting me know. You’re such a good friend.”

Ah. There it is. “Friend”. 

It’s not that you’re ungrateful for your friendship with Yuji, but… you would be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t want it to be something more.

Yuji is the kindest person you’ve ever met, and he held the first place title by a significant margin. Anyone would be lucky to call him a friend, and you were, but you couldn’t help how your heart felt. How it skipped a beat when he would lend you his hand to help you up. How it fluttered when he remembered your favorite snacks and drinks and would make sure to get one for you. How it felt like it was going to explode when he shot you a text asking if you could meet up today.

And today had been fun. You met with him at a local arcade that you two used to go to all the time. Despite all of the months apart, you fell into the same synergy and easy conversation that had always come naturally. It was as if you��d just seen him yesterday. He even won you a little Cinnamoroll plush from one of the claw machines.

“Is everything okay? You got quiet all of a sudden.” Yuji is just ahead of you, walking backwards with a concerned look on his face.

A well practiced fake smile is plastered onto your face following his question. “Everything’s fine.” Your fingers mess with the ears of your plush, “I was just thinking about how I wish we could do this more often, like we used to.”

The guilt that flashes across his face makes you immediately regret your words. Guilt tripping Yuji into hanging out with you more is the last thing you would want to do to him, so you quickly try to backpedal, “Not that I’m blaming you or anything! I get that you’re busy.”

“It’s okay,” the smile he flashes you makes your heart feel fuzzy, “I get it. I wish we could see each other more often, too. I’ll try to make more room for you from now on. I promise.”

“Really?” You can no longer contain your excitement. Without even thinking about it, you leap forward and all but tackle him in a hug, “Thank you! That’s the best news I’ve gotten all week!” More like all year, but you’re trying to at least pretend to be normal about this.

It dawns on you that this isn’t very laid back and casual of you. You release him and step back, clearing your throat and trying to act nonchalant, “I mean, only if you’re sure you have the time. I don’t want you going out of your way just for me.” You do. You absolutely do.

Yuji flashes his signature smile, “I want to go out of my way for you. You’re important to me, (Y/N).” 

Critical hit. Your face feels hot and you avert your eyes. How can he say something like that so casually? This would basically be a confession from someone else, but sweet sentiments like this are a staple of Itadori’s lingo. It almost makes you want to scream. How can he be so amazing and dense at the same time?!

“Thank you… I really appreciate that.” Oh god, you feel like your heart is going to burst again. “A-Anyway, it’s getting late. I should head home before my parents start to worry.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

Yes. Absolutely. More than anything. “No, that’s okay. I know you still have to get back to your new school.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.” The smile on his face was adorable, and it almost made you crack. But no, you need some time alone to calm yourself down.

“I’m sure. My home isn’t far from here anyway.” You decide to indulge yourself and give him another hug before turning to go your separate way. “I’ll see you later. Bye, Yuji!”

Yuji holds his hand out toward you, and for a second you think he’s going to say something. But instead, he retracts his hand and rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah, see you later. Stay safe, (Y/N).”

A combination of disappointment and warmth fills your chest. His well wishes for you are nice, but you can’t help but be bummed that he didn’t say whatever was on his mind. It’s fine. You’re used to not getting exactly what you want from him. At least he’s still your friend despite the distance.

Walking home doesn’t take long, you weren’t lying when you said your home was nearby. But as you walk, you can’t shake off the feeling of being watched. You keep looking over your shoulder, hoping to see Yuji, but he isn’t there. No one is. It makes a chill run down your spine, prompting you to walk faster and hold your plush tighter. It’s nothing. You know it’s nothing, but that doesn’t make you any less creeped out.

Just as you make it home, your phone rings. Feeling like you’re safe now that you’re on the front steps, you slide your phone out of your pocket and check the caller ID. It’s Yuji!

Without waiting another second, you answer the call, “Yes?” Did that sound too eager? Probably. Too late to do anything about it now.

“Good, you answered.” Yuji sighs in relief and lets out an embarrassed chuckle, “Uh, I don’t suppose my wallet is still in your purse is it?”

Oh, that’s right! You offered to hold onto it for him after it flew out of his pocket while you two were playing DDR. As expected of him, Yuji got way too into it and his wallet got sent sailing through the air as a result of how hard he was dancing. “Hang on, let me check.” You hold your phone to your ear with your shoulder as you sift through your purse, “Yep! It’s right here.”

“Great, I’m glad I at least know where it is now. My bus pass is in there, so I’ll have to come get it from you. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Wait, I would feel bad making you walk all the way here and back. I’m home now, I’ll ask my dad if he can drive me there so you don’t miss the next bus.” Yuji starts to protest, but you silence him, “At least let me ask first. I’m sure my dad will be more than happy to help.”

You push open the door and get ready to call out to your father, but the words are knocked out of you. Something huge slams into your back, launching you through the air. You yelp from the surprise and pain of it all, then crash down onto the coffee table. It snaps under your weight, and you are left coughing and gasping for air after… an attack? What the hell was that?

“(Y/N)? What was that? Are you okay?” Yuji’s voice comes through your phone, and for a moment all you can think is that you’re amazed that you were able to hold onto it through that.

Before you can muster the strength to speak, you scream instead as something sharp sinks into your leg. You shriek and look down, finding blood pouring out of several holes in your leg and staining your sock, but- but nothing is there! You can feel something, but you don’t see anything!

More calls of your name ring through the home, this time from your parents. You don’t answer, you can’t. Whatever pierced your leg starts to move, and it’s strong! You continue to scream as you’re shaken violently, getting slammed into furniture and the floor by whatever has a hold of you. Your grip on your phone relinquishes, sending it flying away and into a wall as you’re flailed about.

“What’s going on?! What’s hurting her?! I don’t see anything!” Your mother sounds as confused as she does terrified. Her eyes dart all over the room, but she can’t see anything either. 

“Mom! Dad! Help me!” You wail and kick blindly with your free leg, and then you feel it. Your foot connects with something. Something is here, but why can’t you see it?!

Your father picks up the broken top of the coffee table, then slams it down over where your leg is bleeding from. Instead of hitting you, it stops about a foot above and breaks. Whatever was holding you lets go and appears to back up into the wall, making the framed photos fall off of it. A scratching noise cuts through the air, and when you follow them to the source, you see four sets of claw marks on the floor.

It’s when you look up that you start to get an idea of what attacked you. The thing is still invisible, but your blood is now staining its teeth. Several rows of long, razor sharp teeth glisten red, finally revealing something about what is in here with you.

“What the hell is that?” Your father looks dumbfounded, but he’s still clearly on high alert. He watches the dripping maw closely as it begins to move, circling to the right, blocking the pathway to the front door. “Get to our room and call for help! Now! I’ll hold this- this thing off!”

Mom didn’t need to be told twice. She had already been crouched down next to you when he gave the order. With a strength you didn’t think she possessed, your mom heaves you up onto her shoulder and runs.

The sound of scraped wood echoes through the house as the beast lunges at your father. He slams what remains of the piece of wood he was holding into what you assume is the face, but that’s the last thing you see before your vision is obscured by the walls encasing the staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms. You want to cry out for your dad to come with you, but your voice fails you.

As soon as she makes it into the room, your mother locks the door and wedges a chair under the handle. You’re dropped onto the bed as she fumbles to get her phone out of her pocket and dial the right number, all the while looking over your wound.

It’s truly a sickening sight. The meat of your calf has been shredded from the monster that bit you. Is… Is that bone? You feel like you’re going to throw up or faint. Maybe both.

“We need help!” Your mother’s voice draws your attention away from the horrendous state of your leg. “Something broke into our home and attacked our daughter! I- I don’t know what! I couldn’t see it, but it bit my daughter and was throwing her around! She needs an ambulance, now! Hurry!”

Loud crashing and yelling is coming from outside of the room. It escalates to screaming, then cuts off abruptly into complete silence. No. No, no, no! This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening!

Your mother cries out her husband’s name, but there is no reply. “Oh god! Please hurry! I think it just killed my husband!”

Something heavy hits the door. Then again, each time harder than the last. The wood is starting to break, and the wall is cracking. It’s breaking down the door, and it feels almost certain that it’ll get through before help can arrive.

This is a fact that your mom seemingly also picked up on. She scoops you back into her arms and runs to the closet, sliding open the door and practically throwing you inside. She tightly clutches one of your hands in hers and holds your tear soaked face with the other, “Y-You need to stay quiet, okay? Don’t make a sound. I love you so much.”

She retreats and slides the door shut again before you can put together anything resembling a coherent thought, much less a sentence. No… Why is she doing this? She should be hiding too! Come back! Please come back!

The door to the bedroom gives in to the tremendous force of the monster outside of it and shatters. You can hear your mother let out a startled shriek, then a sob.

“P-Please… I don’t care what happens to me, just leave my baby alone! Don’t hurt her anymore, I’m begging you!”

There’s just enough of a gap in the closet door to let you peer through it. Part of you knows this is a bad decision. But you can’t bring yourself to look away. Remnants of the door crack and break under the weight of the blight attacking your family as it enters the room and encroaches on its prey. Your mother stumbles back and her phone is thrown at it in a last desperate attempt to ward it off.

When it finally steps into view, it’s covered in blood, and you instinctively know that it’s your father’s. The monster is almost as tall as your mother and quadrupedal. The mouth is disproportionately large, being almost as big as the misshapen head it’s a part of.

It corners your terrified mother, then attacks. She screams and tries to fend it off, but it bites into her arm and rips it from her body. Her wails of agony and fear make you begin to sob harder despite her pleas for you to keep quiet. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. That thing is going to kill her and then you, just like it did your father.

You tear your eyes away from the carnage just as your mother’s head starts to disappear into the razor sharp abyss. You can’t do it. You can’t watch. You know it’s over when her screams are cut short.

All you can do is sob as the beast approaches the closet. You don’t even attempt to move or defend yourself as the door is ripped out of its track, fully exposing you. There’s even more blood on it now. Worse yet, clumps of mom’s hair are wedged in between its teeth.

This is it. This is how you die. Massacred along with the rest of your family. At least you three won’t be separated for long. You stare in horror as it steps closer. You blink. Someone is over it. Then the monster is sent through the floor with the person you saw falling right with it.

What? Was that… pink hair? I- It can’t be…

A loud struggle is happening on the floor beneath you, but your brain is struggling to process it. It’s struggling to process any of this. You should be dead. Why aren’t you dead? You’re so numb to your surroundings that you don’t even notice when the fight stops. The only thing that tears you from your stupor is your name being called out.

After a few slow blinks, you focus your attention on the person in front of you. Yuji. It is Yuji. This doesn’t make any sense.

The complete lack of a response from you frightens him, and he shakes you, “Talk to me, (Y/N)! Please let me know that you’re okay!”

No. You’re not okay. Nothing is okay.

“Mom… Dad…” Your voice is hoarse and cracks with each word.

His expression becomes even more devastated. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry that I didn’t get here in time to save them.” He moves, then hugs you close to his chest, “But I saved you. I made it just in time to save you.”

Distantly, your mind registers the fact that he is continuing to speak, but you don’t really hear any of it. It’s all a white noise to you. Why is this happening? Why are you still alive when your parents are dead? Viciously murdered by a thing that none of you could even truly see. Was this your fault? Did you unknowingly bring that thing home with you?

Itadori picks you up, but you just hang in his arms limply. The sound of sirens echoes in the distance. They’re far too late to be of any use now.

“I’m going to get you some help, but we can’t stay here. Just hang tight. You’re safe now.”

Safe? An invisible monster just murdered your whole family. You’re never going to feel safe again. But you don’t say any of this. You don’t have the strength, the will. You have nothing left, not anymore. What your friend does now is of no consequence to you. Nothing is.

You may have a pulse, but your life ended when your parents’ did.

[crushmeeren]

HI CRUSH !!!! congrats on 5k followers omg??

for the event, may i pretty please request a short drabble/oneshot for katsuki centered around the song teenage dream by katy perry!! (esp the first verse hehe its very bakudoll coded > <)

honestly i just chose this song cuz its very cutesy and fun but id like if the piece had some sort of connection to the line "i know you get me, so i let my walls come down, down" for bakugou !! other than that, very light and fluffy and silly :3

very veyryervrv excited to see what u make!!! plz have fun with this hehe MWAH ! congrats again my love !! <3

thank you so much dolly!!!!! that song flashes me back to middle school lmao when i was having my first crushes, it makes me nostalgic c:

i will keep it connected to that line for sure!! <3 i hope you enjoy!

p.s. those pics are killing me lmao

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ i know you get me, so i let my walls come down

| teenage dream ; katy perry |

Carnivals are on the bottom of the list labeled “things Katsuki actually fucking enjoys”.

He’s hell bent that they’re a waste of his hard earned free time. All he does is work. Which, he thinks with no small amount of irritation, consists of fighting in the heat, sweating, dealing with civilians that are a pain in his ass, and answering stupid questions.

Katsuki does the same shit at a carnival.

Every time he’s been dragged along to one by Kirishima he’s left feeling worse than when he arrived. Not to mention the food is complete and utter unhealthy trash.

So, one late Friday evening, Katsuki finds himself shocked to the core when he’s at a carnival with you and he’s…. enjoying himself. It makes him shiver.

You’re standing at the edge of the pier, taking an overdue break from the rides, and animatedly explaining to Katsuki about how your coworker had done something funny during the day.

“Anyhow,” you say, tossing a piece of pink cotton candy into your mouth. “I really can’t believe they didn’t get hurt,” you giggle, offering the sweet treat to Katsuki.

He doesn’t respond at first, heart pounding as he stares at you. Katsuki can taste the salty spray of the ocean from here, seagulls singing in the background. You told him it helps cool you off from the summer heat, that you’re glad the sun is setting for the evening.

Lucky for Katsuki the the orange sunset makes you glow. You’re an angel in his eyes. And, suddenly, he can’t stand the idea that this night will end.

Katsuki loved strolling the carnival, fingers threaded through yours. He loved riding the ferris wheel, throwing an arm around your shoulders and laughing when you squeal about how high up you are. He loved playing shitty games that cost too much money if it means winning you the stuffed animal you begged him for.

And sure, he’s sweaty as fuck, the people are annoying, but it doesn’t get under his skin so bad.

Katsuki snatches a piece of your cotton candy and pops it in his mouth, letting the pure sugar slowly melt on his tongue, pondering.

“What’s up with you Kat?” You tease, elbowing him. “You’re so quiet tonight.”

He smiles. A real smile, one full of warmth and love. “Nothing… I’m having fun.” He shrugs.

“Really?” You ask, excitement creeping into your voice. “You hate these kinds of things!”

“Fuck yeah I do,” he agrees. “But not with you, doll.” He lifts a hand to cradle the side of your face, thumb swiping over your cheek bone. “Nobody else makes me feel so alive.”

You press into his touch, flushing to the tips of your ears. “I feel the same way,” you assure with a smile.

Katsuki can’t ever let you go, won’t ever let this go. He dips down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, dropping his hand. “Want to see if I can make a fool of those fuckers at the ring toss stand again?”

You agree with ease, snatching his hand, yanking and telling him to hurry up before the line gets too long.

Katsuki wins you three stuffed bunnies.

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ 5k event

ah, doll, bestie, i hope i was able to convey what you wanted without explicitly stating it. <3

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

He lied about being a superhero. You lied about not having freaky ass mind powers. You broke up- bitterly. End of story. No shot Invincible and some superpowered grunt for Machine Head would ever work out in any reality. Except. When he comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. 

[Invincible Varients x Reader] [Ao3]

[6.7K, part one of ?]         Took a lot of liberties with this. Wanted the variants to be more distinct. Please excuse formatting issues, tumblr is actually ass. Buckle up, I write like a bad girl with a hope for better days.         TW: Lots of death, bad things, worse people. 

       1 * Buck Fifty

Where I think that we’re all gonna die, Just to get fucked in some parallel life, While a strange martian fungus sprouts, From our sexier parts. Canoeing on Mars - Go Hang Music

        Semantics are a funny thing, really.          You say, “Go jump off a bridge,” most people do just that. Jump.          Here’s the not so fun part, some people, they go, “Well, what bridge?” And it’s a back and forth, you pushing, them pulling until you find that magic sweet spot in their logic and they finally jump.          So because you were chatting with this asshole for the better part of ten minutes, people run to you asking questions. “Did you know him? Is he okay?” Clearly, he wasn’t. The guy’s brains were dashed on a rock, blood following the runoff stream, too shallow to break the fall.  Your attention slides off the body. To the couple that pulled over the second he went over the ledge. Early thirties. Medium-ugly man, pretty girl with her hand on her swollen belly. Engagement rings glinting under the spring sun.             “Get back in your car.” Power rolls off your tongue. Thick, heavy, and sour. “And drive away.”         Concern leeches out of their eyes. Glazing over the moment the words meet their ears. The woman gets in first, shutting the passenger and sliding a seatbelt over herself. The man steps around the car, into steady traffic flowing carefully away from their car. He’s nearly clipped by the side mirror of a sedan that blares it’s horn. Swerving away, scraping the opposite side of the bridge’s barrier.         He gets into the car. Unblinking as car after car rams into the sedan. A pileup in the making but he looks nowhere but straight ahead. The couple’s car, a buggy, pulls off the narrow shoulder. Catching a pickup in the side, sending it careening into the sedan’s front. You watch the sedan driver pop like a pimple and the buggy drive off.

        You look back down, to the target, the only one supposed to get hurt here. He’s dead alright. Job’s done. Collateral doesn’t matter, not here anyway. Pileups happen all the time for no good reason at all.         Still, you tug up your hood and make your way down the side catwalk of the bridge. Going the opposite direction of the pileup. Smoke thick in your nose.          Air displaces, a woosh overhead. You’re at the bridge’s end, at the corner of Park and Main when the spandex clad cavalry arrives. You know that pink glow anywhere. Atom Eve sprung into action. Resetting metal, fixing tires. You make yourself watch her, not the blue-black blur that’s scooping civilians out of cars to safety.          You catch a look at him anyway. Still at last, because the job was done that quick. Your gut tightens, brows press together, a sour lemon frown on your lips. He’s smiling at her as they talk about money. The city of New York a brand spanking new client of Invincible Co.          Payday for them. You too. So stop being such a dill, and get a move on.         You turn before Mark can see your face. He wouldn’t think of you as the culprit. A long ago thing of the past, pre-powers. Good, it’s better if you’re not on his shit list. The best if he had no idea you were still rolling with Machine Head.          He’d seen you in his superhero skin at Machine Head’s side. God, how that ended.          No longer seventeen. No longer needing desperate money for college. No longer innocent or wanted.          When they start asking questions to bystanders, you’re already halfway down Main. You walk fast, you’re late. Twenty minutes out from the tower on foot without a car when the meeting was in five fucking minutes. Wasn’t your fault the guy had to be persuaded to kill himself.         

Machine Head wouldn’t see it that way.          You caught somebody by the arm. Alone, in nice enough clothes. They turn, lip curling, about to yank their arm away. “Give me your wallet.” You say low. 

        Fear doesn't breach their eyes. They simply pluck the leather bound thing from their jeans, detach it from a chain, and hand the whole thing over. You hold a thumb out until a taxi pulls up.          You didn’t have to pay. With powers like these, you could’ve done anything. You could be living large. Countless pretty things on your arm, willing to do anything at your say so. But you’re here. In debt. A criminal. Because you don’t know where to go or what else to do or what else you’re good for. They’d find you anyway, you could tell them to go and forget you existed but somehow, through mental gymnastics, you told yourself they’d come back. Kill you for trying to leave.         You pay the taxi fair out of courtesy because you once worked a shitty customer service job. You’re a killer, not evil. Consider it a good deed for the day.         You run through the double glass doors. Careful not the leave prints on the glass. Machine Head was very particular. An evil megalomaniac, but particular.          You know you’re late by the time you push open the Italian maple doors. He’s standing, ramrod straight, back to you, machine eyes (cameras you supposed?) scanning the city. His city. For a time it wasn’t. He was usurped, locked in the same jail house as you. You thought that your difference in sex would keep him away from you. But no, you were still working for him in the slammer to keep your back shank-free. He got out, took The Order by the throat, and now you were out too and-         “Fifty-three seconds. You made me wait fifty-three seconds. Do you know how much money I could’ve been making in those fifty-three seconds, (Y/n)?” He turned to you. Suit crisp. Metal shining.         You feel drastically under dressed in your sweats and hoodie. Lightly stained from cheap takeout. But you wouldn’t change it, it was practically the uniform of the average New York streetwalker. Not noticed. Perfect for the casual assassin, burglar, and occasional drug mule.          You don’t apologize. Don’t explain. Because that��s more time wasted, more money piled onto your dept. “Granger is dead.”         “Yeah, of old age.”         You swallow back the anger. After five years of cat scratches like that, you’re more than used to keeping your feelings in check. “My next assignment, sir?” 

        His circuitry clicked. “Nothing. Maybe I’ll give you something next time if you aren’t so inconsiderate with my time.” You turn for the door. No argument there. “Oh and, (Y/n)?” You stop, hand on the polished knob. “Be here twelve tomorrow. Sharp. Or I’m adding another month.” His threat is real, but hollow. Another month under his thumb means nothing when you’re too useful to ever let go.         Shallowly, you nod and slip out the door.      ***         Another two hundred. A month after the last raise in rent. You could kill her. Tell her to jump off the complex roof while doing a hand spring.          “Miss Neighbor?” A voice behind you makes you look down, down, down.          She’s a tiny thing. A sprout though she’s supposed to be eleven. “Caligula got out again.” Her arms piston forward, presenting the fluffy thing. Eyes slited and soft belly exposed.          You sigh, taking him into your arms where he melts and purrs. “Thanks Cecelia.” You say, foot kicking open your ajar door. Caligula figured out how to turn the knob last year. Ever since you’d been vigilant about double locking the door but some days you were in a hurry and too stressed to worry. Like today. “I owe you one.” Your hand slipped into your hoodie, pulling out the last remaining dollars and coins stolen from the stranger. You spot a fifty in the wad that her eager hands wrap around. You hold on a little too long before letting go.          There’d be more pockets to pick tomorrow. You could make rent with a few extra hours. Though, man, you didn’t want to. You were tired enough as it was.         Her eyes glittered as she thumbed through the cash, the little capitalist. She slipped a single dollar and two quarters into one hand. The rest of the fat stack in the other. Ah, reward money for giving her money. Child’s logic.         She holds out the wad to you. “Thanks Neighbor lady, but I just need a buck fifty for the vending machine down the hall. Gonna get me a Reese's Pieces.”          She yelled a thanks more heartfelt than yours and toddled down the hall, knees awkwardly bowed. You watch her turn the corner. Slack jawed. For a change, somebody let you keep something. Something good happened, even after you made a stupid decision.

        You push inside the studio and push away all thoughts of killing Cecelia’s greedy bitch mother. Who would find Caligula if she had to move to her aunt’s? Plus, if you got rid of her mom another, greedier landlord would probably replace her.          There wasn’t a point.          Early dinner was phoned in because you were so frazzled after this afternoon you’d forgot to grocery shop. Pizza. You waited, splayed on the couch, Caligula purring away on your knee. A Youtube stream pulled up on your junk laptop because you didn’t bother with a TV. News was a good thing to keep an eye on when you were a criminal.          A knock at the door. You rise. The pizza boy looks about the age of minimum wage. Still, you tell him, “Give me your wallet and the pizza.” Before shutting, and locking, the door in his face, no tip. Good deed already done for the day.         Another knock should come. Him demanding payment and his wallet. Instead, footsteps recede. He’s already forgotten. He’ll remember vaguely later, making a regular delivery. Losing his wallet, maybe in his car on while packing pizzas. He’ll panic, pause his debit card that you’ll never touch out for fear of being tracked. Working for Machine Head meant cash only.         You’re back on the couch, indulging. Caligula licking grease off your fingers. You skip from one news stream to the next. Looking for yourself. You weren’t the costume and flashy mask type of supervillian. If you considered yourself super at all. No inhuman strength or speed or shape shifting. Just, talking and making people listen.         You were lucky. Only caught the once. It was the second time Mark saw you rolling with Machine Head, a month after your cataclysmic teenage breakup. A year in the slammer, slap on the wrist. Machine Head paid your way out of papers and records.          It was three months later, after a particular fuck up, Machine Head revealed to you that Mark came to the prison the day you were supposed to be released. You’d been let out a day early. At the time you thought they just wanted you out because of overcrowding. But Machine Head knew Mark would come. Would try and persuade you to his side of things. Maybe make up and be sweethearts again. By then, through prison and three months of being an official card in Machine Hand’s deck— you’d crossed lines Mark wouldn’t forgive. You couldn’t go running back, saying you saw his side now. Because you didn’t.          Imagining what Mark would say if he saw you again, if he knew you stayed with Machine Head, it was enough to make you cry right in the middle of Machine Head’s office. He didn’t even have to rub your nose in the shame when you’d do it yourself. You were so angry. At Mark for putting you in jail, playing you right into Machine Head’s hands. At Machine Head for never letting you out from under his thumb. At everything, all of the time.

        Working for Machine Head wasn’t all bad. Got his endless supply of grunts to teach you a thing or two about tact and not getting caught. Things like not abusing the pizza boy every day. You saved it for once every few months. Never the same boy twice. Any repeats would be begrudgingly paid.         Another slice finds it’s way between your fingers. You’re mid-groan as your attention catches on the latest stream. Not ten minutes ago you were bored out of your gourd. Now, “A devastating attack has left Seattle’s space needle— gone.” The camera panned up, up, not that far up because the iconic slab of concrete was fucking leveled.          Your brows raise but you make no move. Not your circus, not your monkeys.          The camera raises further. “And it seems the destruction was at the hands of—“ The stream cuts, going blue on your computer scream. You scoff, lean forward and beat the corner as flashes of blue and yellow mock you. Finally, it clears, and you see somebody. Decked in white. Hovering hundreds of feet about the needle.          The pizza turns sour in your stomach but you lean forward, elbows on knees. Unable to see a face but so familiar with the shape of that body. For every time you saw it, on the news or overhead, your stomach went sour. “What the fuck is he doing without his mask on?” You squint. Just seeing the dot of tanned skin that was his head, no details beyond.         Caligula yowled, crossing over your laptop keys to get at your fingers. The stream changes. “—le are evacuating Universal Studios Hollywood in droves. Authorities are unsure what’s caused the majority of the studio to collapse.” A crash off screen. The camera pans. Smoke rises from the skyline. Wind carrying it down to pollute the central valley. There’s that shape, that body again. Silhouette dark in the smoke, with something else, something you hadn’t seen. A new low. A fucking cape?         Caligula takes another step. The stream changes. “This just in, Big Ben is gone.” An anchor takes up the screen, pale and balding forehead shining with sweat.         “Sorry, Keith, uhm, what do you mean gone?”          “I mean it’s gone, Jared. Cut— Cut to the footage!” The stream flickers. There’s the London sky. Gray and dreary. Clouds overshadowed by pillars of smoke. Chunks of rubble litter the street. Cars with their horns still blaring, engines burning crushed beneath. People squashed like grapes. 

        There he is again. But. No. Not really. This shape in the sky, this man had the same makeup but wider, thicker. You lean closer to the screen, sure you’re seeing things and not his old super suit.          Your phone vibrates in your pocket. The news is forgotten, half eaten pizza slice thrown to the pen box where Caligula pounces to lick pooled oils off the cheese.         You don’t have to look to know it’s work. Nobody calls you for anything but work and you only work for Machine Head.         “Boss is feeling generous.” Isotope’s voice grits through the speaker. “Get back here on the double.”         Seeing what you mistook for your ex on so many streams has soured your mood. Spiked your daring. “You can’t just teleport me?”          He scoffs. “You’ve got legs don’cha? Use ‘em.” Machine Head’s voice spiked the other end of the line. Isotope sighs. “Don’t move.”         You wipe your hands off on your pants before he’s in your apartment. Appearing through a haze of radioactive green light. You don’t even get to stand before his hand is on your shoulder and you’re zapped into Machine Head’s sprawling high rise.         You stumble but straighten. Isotope leaving your side to stand at attention by Machine Head. Who was currently heaving over his desk.         Papers, pens, and pretty mugs dashed to the floor.          It’d only been a few minutes. Did Granger survive? Did somebody see you? Report you?  Is Machine Head going to have you killed, right here, right now?         Power coils in your throat. Words ready to shoot like bullets to protect yourself.          “Tell me, Dregs.” The word spits off his electric voice box like sparks. Your stomach cinches. In this room, on the street, in the normal world, you were (Y/n). On jobs with fellow grunts you didn’t trust, in Machine Head’s scant paper trail, you were Dregs. He reserved calling the insult of a ‘villain name’ for when he was particularly unhappy with you. The name wasn’t your doing. It was a nasty nickname that stuck when Machine Head, near dead, overheard Invincible, breaking up with you in the shattered remains of his office all those years ago.         “You— you’ve been— you’re—“ His lip quivered under his mask.          “I did this for us.” You’d said. “I needed money to go to college with you. It’s just a one time thing!”

“They tried to kill me. He hired you to help kill me.” His voice had changed then, matured a fraction. Gone was the boyfriend that called you dude. Here was the man, mask held in his hand, identity shocking you to your core.          “I didn’t know it was you!”         “So you were fine with killing somebody?”         “I thought it was all talk!” You’d pled with him. In the middle of this very room, now reconstructed and shiny.          “Well it wasn’t!”          “I saved you.” You’d protested. “Without even knowing it was you— I saved you!” Because you had thought it was talk. You thought it was an easy paid security guard gig and you weren’t ready to kill someone for money. How times would change.         “You— How long have you been working with these—“ He gestured to the room at large. The dead. The dying. The bloody. He wasn’t looking great himself, but you spared him most of the pain with your words. A few suggestions here and there could save lives. You could’ve been a hero. His face sucks in then the word comes flying out, “Dregs of society— these fucking—“         And it stuck.         Hearing it always made you want to hit something. Though your punches weren’t particularly affective. You could tell Machine Head to jump out his shiny bay window but you don’t because there’s always a bigger thumb.         “Why-“ You’re back to the present, “the,” staring down your shitty bosses back, “fuck,” thinking about killing him, “is,” again, “your ex boyfriend tearing apart my city!?”         “What?” Now that, was not what you were expecting.          “You heard me!” His voice synthesizer spiked, turning the words into a melody. “Use your eyes!”         You look past his heaving form. So focused on the idea of being murdered you neglected the city scape. Sky scrapers were sliced in half. Twisted metal supports reaching for the sky. Smoke billowing, fire brewing. You heard it now, the screaming from below.          A black streak cuts the horizon. Blasts straight through the empire state building. The top half of the building groans, hitting nearby buildings as it comes down, shaking the city. People fall out the windows, go splat on the ground. Others are crushed under fresh rubble.         Standing up in the air was unmistakably Mark. Wearing his Invincible skin, the new blue and black one that made you angry with how good it looked on him. But he wasn’t wearing his mask, which was unlike himself. He also had a mohawk, which was also unlike himself.

        “Jesus.” You say. Thinking of clones or illusions or shape shifters. Villain of the week type of bullshit.         “Is that you trying to fix things? Stop him!” Machine Head’s hands go to his head, gripping metal like hair. “Now!”         That’s how you ended up here. Standing on the roof of Machine Head’s high rise. Jerry-rigged megaphone in hand. No ordinary Walmart megaphone would do in a situation like this. Had to be a ‘roided up version of the original. Double speakers on the sides with complicated volume amplifiers in its guts.          You’d been here before. Ontop a building, shouting into a megaphone. There was almost nothing ridiculous you hadn’t done to get someone to hear you. To do what someone wanted you to do. Usually it was ontop of a bank, shouting at police to leave, to forget about the robbery, to forget your face.         This was new enough that your palms were slick with sweat around the plastic handle. Mark sliced through more buildings with his body. They went down like soft butter. His laugh cracking and wrong as people burst open on the streets.          The cavalry had arrived. Nobody low-levels on the city’s payroll. Mark cut through them easier than the buildings. Not Mark, you tell yourself. Mark didn’t kill. You did. Mark wasn’t bad. You were. That’s why things didn’t work out.         You breathe in. Anger surging. Whoever or whatever this loser was— was going down, hard.          “Hey!” The megaphone twisted your voice from one to multitudes. From a shout to a building shaking scream.          Not Mark paused midair. Holding a half dead hero against him. Fists beating his cheat while their guts spilled out their midriff. He was half a mile away, a spec, but you still felt his eyes on you. Hard and boiling a dot through your skull.         “You! Yeah, you!” Getting their attention was always the worst part. If he didn’t think you were talking to him, your power would fall flatter than a popped balloon. One of the many drawbacks that’d nearly gotten you killed time and time again.         The hero dropped. Still falling. You didn’t see him coming, human eyes too weak to see faster than light. He’d be on you before the hero hit the ground.         “Stop!”          The air cracks. You stumble back. Eardrums crackling. One good thing about having powers? The littlest, stupidest things are enhanced. Not your hearing, no, but your ability to not go deaf. You literally can’t. Sure, you could’ve had a naturally amplified voice, super speed, healing, but nope! You get— anti-deaf powers, if you could call it that, as a cherry on top.

        Not Mark is suspended midair, a flower preserved in resin. Fist reeled back ready to punch a hole through your head. A grin that’s more of a snarl on his lips. Black piercings shining in the light of nearby fires. Brow, bridge, cheek, lip, like lizard spikes. Mohawk flattened against his head. Blood on his teeth, on his knuckles.         Close up, he is Mark. A clone or deft shape shifter, but so close to your Mark it throws you off balance. Worse is the no mask part. Your ex-boyfriend stares at you will his full naked face. Eyes brown but darker, more sunken than you remember. With bags beneath, like being evil is so fucking exhausting.         Shape shifter for sure, and a bad one.         He blinks. Still in air. Eyes sharp on your features as you lower the megaphone. Something about those eyes scare the shit out of you. You expect glazed complacency. You except no expression at all. But he’s looking at you with so much emotion, too much to be really under your control.         There’s no time for machinations. You knew aliens or other powered individuals could give you trouble. But nobody was able to fully resist, not yet.         So you say, “Kill yourself.”          Just as he says, “It’s you.”         You’re both surprised.          You double down. Power leaden on your tongue. “Break your own neck, now.”         His arms move like an animatronic. One hand poised on his sharp jaw, the other poised on his shoulder for purchase. There’s no snap, death groan, and falling five stories. He is staring at you like you’re actually precious to him. Like he misses you. Like he didn’t dump you then throw you in jail a month later. Like he didn’t see other people, like Atom Eve and him weren’t going steady.         It pisses you off. Power roils in your throat. You growl this time, “Rip out your throat.”         His hands fall to his sides. You’d met resistance before but a rephrase, a second or third command always did it. He wasn’t dead and that was a very, very bad thing.         “You made it.” He says. Soft but voice gruff. “To New York.”

        “Die!” You command. Though your power didn’t work on vague words like die. “Die, right now!” His feet touched down on the ledge. You step back. “Stop breathing.”         At those words he sobers. A smile, sharp toothed and easy and so un-Mark-like stretches his face. “Guess we want each other dead in every reality.” The words are an inside joke that make him laugh. “I almost respect the forwardness.”         "Break your legs.” You spit, taking another step back. Megaphone falling to the floor. “Break your arms."         “I think-“ He follows you in slow, languid strides. “You shouldn’t talk to your emperor and boyfriend like that.” Your words like bullets on kevlar armor, on viltrumite skin. They make him pause momentarily, shudder, then he breaks right though your hold and keeps coming.         Boyfriend? Boyfriend!?         You couldn’t have a boyfriend working for Machine Head. You’d seen what he threatened Titan with. You couldn’t have Mark, of all fucking people, as a boyfriend because of what he did. So you couldn’t let yourself have a boyfriend because you were so scared you’d get the same fucking reaction. And if things got to be too much you’d tell them forget, find someone else.         You see red.         “Eat your heart and shit it out.”         “Jeez, did I really fuck up this bad here?” He chuckles, and it sounds like Mark. Your Mark.         “Now!” The power forces out of you in waves. His step wobbles but he just keeps coming.         “You really must want me dead! What’d I do, take over your planet? You know a man’s got needs, baby. No biggie.”         The door to the stairs bursts open. Machine Head heaves with the effort of racing up the flights. Isotope behind him, less winded.         “Dregs!” Machine Head hisses. “Fuckin’ kill him already!”         “Dregs?” Not Mark tests the name on his tongue. “Is your name here fucking Dregs? Do- oh shit-“ His eyes alight, “Now I geddit. You’ve got powers in this universe!” He says like it wasn’t obvious. “That’s like your hero name, right? Oh (Y/n), baby, that’s so stupid it’s cute.”         “Fly into the sun.” Power rips out you, sizzling through the air.          He actually hovers off the roof. You wait for him to blast off and become a solar flare.          His muscles tense and untense. “So that’s what that is. Shit, I thought it was just like, true love and stuff.” And he was going to kill you. “Man, that feels… weird. Do it again.”

        “Kill him!” Machine Head insists behind you.         “Kill yourself.” You can feel a migraine on it’s way, pounding in your temples. Powers are like a muscle. They can only do so much before giving. “Do it. Die.”         Not Mark shivers, letting out a delighted laugh. “Man, you could’ve really gotten me if I wasn’t full apeshit mode. But…” He hovers closer, leering, “You didn’t, so I guess it’s my turn now.”         “Isotope, take me to Seattle!” You speak before you think. Before his hand can clasp your throat. Isotope is next to you in a millisecond. Then you’re gone. Machine Head’s raging protests gone from your ears.         The streets of Seattle are wet with blood and rain. Isotope stands beside you, in a haze he’ll come out of any minute. Coming here of all places was a horrible idea but you hadn’t thought. The city came off your tongue, fresh on the mind.          “Help.” A voice croaks. A broken hand paws at your feet. Orange and gloved, once a defender, now an arm peaking out rubble. “Help me.”         You stare at it because what the fuck?          The air whips. You look overhead. He’s a hundred feet up, maybe more. Looking right back down at you. He’s more imposing than he was on your laptop screen. Broader of shoulder, uniform crisp white except where it wasn’t. Where glistening sinew chunks clung to his chest.         He stares you down like shit under his shoe. You wait for sudden death that never comes. Whoever this was. Mark, Not Mark, some hot guy, he wasn’t hurting you though he clearly just killed a metric fuckton of people; and you didn’t know why and honestly? It scared the shit out of you.         The hand finds your ankle. “Help. Help.”         Not Mark comes down then like an anchor. Arms crossed, legs tight. Crushing the rubble beneath his feet. Making the hand go limp, blood framing around it.         You knew at a distance and were even more sure now. It was Mark but wrong, again. Face too symmetrical, too sharp. Your Mark had little imperfections, a crooked nose from his Omni-Man induced beat down, ache scars on his hairline. This version was trophy husband material, mocking you in it’s image for what could’ve been.         He’s taller. Why is he taller? 

        Not Mark number two’s eyes are cold, rock brown slates that slide to Isotope. The shift in his muscles are subtle but you know violence is coming.         You weren’t staying to watch it happen. “Take me to Hollywood.” And it was done.         You were in a outdoor walkway by studio six. Isotope on your arm, stupor elongated.          The decision again proved to be bad, made from a sick need to check, to run. Studio six was burning and you could smell the bodies.          “Take me to the road.” You command. A flash, and you’re there. Outside the heart of Hollywood, watching Universal crash and burn. The rest of the city was no better. You knew Hollywood was worse in person but you never imagined it a gray flattened husk.          This couldn’t be real. You were dreaming, going to wake any second.         A shadow passed overhead. You look up, nothing but smoke and sun.          From behind, “Need some help, friend?”         You turn. He’s back in black (and yellow), grinning with his mask on. Cape billowing stupidly in the breeze. A scar indented to his face from chin to lip. A sliver of lip gone, exposing half a tooth before the scar meandered up, under his mask.         “Oh shit.” A laugh rips out of him. “(Y/n), you old so and so. What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”         Like the others he’s splattered with the lives of others. Reveling, practically glowing in it.          “Tell me who you are.” You say, holding tight to Isotope in case he sobers and decides to zap away. No way you were being stranded with this… thing.         His body goes ridged at the command. You think he’ll resist like the other, then it comes pouring out. “Mark Grayson.” He says. “But not the one you know.”         Your head pounds. He’s not lying, people can’t lie when you’re prying information out of them. “More than that. Details.”         “I’m here to destroy everything I see. I’ve been…”  He shakes his head, body loosening. You feel your control snap away like a cut cord. His lips seal then pull back in a wicked grin. “Oh, you’ve got different tricks here. Tell me, have I taken hold of this useless planet yet? Do you see me as someone to rise up against? Have you given up yet? Have you saved your own life by sucking my—“         "Tokyo.” 

        You’re somewhere you’ve only dreamed of going and it’s destroyed. You thought, since you hadn’t seen it on the news it’d be a safe bet. You could figure things out, come up with a game plan, but no. You couldn’t think with your head pounding and nose starting to bleed, power waning with overuse on too many overpowered targets. The muscle was straining. You weren’t used to this much. To resistance. To using         Isotope, strong in his own right, like a puppet. It was exhausting.          Isotope was wobbling on his feet. He could teleport over and over but being under your control so long as well? Wasn’t good for him.          Clearly, the apocalypse was nigh so you couldn’t give a shit about anybody but yourself.          You snapped back to reality standing over a pair of women, curled on the ground in fetal position.         “Tell me what happened.” You say.         The blonde one doesn’t unfurl but speaks, accented and injured, “He destroyed everything.”         “Who?”         Her arm unfurls, shaking finger pointing up. You look up, expecting. The sky is clear. The woman’s arm re-latches to her brain dead best friend.          “I wasn’t expecting you here.” The voice is a river smoothed stone. Dark and solid— as a rock can be.          You already know who it is before you can look. A sight you were starting to get a little more than tired of. Though you didn’t expect a red and white suit splattered with blood.  He’s thicker, like the others, hair taller and spiked with gel.          He steps forward, over the dead girl and her whimpering friend. The sounds catch his attention, the next step he takes crushes the living girls head. Brains dying his white boot pink. “It’s unfortunate you had to see this, but it’s better you did. We’re on the same page now.”         “What the fuck does that mean?” Your power comes out weak, involuntary. You hadn’t meant to strain yourself but there you go, fucking up again.         “I want you to understand that what I’m doing is necessary. I don’t understand why you fought me before. So… unneeded. You’d know you’d never beat me but you…” His brows press together through his mask. His lip twitches, “I’ve said too much.” And your hold falls away.  Out comes his hand, fabric originally white but now red. “Come with me.”          “Sydney.”

        You stood across the water from the flaming opera house. A scream of frustration comes out as a cough, blood and mucous splat onto the cracked sidewalk. Your balance tips and wavers but you cling to Isotope who is barley upright himself.          You really needed to stop going for capital cities.          This one you see. Black and blue above the hundred foot tall fire. Watching it burn quiet as the night which it now was, across the world from your starting point.          The mask completely covers his face, but knowing how today is going. It’s Mark, again.          He disappears. You open your mouth, power rising up your throat. Air breaks. You’re thrown off your feet. He’s before you. Feet off the ground, staring you down though blue lenses. Same stupid spandex this time with a thick tool belt strapped round his waist and left thigh. A harness strapped to his chest, surely hiding things that could tear though your soft human flesh. Slight armor padding hiding his muscles.         He hovers over the broken fence separating you from the water. Your panicked eyes reflected back at you through polarized blue goggles.         You scramble to Isotope, splayed on the ground, bleeding from the back of his head. “Take me home.” His eyes lolled back into his head. You shake him, looking frantically behind you, to the unmoving phantom then back to him. “Hey! Wake up!” You watch the shape of a man. Terrified he’d come closer when you weren’t looking but there he stayed. Watching. Isotope’s eyes flutter. “Dregs.” He groans. “I… I can’t…” Sweat shines on his brow.         You slap him hard across the face. Palm stinging. “I don’t give a shit! Take me home!”         His pale narrow fingers wrap around your wrist. Green light grows slowly around you both. Not instant as if it would be if he weren’t fucked up.         “Faster!”         A sound from behind. You turn, finding something whipping toward you. You flinch, expecting a punch but instead find some cuff clapping onto your ankle. Thick and dark, matte finished. You don’t think of clawing at it as you’re teleported away.         Yet you take one last look. He is still. Waiting.         Your hovel of an apartment is like a church. You throw yourself to the unvacuumed floor, reverent. Caligula doesn’t come to love on you. When you peel up from the ground, Isotope is gaining his bearings. Eyes hazy with distaste as he zaps away, without you. 

        Leaving you alone in your tilted apartment. Everything was a little off skew. When you stood you stumbled back, partly from exhaust, partly from the floor literally not being at the right angle. It was then the building decided to creek. Letting you know of it’s incoming collapse.         

Most of New York City had been ripped apart, so with your luck, why not your apartment?         You’re out the door. Racing down flight after flight, two steps at a time. Beams whine in the walls. Pipes crack, spilling water from the ceiling into the lobby.          You’re barley out when the building goes down. You run down the sidewalk, between crashed and burning cars. Hopping over bodies, bodies, bodies. When the world stops shaking, you look at the damage. Creeping closer, finally remembering your cat.  The creeping gives way to frantic running. Tripping back over the bodies, screaming, “Caligula!” At the mountain of what used to be your home.          You throw yourself to the most manageable bit of rubble. Throwing stone size pieces tossed away in hopes you’d reveal your cat. You didn’t have much besides the clothes on your back and this goddamn power of yours— but Caligula kept you going. Kept you hoping. Because if he could come up in life, going from a neglected stray to spoiled in a twenty-something year olds apartment. You could do the same thing.          “Ca-“          “Cecelia?” You look up. Climbed to the apex of the disaster was your greedy landlord. Tossing concrete more frantically than you were. You climb up, carefully avoiding exposed leaking pipes. She had the right idea. Higher up meant maybe a better chance of survival. You search together, but separate. Calling different names. Kicking down different chunks. Waiting for heroes to come but after what you saw earlier— you doubted it.         “Rrrrow?” You know that sound anywhere. Your head snaps. Watching the gray go from rock to a fuzzy back.          “Oh God, Caligula!” You skid down to him and he jumps up to you. Meowing. Dust in his fur but otherwise okay. He’d gotten out again. This time all the way to the outside. He was okay. He was okay and you were so happy you cried into him.         “Cecelia! Ce— Cecelia?” You shouldn’t have looked. Watched the landlord crack her back as she moved the largest piece of debris she had yet. Just to fall beside the severed arm of her little girl. Fingers curled around a buck fifty. 

        She threw herself on the arm. Dirty fingers clawing at the window ledge that covered the rest of her little girl’s body. Opening her nails up on broken glass. Screaming a scream so horrible you’d never forget— and you killed people for a living.         A dent split open the back of her head, a waterfall of blood you hadn’t noticed before. The dent exposed her hind brain, though she didn’t seem to care, still screaming for her dead baby girl.          You weighed the options. Leave. Help. Have a better chance of finding help for yourself. Put the bitch down like you’d dreamed. Survive. Chance being found by the monster that did this.          You chose both. Not getting any close to her but turning. Power weak, watery but you didn’t need much. Not for the average person, distracted and distressed. “Lay down. Sleep.”         She did just that. You climbed down from the rubble. Careful with Caligula in your arms. Retracing your steps away from the building. When you look back, she wasn’t breathing.         ***         “Where is she?” THUNK!          Machine Head didn’t so much as feel pain. More so, felt his circuitry being shifted inside him. Any more of this and he’d stop working. Repairs on a piece as intricate as himself didn’t come cheap.         “Probably in fucking Seattle, asshole!” He said for the fifth time. He’d explained, best a robo man could while his ass was being beat by his grunt’s now blood thirsty (or would it be oil thirsty?) ex boyfriend. “He can teleport and she took ‘im!”          “Seattle’s gone idiot!” THUNK! Another punch dented the side of his head. Devastating for Machine Head, but nothing close to the skyscraper shattering power he’d seen before. The motherfucker was beating the circuits out of him but still holding back. Something was sparking and smoking within him. His camera eyes were starting to static.          “What—“         “Boss!” Zip, zap, Cadillac.          He was out of one man’s arms, into another. But not anywhere near far enough away from the little freak.          Isotope managed to get his boss away, about thirty feet. Holding him up just barley, eyes still frosty with the mind fog that Dregs cunt had inflicted on him. He tried splitting reality again, just to fizzle out and land them right back in the same spot.         Said little freak’s gaze slid to Isotope. Voice more dangerous than before. “She was just with you.” It was more of a question, a demand. Isotope was about to pass out but that didn’t leave him stupid. “At her place.” He breathed.          The freak stepped forward. “Where?”

[heroesrest64]

Cicada Days

(There’s something about the song Cicada Days by Will Wood that reminds me of Majora’s Mask. I think it has something to do with the short amount of time cicadas are active, it kinda reminds me of how short Majora’s Mask would be from an outside perspective. Imagine some kid coming out of nowhere, solving a bunch of little quests, then going off to fight the moon before immediately bouncing like he didn’t just save the world)

The first time Link met you, he was a kid, in the most technical sense of the word. He was short, small, with an innocent face that adults were either charmed by or disregarded. In a certain sense, you were the same way. Just a kid catching cicadas in the woods.

That was what you’d claim to be doing every day of the three day cycle Link was forced to live through. Over and over he’d meet you out in the woods. He’d chase down cicadas with you, capture them in a little jar you gave him, and when you decided he’d given you the ‘best cicada in the world’ you’d send him off with his jar and a small peck on the cheek.

It was a moment of innocent fun in the midst of a dark and scary time, and Link always wondered if you’d ever crack under the pressure. If beneath that bright smile and those flushed cheeks, you had even an inkling of fear like everyone else around.

One time, he worked up the nerve to ask.

“Why would I be scared of the moon? Even if it comes crashing down, I know you’ll save us.” You shrugged. A new piece of dialogue. A little secret for Link to treasure.

You had a lot of those. Something new to say any time Link felt like asking. He felt like he got to know every part of you while you continued to know nothing about him.

“Is there anything you want to ask me?” Link finally asked one day, and you hummed, marveling at the cicada buzzing in the palm of your hands.

“Why are you here even after you got that bottle? I know it’s the only thing you need from me.”

Link didn’t know how to answer your question. If he was being honest, it’s because you were the only person who ever had anything new to say. Everyone else was set in their three day cycles, but it seemed like you had somehow broken the mold.

To a certain extent, Link knew that you were the only person keeping him sane through everything.

But it’s not like he could just tell you that. Even if there was only one day left in this cycle, it felt too cruel to dump that burden on you. So instead he said, “I just think you’re cute.”

He didn’t realize how you changed after that day. Too busy trying to save the world to notice the color painting your cheeks when he’d pass by with a new cicada, too riddled with anxiety to enjoy the precious few days he had with you.

~~

The first time you met Link, you were just a kid. Well, that’s how you looked and acted to everyone who met you.

Your parents seemed to realize after a while that you were too mature for your age, and after a while, they simply let you do whatever your heart desired.

On the day the moon started hurtling towards Clock Town, you decided you wanted to hunt for cicadas.

It was a stupid final request, but you’d already lived to your adulthood once before. This time around, you felt like you wanted- no needed- to be a kid. Just this once. One final time.

The day where you were supposed to die came. That day where the moon was so close you felt you could reach up and grab it. That day where you would finally know peace came… and never ended. Instead, the next time you opened your eyes, the moon was back high in the sky, although it looked no less menacing. You realized what was happening immediately.

It had happened many times before. Moments where time stopped working as it should, where you’d be sent hurtling back into the body of a child or when you’d find yourself stumbling into work as an adult. Whatever was causing the discrepancies had seemed to stop for a while, and you settled back into your role as a child before the moon decided to start plummeting towards Termina.

And then you met him. It wasn’t on the first repeat, nor even the second, but eventually Link came hopping into your life, with his green tunic that reminded you of the emerald greens of a forest and eyes like precious sapphires. Despite his age, he always looked like he had too much weighing him down, and you realized immediately that he was the one who was making time all weird.

At first, you’d wanted to be upset at him. You played your role as a pretentious child perfectly, giving him an impossible task to find a cicada that would meet your high standards, only to stutter in your role when he actually came through.

What’s more, he was smiling about it.

Link wasn’t some sort of malicious villain sent to make your life a time jumping hell. He was… He was just a kid, and he was trying his best to save Termina with an impossible three day deadline. Who cares if he had to twist the thread of fate a little to get a better result for this doomed world? He got you a bug and smiled about it and talked with you about it and then he came back again the next go-around to do it all over again.

So when Link asked you what you wanted to know about him, you felt you had to ask. Why did he keep hanging around? Why did he keep coming to see you even after all this time?

And when he answered that he thought you were cute, you knew that you were done for.

~~

It’s been years since Link saved Termina and returned to Hyrule. A lot was left unresolved at the end- the boy had disappeared so fast after Kafei and Anju’s wedding that you hadn’t gotten a good chance to talk to him. Regardless, you knew that he would eventually come back to you, your fates were connected by the thread of time, after all.

The cicadas were back and screeching as loud as ever when it finally happened. Three solid knocks at your front door, and you crossed to the threshold, opening the door wide to find Link on the other side. He was definitely older now. He’d grown into a fine man over the years, with markings on his face and more scars than you remembered him having. Still, he was the same Link. The same Link who would play little tunes on his ocarina while you tromped through the woods looking for bugs. The same Link who returned night after night to make sure you got back home safe.

The same Link who brought you jars filled with the most magnificent cicadas he could find.

Link wasn’t the kind of man to stick around for weeks or months or years, but those cicada days where he’d flutter around you and hum sweet tunes were more than enough for you to know that he cherished you.

[stnkiconverse]

Hello I was wondering if you could a masky/tim & eyeless jack x trad goth. That goes all out. Also love your work. I hope you have a good day. And make sure to take care of yourself.

Tim/Masky & Eyeless Jack x TradGoth!Reader (separately)

It’s gonna be Pre-Relationship to Established Relationship :3

M A S K Y / T I M

BEFORE:

- Noticed you immediately.

- How could he not? You walk in looking like you crawled out of a crypt and he’s just standing in the corner like: 🤨…the fuck? (NOT IN A BAD WAY 😭😭)

- The kind of guy who stares way too long trying to figure you out, but won’t say a word.

- Just mask-on, arms crossed, silently judging (but not actually judging).

- The more he sees you, the more he starts hovering. Not talking. Just appearing. Quiet as hell, somewhere behind you 😼

- Definitely thought you were too “extra” at first. But then you patch up a wound like it’s nothing, or throw hands with some creep over a disagreement, and he’s like… oh.

DURING:

- Doesn’t comment much on your appearance. But he notices everything :3

- If you ever feel self-conscious? He shuts it down with one quiet, blunt line: “Don’t change it.” 😼

- If you make fun of him (jokingly 🙄🙄) for being so beige and plain next to you, he just shrugs. “You shine enough for both of us.” That’s as romantic as it gets with him. (he’s so cute I’m gonna run him over)

- You get weird stares in public? He’s standing right behind you, arms crossed, full resting murder face. People stop real quick 😼😼

- You mention Victorian mourning fashion once and this man deadass shows up later with some dusty-ass antique brooch he “found.” 😭😭

- Your eyeliner gets smudged and he tries to fix it with zero skill. “You look fine.” You don’t. He tried. 🤷

- Will never match your vibe, but silently supports the hell out of it 😛🤷

E Y E L E S S J A C K

BEFORE:

- Intrigued. Deeply. Doesn’t understand why someone would choose to look like a vampire in mourning, but he respects the dedication 🤷

- You walk by and he literally pauses whatever he’s doing, he goes: “Hm.” and then back to dissecting something 😭

- The first thing he noticed about you was your confidence. The way you make something so intense look effortless 😼

- Assumes you’re into death and decay because of your style, asks if you’re interested in anatomy or pathology like it’s a normal first question 😭😭

- Whether you say yes or just go: “Nah I just like bats and corsets.” He blinks, and goes “…Fair enough.”

- Starts recommending gothic literature to you. Stuff you probably already read, but he likes the idea of sharing it anyway 🤷

- Wouldn’t admit it, but he was fully charmed when you complimented his claws.

“I like your claws, they’re naturally horrifying.”

“Thank you.”

DURING:

- Will straight-up sit in silence while you do your makeup just to observe the “ritual.” 😭😭

- If you leave black lipstick marks on his mask? He leaves them there for a while, he likes them :3

- You call him “my favorite monster” and he melts. Doesn’t show it, but internally? Screaming. 😼

- Finds you a beautiful, lacy, black parasol at a flea market and hands it to you with zero comment. Just: “This seemed… your style.”

- If anyone mocks your look, he steps forward very slowly and just stares 🧍. “Say it again.”

- Your aesthetics match weirdly well. Like you’re both a little cursed-looking in different fonts :33

- Loves reading while you lie on his lap looking like a Tim Burton sketch. You fall asleep to his voice and it’s one of the rare times he feels safe :3

- Your fashion might’ve drawn him in, but your morbid sense of humor and quiet loyalty sealed it 😼😼

HERE YOU GO BBY!!

I hope this was up to standards 😼😼

[narrators-journal]

hi!! I'm not so used to requesting so I hope I'm doing this right lol, but can I request for a modern au!senku x reader fic where the reader is very open about her crush towards senku but he acts indifferent to it (hes not), until he needs her to do a risky experiment and promises to give her a prize he knows she wants, and rewards her with a kiss that gets a little bit more intense than intended

If you do end up doing this js wanna say thank you sm in advance 😸

This took me so long to write lmao. I flip-flopped on how to go about this. Mostly the experiment Reader would help with and how far the kiss would go. I ended up not going too far, but I hope it’s still a fun read! I like how it came out at least hehe. I’ve been liking my writing recently, very happy about that. “You’re sure this is safe, right?” You asked, though you didn’t sound at all uncomfortable as you watched him stir together mystery liquids in a 500 ml beaker. After all, you didn’t hide how eager you were to just be by the leek-haired scientist, so you weren’t scared to chug whatever that concoction was for some attention. “About 40% sure, yeah.” Senku said with a casualty that almost made you giggle when contrasted against the fluffy pink headband with bear ears that he’d more than likely gotten from Yuzuriha’s makeup vanity to hold back the chunks of his hair that didn’t defy gravity. But, he held the beaker out to you at that point, and the time for giggles had passed. “And...I’ll be repaid for this, right?” You asked as you took the glass from him, those gorgeous ruby eyes as cold and uninterested as ever. Only locked onto you for the sake of watching you sip the windex colored drink with nothing but curiosity in them.

It was a very simple exchange, or, that was what Senku had assured you, at least. You drink a creation of his, report back to him every hour about any symptoms or ill feelings, and if you lasted the day, he’d reward you. Simple. A smarter person would have asked a few questions at least. A voice in your head pointed out once you’d sat down in one of the creaky woven chairs that Kaseki had taught the leek how to make. “What did it taste like?” Senku asked, his eyes still on you as you got comfortable. “Like orange-flavored cream soda.” You hummed with a smile that dripped with charm. Even as that voice continued in your head, Actually, scratch that. A smarter person probably wouldn’t have kept this crush for so long in the first place. Let alone agree to this just for some attention.

Yet, there you were. Sat off to the side of the formaldehyde-and-alcohol-scented lab. Dutiful in the way that you reported every twitch in your eyes or ache in your back every hour. And, outside of the occasional question to check your cognitive abilities, you might as well have been a catch-all side table. Though, that wasn’t a bad thing to be, because you were a side table who got to watch the way Senku seemed to glare at his work when he was focused, or the small twitches of his mouth when he made progress on one of his many varied projects. It was adorable.

Eventually, though, the scientist returned his attention to you. “You still feeling okay?” He asked, and when you nodded he got a soft smile as he stood up to come over to your wicker chair with a pen light in hand and a stethoscope. “Any heart issues? Burning? Heat in general?” He asked while he shone the light into your eyes to watch how your eyes reacted, then moved onto your heart when you shook your head with a simple ‘no.’ And, after a moment, he seemed satisfied with what he found.

With that, he straightened and let his hands rest on his hips as those gorgeous eyes studied you a moment further before he spoke again. “I suppose you’d like your payment, then?” That smile that had haunted him now clearly on his face as you raised an eyebrow and swallowed the anxiety that bubbled into your throat. “I mean...yeah? But why do I feel like I’m going to be scammed?” Yet, the scientist only rolled his eyes at that question and leaned down to rest his weight on the arms of the chair you sat in. His face close enough for you to wish the chair’s back had given out. That way, you could’ve put more distance between you and him before your cheeks began to burn. “Just close your eyes. Or else I’ll change my mind.” Well that’s ominous as fuck. You thought, but you bit the comment back and simply did as you were told before he kept true to his word.

On the bright side, at least, you weren’t left to wait more than a few heartbeats before Senku’s lips were on yours. Jarringly harsh, it was clear he hadn’t kissed people before. It was sloppy, and it took a moment for him to ease up, but once you registered what he had done, you eagerly kissed back. And, before you knew it, your arms were around his shoulders and the kiss had been deepened to a full on make-out.

Though, it only lasted a moment before Senku pulled away and straightened back up. His pale face almost as red as the eyes that refused to meet yours as he wiped his mouth and shoved out, “There. Now be gone. You’ve taken up enough of my time.” “You’re the one who asked me to be here, that’s not my fault.” You countered, but he just tugged you out of the chair and herded you out of the lab and into the early darkness of night. Your only company the flutter that lingered in your chest and the heat on your cheeks. Which, brought a smile to your face as you just about skipped home.

[nadas-dirthalen]

For the character ask game — maybe the first time Heinrix saw Heliora’s mask slip 👀👀👀

Thank you for the ask!!! 🫶

(If you want to join in on the fun, find them here!)

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

It sets her teeth on edge, when she hears an old name from his mouth.

‘Heli Stubbs,’ the Interrogator says one day on the bridge of her ship, newly departed from Rykad Minoris while its governor sorts through burgeoning rebellion. She cuts him with a look she doesn’t wholly mean, and the pride in his smile wavers. ‘I thought your… I thought you looked familiar.’

There's some footnote about her in an Inquisition file, apparently, from her days as a relative nobody two decades ago: a smuggler working under other, more important smugglers in Calixis' Cold Guild.

For the next week, she builds her own dossier of him in some sort of retaliatory ploy. His family; who he’d been; who—and what—he’d become. She passes him on the bridge and seeks to pry away strips of his armor as he’d done to her, for only that split second.

What she finds instead are a series of pleasant—not cordial, pleased—smiles. Breaths of self-deprecating laughter; crooked grins that border on amused. ‘I’m usually the one interested in the pasts of those around me, not the reverse.’

He comes from a Knight World, then a Black Ship, and van Calox isn’t a family name, but from an early teacher somewhere in the Calixis Sector: same as where she was born. He relaxes at mentions of home—not Calixis, home—and lapses into long silences at every mention of what he sees as a curse.

He might be every bit as afraid of the Inquisition’s heavy hand as she is, and that speaks to his intelligence.

His armor, though, doesn’t budge. Not yet. Not quite.

And so the game goes on. The first casualty of his powers was a grink; second, an aunt. He is covered head to toe in scars that he has painstakingly smoothed over. Not even age leaves a proper mark on him. He speaks of his once-future as a Knight Pilot with the same wistful gleam as a child recounting a bedtime story.

His eyes are two different colours, when the light hits them. He turns away each time their gazes meet too long.

That’s it, she thinks. The crack in him, surely. But he shows no soft underbelly—not on the bridge—and her jaw stays clenched.

Why? It’s not that she hasn’t carved an equal chunk out of him.

She grapples with it. Paces the bridge, forward and back, refusing his glances. Paces her quarters, over and over, while she should be sleeping.

Soon, she flexes these new powers she’s been granted and arranges a meeting in the study still cluttered with her predecessor’s things. The invitation isn’t a question, and the way he sits opposite her desk suggests he thinks it’s some kind of scolding.

His lips twitch when something eats at him. She’ll remember that, too.

She sets her elbows on the desk because she can. “Tell me what you know about Heli Stubbs.”

His brow pinches. “There are things the Inquisition—”

“Everything you can, then.”

“... Why?”

She should brandish this newfound might at him. Some kind of revenge by proxy for a lifetime spent witnessing all the Inquisiton’s brutal judgments up close, on the ground. Let him feel fear he seems far too familiar with already, for his own veiled reasons. Let him know what it means for the shadow of an inquiry to dog one’s every step, even though he’s had the paranoid look of a man under watch since the day they met.

Instead, a sigh deflates her chest. For the first time in days, her jaw loses its clench. She meets the Interrogator’s—Heinrix’s—eyes with no more intent to dissect what she finds there.

She’s tired, so tired, and she lets it show.

“Because everyone who’s ever called me by that name is dead.”

[put-me-on-a-hitlist]

hiii!! first time interacting :) here to ask questions from the hozier ask game that you reblogged!

💋 LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO — how did you meet your s/o? did you know each other since you were kids or did you meet in a drunken fling? did you like each other at first, or did you hate them, or was it love at first sight? tell us your meet-cute!

🐍 FROM EDEN — have you ever done something crazy for someone you care about? cross the country to meet them? show up in the middle of the night? throw a massive party? how did they take it?

🌲 IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE — fun question! what's the craziest dream you ever had (that you can remember)? what made it so crazy? can you even remember all the details or did you wake up with fragments?

hopefully this wasn't too much of an ask (or a repeated one) 🙂‍↕️ was just curious to know more about your dr since you're shifting to mha too( no pressure tho, you can answer about any of your drs that fits)

OMG HI THANK YOU <33

Also it’s not too much at all and I mostly respond for my mha dr anyways unless someone specifically asks for another dr.

💋: me and Keigo met first when we’re were young. It was just at a park we both happened to be at. Our friendship wasn’t immediate and it took a couple of times of us meeting before actually becoming friends friends. After that it was like we were attached at the hip. With Touya, we had known about each other for a while because our parents had it arranged we would get married (ironic, I know). When we did finally meet for real, we pretty much immediately became friends. Half because we knew we would have to and half because we genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. Once all three of us were picked up by the commission, we were all attached at the hip and that’s how Touya and Keigo met for the first time.

🐍: since my mha dr is a very “life or death” and “risk it all” kind of thing there’s a lot of runner ups for this. But I’d have to say fighting in a war would most likely be the craziest. It wasn’t really for a particular person but just everyone I loved and cared about since they were all affected in it and most of them were also fighting in the same war.

🌲: in my dr, me, Touya, and Keigo all get separated for awhile and me and Touya both took on different aliases and thought each other were dead. And then day before we run into each other again as Taiyō and Dabi instead of Sun and Touya, I see Touya in a dream saying I’d see him again. This was kind of just a fun little thing I scripted but it is a crazy dream since it pretty much told the future <3

[cupcakewebkinz]

Some Shelly head canons because I've been playing as her all morning with my sister and I think she's neat as fuck (I love this fossil sm-)

Includes some fluffy handler moments yes indeed. :]

I believe wholeheartedly that Shelly bites- but she isn't a vicious biter, she very carefully and gently nibbles. She's left scars all over Shanon's hands from her nibbling, but Shanon doesn't mind, it doesn't hurt much anymore. Shelly can't control her sharp teeth either...

I like to imagine Shelly to be like a Chihuahua, shivering when she's comfortable and when she's cold. Shanon knows the difference, though it tends to worry Vee since she's still learning how to tell if Shelly is sick and cold or just really comfortable.

Shelly, while liking dinosaurs, has an interest in technology thanks to Vee. She has been taking lessons on fixing Vee behind her back, and Veronica is more than willing to teach her everything she knows to help her with her goal of becoming Vee's main repairwoman

Shelly most definitely has a soft but stern mom voice, and she knows how to use it. She'll make any toon listen to her scolding, even if they don't realize they're there when she starts. She's not usually the one to do it though, unless it's someone she's close to. Vee especially gets this treatment, but that's because she just wants her to be safe, and Vee honestly respects that a lot.

I'd imagine Shelly would have a very pleasant singing voice as well, and would pair well with Vee's, she's just not used to having an audience so she gets really shy when she sings. Vee's addicted to her singing though.

Shelly absolutely would sell sea shells on the sea shore. Just fossilized seashells. Especially if she gets to tell you the history of that fossil before you buy it.

Shelly could honestly care less how often Vee tells her she loves her, she just knows she does by the way she looks and interacts with her, but she never tells Vee that just so she can keep hearing her favorite tv loudly announce that she loves her at any random moment Vee wants to. She genuinely finds it really cute that Vee loves to tell her she loves her so often, and is always happy to say it right back just to see that look in her eyes. She's obsessed with that silly robot who would've guessed-

I feel like Shelly would be a tiny fossil clone of Shanon, I feel like she'd copy a lot of Shanon's behaviors and act like she was her genuine biological child since she wouldn't interact with other people often. The running gag of "handlers being parental figures" is very real here... Shanon is her mom, she will absolutely call her mom, she is her mother and you're not convincing her otherwise.

Shelly absolutely sews up anything anyone gives her to fix - no questions asked. She loves sowing, and she loves sowing plushies just to give them to Vee. She's blissfully unaware that Vee is running out of room for them, because Vee never tells her... Until she opens her closet one day and a bunch of dinosaur stuffies fall out. Vee's favorite is the first one Shelly ever made for her, which is a plush stegosaurus. Only Shelly can touch that one, the rest the handlers can also touch if Vee's watching. Vee takes Shelly's gifts way too seriously...

Shelly has a great bond with the other mains, thanks to Vee. Her second favorite is Astro, mostly because he gives her dreams about riding dinosaurs with Vee. She always dreams about dinosaurs and Vee. Sometimes Shanon's there too.

Shelly loves any fun shaped food, and tends to only eat anything that looks fun to eat, such as dinosaur nuggets and smiley fries. It's purely because they're simple and she knows exactly what it is, she's terrified of new foods and it's one of the few things Vee can't help her with. Unfortunately. She's not picky though, she just has anxiety when it comes to new foods, she tends to love everything she tries.

Shelly would only kill someone for one of four things - stealing a fossil, hurting her family/friends/partner, taking away her dino nuggets and threatening her herself. One shall not take her prized comfort food...

Shelly absolutely is built like a lumberjack, she looks like a chubby, squishable friend but is actually terrifyingly strong. THANKFULLY she knows her strength and never has accidentally killed anyone with a hug, even though she absolutely could. People fear her hugs regardless.

Random note but I feel like her voice would get all high pitched and squeaky when she's either really happy or really mad and I find that adorable, and I'm the same way. I love this autistic fossil...