#some of them are from the same classes and there were two

[edensrose]

꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 LAPLACE'S DEMON

˚₊‧꒰ა nerd .ᐟ satoru gojo ﾉ mean girl .ᐟ reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

you painted a stereotyped image of the uni's nerd in your head. but ever heard of laplace's demon? you quickly found out when you pissed him off during yet another tutoring session.

broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ minors dni, uni au, no curses au, academic tropes, degradation, brat taming, dumbification, backshots, rough sex, penetrative sex, choking, pussy spanking, overstim, reader is a spoilt brat, really meantoru 𓂃 wc ⌇ 2.2k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ i really needed to see some mean nerdjo content bc as a nerd i can safely say we're very mean. art cred ⌇ gojouify (twt)

There was only one thing that Satoru hated more than opening up a fresh new collectable deck with three quarters of the cards being doubles: snobby brats.

No not the rich kind, and no not the kind that forced their heads up and put on the persona of snot-nosed, mean-spirited and a glass ego waiting to be shattered.

The kind wrapped in pink and donned in gloss. The kind that ensured every strand was infuriatingly proper. Who raised a hand full of overly decorative nails and giggled behind professor's backs. They walked the hallways as if it bended to their every whim and high heel. They smiled with pearly teeth ready to feast on the newest, juiciest gossip.

Popular girls? Nah, he's good friends with a popular girl. Shoko couldn't compare.

But popular, mean, brattish girls? They frustrated him more than a pretentious professor with a point to prove.

And you? Well, you were the worst of them all.

Aggravatingly pretty with a daggered smile and keen eyes searching for the latest story. Quirky when needed, loud when unnecessary, the perfect party girl. If gossip and copious amounts of alcohol was all that made you he might have turned the blind eye. Alas, you were the last two categories.

Not mean, but fierce. Not bratty, but spoilt. Satoru could hardly stand you. Thank whatever divine he doesn't believe in up there — at least you only have one class with him.

How the hell did you even get into the quantam mechanics class? Did you bang the professor? Doesn't seem like the case when that same man paired you with him for 'extra help'.

Satoru rolled his eyes behind your back. Of course someone like you couldn't hold yourself afloat. Too busy applying lip gloss mid-lecture to catch the calculations for your exam prep.

He attempted to deny, but the professor held firm. If anyone was going to save your pretty ass from failure it was the star student. Maybe you did kneel after hours at that podium after all. Satoru wouldn't blame the old bugger. You were gorgeous. But what's beauty when wasted on ungodly amounts of brassiness?

So you found yourself at his dorm every Friday, much to your fervid complaints about this party and that get-together.

"Everything happens on a Friday, Gojo." You way you sneered around his name twitched his brow. And his dick. "Can't we do this tomorrow? Or a Sunday."

"You'll drink enough to vomit your guts out all weekend. Then repeat the next Friday. No." He huffed and readied the study material he'd reluctantly share with you. "Just sit your ass down and quit complaining. Don't wanna be here longer than needed."

See, you might have been a popular girl. But Satoru? Satoru was a nerd. The book and pen were his bread and butter. He ate calculations for breakfast and theorised phenomena for fun. His thesis was said to be shipped off to some international headquarters. Hell he could recount every class's textbook in his sleep.

That amount of intellect doesn't come with being humble. It certainly isn't in the hands of the faint hearted. Whatever image you'd pieced together of nerds, enhanced by media and painted by your own arrogance was surely wrong.

Nerds were mean. And Satoru? He was ruthless.

If you couldn't grasp what he tried to teach you, tough luck, now you've got homework over the weekend. Your attempts at rumours fell flat — your friends laughed, but other students side-eyed. You do know that's the campus' boy genius, right? Every comment earned another that shut you up for ten minutes, and when you'd attempt to win back your pride, blue eyes would stab at you over spectacle rims.

"Do you ever shut up?" He'd sneer.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to!?" The chair skid together with your heels. You'd had enough of his attitude that rivalled yours, the endless hours bleeding your eyes into useless textbooks when you could be out with your friends. And his constant belittling?

You weren't dumb. You refused to let some nerd shame you. Who did he think he was?

"Unlike you I have a life. In fact right now I'm missing out on the bonfire of the year to be here with your sorry ass —" you pointed a sharp, manicured nail in response to his sharper glare. "Learning some stupid subject I don't even wanna —"

You heaved, tore your hands through your hair then kicked the book bag across his polished floors. Straight into the wall and rattled the shelves where more blasted books and figurines peered down at you in judgment.

"How the fuck do you live like this? I'm expected to study with some weird - boring - frankly rude—"

Heels spun and stumbled on the floor. Your back shook the shelf next. Beady blue no longer stared over specs, but down at you. Daggered. Glasses lost in his tousled white hair. Unobstructed, his eyes held the universe and every threat of the cosmos.

"Shut. Up."

Your shoulder's forced back into some figurine you were shaming a second ago. When did he get so tall? And frankly, you never knew he had such strength as he held you steady. Still, as he loomed in close.

"I'm tired of your constant bitching. You think I wanna be here helping some bimbo with more charms on her nails than braincells?"

Ow.

"You think I'm boring? Think I can't keep up with a girl like you? Because of some useless trope you keep blabbering on and on about —" His hand slammed alongside your side.

"You want some excitement? Wanna be treated like the brat you are? Fine."

Oh, that brat was nowhere to be seen once he got his hands on you. Once you let him. Never would you ever expected someone like Satoru could kiss. Not just kiss, but rob you of ever breath and render your legs shaking.

Never would you have imagined his touch to burn, bliss, demand. Excitement came in the form of fervent kisses and firm touches. A sort of confidence that made your entire personality look like a charade.

Shirt rolled, skirt hikes, panties yanked. The same desk you shoved became your only sight, your saviour. You clung tight to the wood that knocked into the wall rhythmically with every shove of your hips. Induced by the repetitive, ruthless, rude smacks pounding against your ass. By a rough arm clamped tight around your thighs, bringing you back on a cock thicker than you'd ever taken.

And it showed with the way you clenched and gushed. With your choked moans and whimpered whines. How you could barely stand and leaned over the desk with the same nails he insulted doing a poor job and clinging.

"Who knew a uni slut could be so tight?" His glower to your ear made you bite down on his bicep braced round your throat. Who knew the nerd could be so endowed?

Your response was a pitiful hiccups. Squelching walls that spilled with every slap against your throbbing folds. His plush tip hammered against a spot he found in less than seconds. Every bump, vein and ridge dragged against the entirety of your slick heat. Had you throbbing. Keening.

"Mngh — fuck, 'sssoo." He chuckled cruelly at your useless blabber. Just like your poor pussy that soaked your panties strained around your plush thighs. Useless, that's all you felt with every thrust, every mock.

The only difference was, you didn't mind.

Useless for him? Useless for that cock? To the pleasure you never knew you could feel? So be it.

"Soo what? Soo slutty? Such a whore?" The arm on your waist yanked and stuffed your puffy cunt more of him. Rapid thrusts turned to ruts. He fucked into a gummy spot that curled an arch in your spine. Drool spluttered out over his arm, over the desk littered in textbooks.

Opened and soaked, they mocked you too. Every calculation you couldn't take - not the way you're taking his dick. Not the way you're sucking him in like it's your final assignment.

"Look at you." The tightness eased from your waist. Came in a pinch and cruel swirl to your clit that had you whining. "Droolin' all over the textbooks instead 'f learning. Guess that's all you're good for huh?"

Shlap! You jolted with the smack to your clit. Three fingers flattened and rubbed messily. Not as messily as your cunt spilling and weeping from his crudeness but begging for more. Greedy, like the way you squeezed him.

"Right?" You're yanked back. Fucked into a steeper arch. His every breath fans your ear and fogs his glasses. He sprayed not only your drool, but slick everywhere. A lewd reminder for your session next week. If you managed to look him in the eye after he rearranged your guts. "Just good for takin' cock. Nothing else. Too dumb for dick, huh pretty?"

Even if it gave you butterflies, every insult wounded your pride. Bleeding pink and spilling thick slick all over. So you bit back, pitifully.

"N-Never — hngh. Never thought the - the nerd was s-. . . sh'oooo biiigg."

Was that your best jab? He had every right to laugh at you. So unlike the mean little giggle you'd shoot to those you saw as inferior. No, a spiteful, splintered laugh that would have had you teary. If your eyes hadn't bulged.

Your pussy strained. Walls stretched wider and clamping tighter. Squirting, squelching, squirming as he shoved deeper. Proving he was even bigger than you thought.

"Oh baby," Satoru crooned. His arm became a large hand clutched around your jaw. Another on your hip, fucking you into him. Taking him rougher, harder. "You thought that was all? Wanted to be nice, but since you've got so much to say."

Your eyes rolled back. Tits smacked against paper. Body smushed as his hips rammed forward. His cock drove, tip pounding your poor little cervix and fucking your whimpering cunt all the way. Making sure you felt every vein, every crevice, every inch until you were dumbly drooling and hiccuping over his desk.

"Fuck — oh god! Satoru!"

"Yeah? So you can say my name prettily."

His breaths huffed into your ear as strong arms looped around your waist fiercely. Every thrust brought you back onto him. He ground and humped on every other thrust, rutting shallowly to remind you just how big he was. How small you were. Weaker, beneath him.

He wretched himself off of your quivered form and watched your ass catch his pounds. Skirt shrivelled around your waist, pitiful like your face pressed into paper. The pool of saliva through his textbook made a bookmark to his new favourite page.

"Fuck, you're pathetic." Another huff of laughter followed by a barrage of wet shlaps! He aimed every pound to accentuate your pussy's lewd squelches. Whether for his ears of yours, you couldn't process. Not with him kissing every bundle of nerves that coiled your tummy tight.

Your lips parted with a whine. "Gonna cum again?" He beat you to it. From the angle you spotted his grin. Glasses dangled on the bridge of his nose and greedy eyes drinking you in like the image of sin.

"Gonna cum all over my cock again? Yeah?" A sting welted your ass and you sobbed as it followed on your cervix. Mouth opened in an endless, whorish moan as he fucked at a tempo that shook not only your body but the desk as well. Banging into the wall in a way that'll surely alert his dorm mate of whatever transpired in this room.

A pretty, popular brat being fucked open and creaming all over the supposed boring nerd. Laplace's demon himself.

"Still boring for you, sweetheart? Still boring when this bratty pussy's squeezing me like a needy slut?" Long fingers delved over your scalp and gripped tight. The leverage came with shattering, hard thrusts that squished you ass and sent your feet standing on the tips. You sobbed, shaking your head.

"N-No!"

"No who?"

"No Satoru - no toru—" You rasped as he throbbed heavily in you. There's your catch. "Noo toru, not boring. Fuck, cock feels sooo good - gonna cum, torruuu."

Whether in your favour or not. The name brought quick swirls back to your clit and turned his thrusts into hammering pounds that sent your eyes rolling back and maw hung in a drooling daze.

Face flushed, clothes strewn, cum squirting down your thighs and staining your heels. Fuck, a mess didn't even begin to cover it. A pretty mess laid out on his desk and dumbly moaning his name.

Satoru leaned over you. Thrusts shallowed again as he grunted and whimpered. Disolving into a bony weight of strong arms hooked around you tight and endless, mindless humps against your soft ass.

"If you weren't so busy being a bitch," he laughed, low and cruel. "Maybe you'd be able to keep those grades up." Another spank. You whimpered.

"But that's fine, sweetheart." Cold lips pressed open-mouthed kisses up your neck. Breaths quick and heaved as he proved just how exciting he could be. With heavy balls smacking your poor abused cunt and his dick splitting your bratty pussy wide open for him.

He reached for your jaw, forcing your head at an angle for his lips. Peppered all over your face and sucking on your poor, drooling tongue.

"Means I can fuck the brat outta ya like this? Fine. Be a dumb bitch. 's a better look on you anyway."

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[priisprii]

Insatiable — K.MG & C SC

Summary :Mean mean assholes.

Warnings: dom! Seungcheol,dom! Mingyu, sub!fem reader, blow job, handjob, reader's crop top used as a blindfold, degradation,face slapping, cum swallowing, tit pinching, they are mean but you like them mean :3

Word count: 1.8 k

Read the warnings and click at your own risk and minors don't interact.

mingyu and seungcheol are two simple guys with same fucked up mentality and fantasies. they encourage each other run after things they desperately want no matter how wrong it is. They support each other. It's simple.

And you?

You were obsessed with both of them,not just at surface level like memorising thier hangout places and lurking around there or stalking them on social media. Yeah you did that all but it wasn't enough to satisfy your hunger for them.

You meticulously planned coincidence after coincidence, enrolling into the same classes as them, showing up at every party they would be and what not. To the outside world it would seem a series of coincidence just like you hoped but mingyu and seungcheol aren't as stupid and oblivious as you think they are. They know you were embodiment of lady Gaga's song paparazzi.

Seungcheol wanted to maintain distance from you, according to him you weren't the of girl who would be interested in his and mingyu's ways of mind breaking and ruining the girls they bring to bed. Too vanilla he says, how fucking wrong he was. Mingyu helped him change his mind, he knew you were a sick in the head pervert; just like them and you were expert of hiding that side of you behind your innocence filled eyes.

Nevertheless, three of you got what you all always searched for. You —two hot guys with mean and dirty mouths and huge dicks and them; a girl who is just abnormally obsessed with them. They can sometimes be the sweetest people in your life, catering to your every need, providing you with everything you demand, sometimes sneakily beating up your professor cause' he graded your paper unfairly, seungcheol never holding back a punch on guys who eyed you even for a second and mingyu pirating endless movies for you to watch in your free time. They were everything you ever wished for.

♥

A stinging slap was delivered on your face, the impact of it making you come back from your haze. Your eyes were covered with some rag which happened to be your favourite top — until seungcheol decided to tear it off.

"want us to find some other slut who can actually suck a cock properly?" Mingyu asked. annoyed.an underlying threat clear in his voice. you wanted to argue, scream and cry. your throat was all bruised up —a consequence of them using your mouth like a fleshlight from the past half an hour. they sat comfortably on couch playing whatever shitty game you had no idea about while passing you around between them like a cigarette, your knees burning and on the verge of giving up.

Body decorated with their cum, hair, chest, stomach, any part —you name it. Those sadistic assholes can't seem to get tired no matter what.sitting next to each other and conversing about all the fucked up things they are about to do with you, things that would land them in prison for sure but the worst part was—you loved it , loved each and every word, syllabus, command and insult they directed towards you, you loved it more than they could ever.

"Mingyu, be kind, That's not how we treat our fuck toys" seungcheol chides , but you could feel he's just being pretentious and you were right cause' just after few seconds you felt somone back handing you, not with sheer strength but enough to draw out a choked moan out of your lungs. "See that's how you treat erm" seungcheol chuckles followed by mingyu. They were enjoying this a little too much, having someone like you who's far too gone to think straight and allow them to treat you like an absolute rag doll. It's so fun for them to see you breaking down over and over.

Someone bought your mouth closer to their cock, again, probably Mingyu . You weren't even able to smell the cum or his scent, nose too blocked and runny— completely useless. "Now be a good and useful cock sleeve"

You nod aimlessly, licking your lips in anticipation.that wasn't enough for Mingyu though "words dollface ,words" he commands, tightening his grip around your hair. You let out a choked yes and it was enough for Mingyu to get started with you yet again.

"so beautiful yet so filthy" mingyu grunts, outlining your lips with tip of his cock, faintly coating them with your existing spit and cum. once he was satisfied enough he slapped it few times on your cheek "Need you to choke on it" , forcing his dick into your mouth, a choked noise escaped your throat as he buried himself deep touching the back of your throat roughly, he threw his head back, moaning in pure ecstasy .

He continued with his cruel pace, thrusting his hips upwards making you constantly gag and choke around his length , drool pooling around his balls. Your nails were digging into his muscular thigh, anchoring yourself with help of it as you couldn't feel any sensation in your body except the cries of your pussy —begging to be filled up with anything,cock, fingers, dildos it doesn't matter the emptiness was almost painful, clenching around air helplessly.

"mingyu slow down, she will pass out I don't wanna fuck unconscious body" seungcheol complains from side, half focused on the game and half on the porn show happening beside him. He's no better than mingyu, even worse sometimes, when seungcheol is frustrated, he takes it on you— in the most delicious way possible. Landing slaps on your ass and cunt till it's red and swollen up or making you gag around your own panties, his strange obsession with challenging you to be silent while he ruins your insides. Yeah he's no better than mingyu.

the prospect of your passed out body being used by these two men is extremely hot and intense. having your pleasure completely disregarded and thrown out ,just being a real fleshlight for their big and veiny cocks. You need to talk about this some other time with them.

"hyung, can't help it— her mouth is so warm and wet almost as good as her tight cunt" mingyu whines, his cock twitching inside your mouth as his grip on your hair becomes more rigid , a clear sign of him being close. Something about having such a big guy like Mingyu whining because of you makes your chest tight with emotion similar to happiness and pride.

Seungcheol throws the gaming console somewhere, the loud thud echoing in your ears. He takes your hand and spits on it generously before bringing it to his cock , making you wrap your palm around it, his own palm wrapped around yours. In your head which is floating in another dimension this is practically intertwining hands. almost romantic.

"you feel it baby? How hard I am? It's your fucking fault. parading around us in your slutty outfits. told you to wait for few minutes but you just don't understand " seungcheol sneers, biting his lips remembering how they even got you like this in the first place. Teasing them while they were deeply engrossed in their game, hands reaching down your shorts threatening to touch their property, that made them snap.

you whined against Mingyu's cock, sending vibrations down his spine, he pulled your head back, only his tip remaining in your mouth before slamming you down against his length in a quick motion, making you gag uncomfortably, he kept you like that, his unforgiving grip on your hair making you unable to move while seungcheol made you give him a hand job, guiding each of your moments. You were overwhelmed, not sure where to focus; on Mingyu's pulsating length or Seungcheol's painfully hard cock, unsure whether to cry or scream, eyes blinded by the blindfold.

"fuck cumming" Mingyu slurred thrusting his hips upwards one last time before cumming inside your mouth. Ropes of thick, creamy white pooling around your tongue.

" Dare you waste any drop slut" Mingyu rasps still coming down from his high. " She won't gyu, she needs cum like oxygen, right slut?" Seungcheol comments, seeing you swallow his bestfriend's cum like your life depends on it while having you fist his cock with your tiny hand made him so feral, he has never had such a perfect girl at his disposal. Seungcheol found his own orgasm near but he didn't feel like wasting his cum , it belonged in deepest corner of your cunt.

Finally after few seconds or minutes mingyu decides to let you breathe, pulling you away from his cock. you look like you walked straight out his favourite porn; spit and cum smeared all over your face and dripping down your breast. he looks at seungcheol, both being proud of each other to see your defiled state. "Pathetic whore" seungcheol groans.

Seungcheol reluctantly lets go of your hand which was timidly rubbing against cock. He comes near, yanking the excuse of a blindfold off your face, sharp lights hitting you at once, vision blurry due to tears. Mingyu gathers the tears around your eye bags carefully scoops with his two fingers, then puts it in his mouth. The simple action making your pussy needy with desire.

"please touch me" you beg, voice unfamiliar to your own self. your knees finally give out, ass hitting the floor and sitting pathetically. Your headspace was all mushy and soft, blurry vision drinking up their visuals. their upper body was fully exposed,sweat glistening down their skin which you might lick happily if they gave you permission to do so. "touch me please, anyone" you whimpered again.

seungcheol hmms, like he's thinking deep about something before he smirks, getting down on the floor at your level . His hand moves to your exposed breast, carelessly pinching the perky sensitive nipple. "Poor baby, dying to have her desperate pussy filled" seungcheol sings in a patronizing way, continuing his cruel torture on your breast, cupping and pinching the poor bud till it turns into angry shade of red.

"mingyu what do you think? Should we fuck this slut or leave her here all exposed and dripping on the floor like a broken cum dump?" seungcheol leaves the question hanging in the air, slapping your right tit, an evil smirk dancing on his face.

"please, don't leave please I am —" your words were cut off by Seungcheol's slap on your cheek, eyebrow raised, looking at you with disapproving glare.

"are you mingyu dumb slut?" he asks, massaging the area he just hit previously.

"sorry" you mumble, voice barely audible.

Mingyu cooes, feeling bad for you, just a tiny bit, he gets down on the floor, pulling you closer, your back pressed to his chest. hand circling around your neck lightly.

"she's begging, it's only right decision to fuck her hyung till she's begging us to stop" mingyu says tightening his hold around your neck, hand moving down between your legs, moving between your folds and collecting your wetness. " she's so fucking wet" mingyu says, bringing his fingers up near seungcheol, which Seungcheol proudly puts in his mouth, groaning at your taste. He sucks them clean.

"let's take this to our bedroom" seungcheol says, he cups your cheek tenderly"shall we Love?" He asks, masking the lust behind his eyes, mind corrupted with all the possible positions he's about to put you in.You got yourself insatiable freaks who would always stay hungry for your taste.

A/N: I have so many evil ideas for this au .would you all like to read them?

[joyswonderland1108]

Jikook went on a (contractually obligated) world tour and left the fandom in a meltdown.

Okay first of all… I already know this post is going to be a mess because I have too much to say, zero organization skills. I might forget things. I might not include pictures or links or videos, but buckle up anyway. Bear with me as I unleash this demon.

🔙 Let’s rewind to pre-military: Our contractual husbands Jikook decided to soft-launch their little pre-enlistment honeymoon—hitting up NYC, Tokyo, and Jeju. Cute, romantic, iconic. And the outcome? Oh nothing… just Are You Sure (™), aka Jikook’s intimate masterpiece, sealed with soul-touching glances and lingering camera pans. Then they enlisted. TOGETHER. Are we surprised? No. Are we gagged? Always.

⌛ Fast forward to post-military: Now of course Jikook had a lil pre-discharge Tokyo getaway but ANYWAYS. Discharge time. Our boys come back looking like they drank from the fountain of youth. They do a little live, they breathe the same air again, and everything’s peaceful. Until.

✈️ Enter the chaos: Jungkook is spotted at Incheon airport. "Alone", allegedly going to the US. All good. Everyone’s like “Omg music project??” But then boom—plot twist. A Thai ARMY shares that her friend, fresh off Hobi’s concert, going back home, saw BOTH JK and Jimin at the airport. JK was walking ahead, Jimin behind. Translation? They left together. But guess what? The first airport report came from a JK solo, because OF COURSE she conveniently forgot to mention the part where Jimin was there too. Color me SHOCKED.

So yeah, now we know they both flew to NYC. Together. Again.

🕵🏻‍♀️ First sighting: A Jimin stan named Emily (who also saw them in 2023—God clearly has favorites) shares that she saw Jikook again in 2025, so now people are calling her a liar. Suddenly she’s under FBI interrogation for… not knowing every step of their enlistment timeline?? Because apparently you need to submit an entire academic paper and prove you’ve memorized BTS’ enlistment schedule before you’re allowed to tweet a damn celebrity sighting. Like girl she saw them, she shared it, she wasn’t in their faces. The TL: “Why is she pretending not to know them if she’s a Jimin stan???” Me: I don’t care if she pretends JK is a barista named Jeff. I don’t care if she called JK “some dude” and pretended not to know him. She wasn’t in their personal space. She didn’t call him names. It’s giving: solo behavior but harmless. Next.

🍜 Second sighting: Someone named “Emma” sees them in a restaurant and mentions they were wearing masks. Cue the stupidity: “Why would they wear masks while eating?” “How could she see Jimin smiling with a mask on?” Babe. People keep masks on until their food arrives. And smiles reach the eyes. Try covering your mouth and smiling. Go ahead Barbara, I’ll wait. The math is not mathing because y’all skipped common sense class.

🌪 Then silence. No news. Just heavy TL speculation: Are they filming “Are You Sure?” season 2? A GCF? An OST? A honeymoon vlog?

Suddenly someone drops the bomb

🦢They were seen in Zurich, Switzerland (or Zermatt?). Feeding ducks. Or swans. Or both. Maybe petting unicorns too who knows. Then the moral panic kicks in: “Take it with a grain of salt!!” NO. Enough with the salt. Girl, if y’all keep sprinkling salt on everything, don’t complain when the fandom ends up with high blood pressure. Too much sodium will kill you. You’re not chefs. Sit down.

👼🏻But the best part? The fandom saints returned from their caves:

“Don’t share this!”

“Respect their privacy!”

“Protect their privacy!” “In a public park?” YEAH!!

Respect their privacy from a 50-meter distance in a public European city? As if sightings don’t happen to celebrities all over the world? As if people don’t tweet “OMG I just saw Timothée Chalamet at Whole Foods” every two days on main? Apparently celebrities outside, walking on the same streets you walk on, breathing the same air, is now a privacy breach. Okay.

But also? God forbid someone posts a pic or video to confirm these sightings because y’all will be sprinting to your report pages like Olympic athletes. But if the video never comes, you’ll scream “they’re lying!” You can’t have it both ways.

📲 THEN. Jimin drops a video on Instagram dancing to Killin’ It Girl, filmed by none other than the contractually obligated cameraman Jungkook. It’s adorable. He’s giggling. Jimin’s serving. The internet breaks. We cry. We scream. We sob into our pillows. And THEN reposts it to his story with “This is what I mean by killin’ it boy…” I screamed. I ascended. I reincarnated.

Of course, the fandom Sherlock Holmes committee identifies the hotel they stayed at. AND AGAIN, the fake moralists started hyperventilating: “This is creepy!! How dare you post the hotel?? That’s their privacy!” Girl. Be serious. Jimin posted that after they had left. You think BTS debuted yesterday? You think Jimin doesn’t know how this works? They’ve been dealing with this for a decade. And riddle me this: Where was that energy when JK posted his birthday flirtation video and the hotel was ID’d in ten minutes while they were still actively staying there?? Y’all had the hotel, the floor plan, the room view, and the carpet texture identified within 20 minutes? Crickets. That’s what I thought.

🛬Hours later, Jikook are spotted in Da Nang airport, Vietnam. which confirmed they had already left Switzerland. And only THEN, pictures and videos from their time in Zurich started dropping.

Cue new moral panic:

“Wait until they leave before sharing.” …but also:

“Don’t share at all. Ever. Even when they’ve left.”

So what is it then? What are the rules? Because you sure weren’t this pressed in 2023 when they were spotted going to/leaving from Antoya and dancing on a boat with their souls intertwined and y’all were posting 4K footage? That wasn’t privacy? Suddenly “privacy” only matters when you decide it?

Also: no one was filming them inside their hotel room. (Well… JK was. But you get the point.)

Now let’s talk about the xenophobic meltdown. The moment those Da Nang airport pics dropped, the TL turned on Vietnamese fans like they were the villains in a dystopian novel. Some pictures and videos dropped while they were still there. Yes, taken from a respectful distance. No one up in their face. But ideally? Yes, wait until they’ve left.

But the TL’s reaction? UNHINGED.

People dragging Vietnamese ARMYs through the mud. Calling them “stalkers”? Excuse me??? Entire populations got slandered when the actual leaker turned out to be a cultist. But instead of correcting the misinformation and calling them out, people kept slandering Vietnamese fans. Instead of holding one individual accountable, y’all dragged an entire fandom base and disrespected a whole country. I saw Vietnamese ARMY hurt, insulted, and heartbroken over this, and rightfully so. Shame on everyone who joined that bandwagon.

🏠Now they’re back in South Korea, spotted again at Incheon. And let me tell you, they were looking fresh, healthy, adorable, sweet, couple-coded and annoyingly perfect. JK making sure Jimin got his shoes back?? I’m fine. I’m not crying. It’s allergies. . Speculations now say they’re back for Jin’s concert. Will they travel again soon? Maybe. Will I be ready with popcorn when they do? Yes.

🖼️ Oh and before I forget — Jimin posted a little drawing with “Jaykay” on the caption.

Now that’s just comedy gold.

Immediately the TL: “Is this their shared IG now?? Is this lovestagram??”

And now?

JJks are mad that JK is with Jimin.

PJMs are mad that Jimin is with JK.

Cultists are mad because JK dared to leave his “husband” behind and travel with the “homewrecker” Jimin (contractually 🤓☝️).

Like how dare he eat dinner with his contract husband? How dare he travel across the globe under a fanservice contract and film his boo dancing in a luxury hotel (contractually)?

Cultists: “JK is doing all this with Jimin contractually.”

Me: Sweetie, if this is a fanservice contract I want my money back. WHERE is the hand-holding? WHERE is the kissing? WHERE are the back hugs? WHERE are the late night cuddles? WHERE's the steamy drama? I am not being serviced properly! I want a better deal.

Also, sidenote: why is it always Jungkook’s fault when Tk falls apart in your minds? Not the fantasy relationship falling apart under the weight of reality, no. It’s always: “JK betrayed Taehyung!” Okay sure.

🌟 And finally, to the fandom saints clutching your pearls and whining about sightings being posted ”— First of all: A sighting is not outing. Second: If you think it’s private, then keep your speculation in your drafts. Don’t tweet “Jikook are together 😳” or “Are they filming a GCF?” if you’re gonna turn around and yell at people who are doing exactly what you’re doing—except with honesty and excitement. Because guess what? That’s also engaging with “private” info.

Jikook were seen. In public. And people got excited. That’s it. That’s the post. Stop making everything a moral panic. Stop treating fans like criminals for noticing things. And PLEASE, for the love of sanity, stop saying “don’t share” AFTER you’ve already read, liked, and bookmarked the damn post.

You can’t pretend to be holy after you already ate the forbidden fruit, baby.

You’re not fooling anyone.

Anygays, Jikook are married.

[chaes-tea]

── // feeling the dream .

// kpop demon hunters fic. // jinu x reader. // a/n: hi! i hadn't planned on expanding living the nightmare, but here you go! his pov: living the nightmare ⚠️!! WARNING: kpop demon hunters spoilers !!

Your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred by tears. Blinking them away, you grab your phone from your nightstand.

3:48 am.

You had that dream again. Well, not exactly again, but this is the only one that's recurring. These dreams specifically always seem to take place in the same time period, with the same people. A mother, a little girl, a young man, and... you? At least, that's the perspective these dreams always put you in.

Dressed in rags, surrounded by a variety of medicinal plants, you figured that 'you' were a low class physician. Glimpses of the noble class attire in other dreams suggested that all of these dreams take place in Joseon, Korea. Though no two dreams were ever the same, they always involved the same mother, little girl, and young man. Despite the muffled voices and the blurred faces, you couldn't help but feel that they were related to 'you'. The terms 'in-laws' and 'lover' comes to mind. Were they family? Were they 'your' family?

It's strange, you think. These dreams are starting to feel more and more familiar to you. Nostalgic, like you've experienced them before. A cold winter night, a scorching hot summer, a warm embrace, a kiss under the starry sky– all with that man.

You decided to tell Rumi about it the next night.

"I've had them for a while now," you said. "I don't really know how to explain it. It's almost like... they're my own memories? But not really. It feels like I'm living someone else's life."

"Have you talked to Celine about this?" You shake your head.

"No, though that probably isn't a bad idea."

"It wouldn't hurt to try, she might know a thing or two." She says. "So, you've had these dreams for how long and never told me?"

"Rumi, please-"

"Just kidding~"

You and Rumi have been friends since childhood, way before the formation of Huntr/x. With both of your mothers being a part of the Sunlight Sisters, it was inevitable that you two would stay friends.

The two of you chat about anything and everything else, until a wave of tiredness hits you.

"Okay, Roomba, I'm getting tired," you say, holding back a yawn, "I'm gonna head out now. Good night."

"Hehe, goodnight, [Name]."

You didn't end up telling her about your latest dream, though, which woke you up in tears. In the dream, 'you' reached a hand out to a person's back, large wooden palace doors closing behind them. The distress, the sadness, the pain, you felt it all. But this time, you got a name.

You drift off to sleep, thinking of the name from the dream.

"Jinu!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Is this place even credible, Zoey?" You ask, staring at the entrance suspiciously.

"Don't you ever listen to Bobby, [Name]? The internet. Never. Lies!"

It was the day after Rumi lost her voice. Zoey suggested to get tonics from a shady looking alleyway doctor.

"There's no way he's legit, Zoey." Mira replies.

"The reviews were so good though!"

Needless to say that that whole ordeal was an experience to be remembered. After losing the staring contest with Mira, the doctor gave Rumi a box of the tonics– or, as Mira calls it, 'voice juice'– and the four of you went off on your merry way.

"We got the tonics! Yay!" Zoey exclaims. "Once your voice is fixed, we can get back to the important stuff, like the fans!"

"What exactly is in this 'voice juice' anyways?" You ask, taking a peek into the box.

Before you could take a better look at the tonics, the four of you see shadows in front of you. Five young men turn the corner. Tall, photogenic, straight off the cover of a magazine. A few of them talked amongst themselves, some listening into the conversations. One of them, a man with black hair, trails behind them, lost in his own thoughts, until he directs his gaze forward, past the men in front of him, and he looks at you.

The moment he sees you, it's like something in his expression changes. Not visually, but the way he looks at you with his chocolate colored eyes feels like he knows you. Not in the way that a fan recognizes their favorite artist, but like he knows knows you. And you don't know why, but you also feel like you know him.

He looks away and gently pulls the cyan haired man closer to him, making space for your group to pass.

"Excuse us."

You can't say for sure, but you feel like you've heard that voice before.

Later that night, you have another dream about 'you' again. This time, it's dark, 'your' eyelids are heavy, about to fall asleep. The sound of crickets fill the night, and there's a gentle breeze in the air. A comforting touch tucks a strand of hair away. Your conscious knows it's the young man again. He presses a kiss to 'your' forehead before whispering.

"Good night."

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero

Chapter 12: I Swear To God...

Meanwhile, you didn't get the pleasure of going to sleep like Dick did. Your identity is as good as compromised. If only you had enough money to leave… 

Pacing around your room you try to think of what to do. The best option would be leaving - not just Gotham, but America as a whole. But, where would you go? Where would you get the money for a ticket AND the money to start over? 

You could sell some of your gear, or become a henchman - it’d only be for a bit! Just until you can get your money up, then you’d quit and make your escape. Yeah. That could work. But, did you really have it in you? To harm and steal? To know you’d been the cause of so many people’s lives? You couldn’t do that.

Sighing you sit down in your bed and pray for the night to finish so you can go to school.

-

Tim, however, is stuck at Bruce’s desk as Bruce monologues about how important it is to respond to messages in a timely manner. He forgot to message Bruce back about whatever he messaged him. 

“- Honestly, what would have happened if I was in trouble, or one of your brothers were in trouble and you decided to not respond.” Bruce states, it was rhetorical and Tim holds back an eye roll. The message wasn’t even that important… Okay, it kinda was. But, school got in the way and he kinda forgot.

“Well? What are we going to do now? If Y/N is Aranea that means-” Tim cuts off Bruce’s rant, already plotting. “That means we’re going to keep this information under wraps. We forgo plan A. If Y/N finds out we know she’d freak. Same with the others.”

The two talk for a bit longer, making up a new plan. After mere minutes of deliberation the two form a plan. 

-

Damian was confused and annoyed, you were an idiot, a hateful, disgusting and vile idiot. Yet, he was nothing if not observant, he noticed how you share the same figure as Aranea, he noticed how the ‘hair’ is a wig, he noticed all these things. 

However, he’d rather die than admit maybe you were Aranea, you had to be a sister or a cousin, someone else! And for you to hate your own blood family… It’s horrible to think about. Sure, he and Jason typically stay back from you, but that doesn’t mean their hatred is any lesser than the others. He’s sure Jason aches to put a bullet through your head any time word gets back to them about your shit talking.

To Damian, Aranea is an angel sent to comfort him, an older sister figure to help him vent his emotions, he doesn’t know where he’d be if it weren’t for her. What he’d be.

He won’t ever let someone extinguish her light..

-

The next day rolls around and you sit up, having barely slept. Rubbing your eyes you get up and proceed to get ready for school, trying not to think too hard about last night. When you get to school your friends aren’t waiting for you out front, weird. Shrugging it off you head inside the building - they were probably either late or getting something to eat before school.

Walking down the halls you pay no mind to Tim, who for some reason was staring at you with the same look one would give a shelter puppy - or an old dog about to be put down - it was sickening in a way, being watched by him like that. Did Dick tell him? He must’ve. That's why you’re getting the look you’re getting. 

You speed up slightly before turning into your first period class. The day passes in a blur, you don’t see your friends, Tim doesn’t talk to you, no one even looks at you. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. When the day ends you waste no time in packing your things and leaving, the school’s suffocating atmosphere feels as though it’s lifted when you step out of the gates. You can’t bring yourself to head home yet, can’t bring yourself to enter another stuffy place.

Opting to walk along the grimy streets, rats scurrying by as if they were workers late to work. Everything seems to slow down for a minute as you walk, Gotham is a horrid, putrid wasteland of a place, yet for someone who has lived here all your life, you find this wasteland to be like a field of different types of flowers - colorful in ways unseen, quick to die yet surrounded by other life. No one dies alone in Gotham. Not truly. 

Your spider senses shoot to the heavens, freezing, you feel a kind of dread overcome you. Someone was watching, someone was waiting, someone was following. You're in danger. You have three options here.

You run, alerting the stalker you know of them. The person may be faster than you. 

You turn around to face the stalker, once more alerting the stalker you’re aware. You can’t tell who it is, they could be stronger than you, could have weapons.

You continue walking normally, not letting them know. This could lead to them attacking from behind.

Taking a deep breath you bend down, pretending to tie your shoelaces - you’ve been standing stationary for around ten seconds, if you started walking once more it may alert them. You soon stand up before continuing to walk.

The walk was uneasy, the presence of the person causing your spider senses to react violently, headaches, nausea, dizziness, the instinct to run, all of it was too much. You hated this. But discomfort is much more preferable than death. 

You curse your luck - for some reason people just weren’t around today. Though, even if they were, no one would intervene. They aren’t heroes. They wouldn’t risk their lives for a girl they don't know. 

The figure can be felt catching up to you and you bite back the scream of frustration, tears starting to rise. Why was everything so complicated?! You hate everyone! Fuck Timothy, fuck Richard, fuck Bruce and his rat son Damian, fuck Jason, fuck Stephanie, fuck Cassandra, fuck Duke, fuck Barbara - you know what? Fuck anyone who associates with that dysfunctional, borderline evil family!

You feel the person right behind you now, hell, even if you had normal senses you’d be able to tell. You turn just in time for a bag to go over your head before being knocked out. 

Taglist:

@rissareader @delias-stuff @hogwarts9 @marsmabe @randomlyappearingartist @coralaura @nervousalpacalady @citrushalo @chericia @soriansick @v0idl1nq @scrumdidiliyumyum @kittykatcreatster @feral-childs-word @anon34570 @shycreatorreview @sunny-sp3lls @fluffypackofships @cynniee @yuyuzi-ling @coffeeaddictxd @starryperson @readermommy @niggrrooo @bunbunboysworld @yanrandom @fluffypackofchips @vanilliona @wizzerreblogs @cens0r3d

[lqveharrington]

Never Planned | F.W.

summary: you and fred had been friends for so long that it never occurred to the both of you that everyone thought you were dating.

pairing: fred weasley x gryffindor!reader

includes: fluff, the both of you being mischievous, kissing, cursing, the two third years being wingmen when they don’t even know it

a/n: officially working on requests the second this gets posted!

You and Fred had the same routine every Sunday night after dinner. The routine was simple and familiar—so familiar that even the younger students knew it all too well. Every Sunday evening, you would typically read the Daily Prophet or do final touches to your essays while Fred would find a way to bother you until you finally gave into him and give him attention. That’s how Sunday nights would always go.

Except for tonight. For some reason, today felt off and neither of you could place a finger on it. The evening started off normal, but the longer you ignored it, the more the feeling intensified.

You were supposed to be working on your Charms essay, but all you could think about was the small feeling nagging at the back of your mind. You were so absorbed with the thought that you didn't realize you were biting the tip of you quill until Fred pulled your hand away from you, propping his feet up on your lap.

"What's with the face, Faucett? Need help with your Charms essay?" Fred asked, pouting dramatically when you snapped out of your trance and pushed his feet off your lap. "You hate me."

You scoff and roll up your parchment, placing it away on the side table. "I do not hate you, Fred."

“You do.” He teased and angled you to face him, pulling your legs to lay over his lap instead. He watched you rest your head against the cushions of the couch, making him tap your knee in concern. “What’s wrong?”

You huff and play with the threads of you sweater that Molly had made you this past Christmas, meeting his eyes that were filled with more emotion than you could place. “Nothings wrong with me, but it feels like something in this room is, you know?”

Fred looked over at the other people in the room. There were hardly any people in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday evenings. Everyone was out either making use of the last few hours of freedom they had before classes started the next day or in their dorms, trying to cram for any surprise quizzes.

The only people that were in the Common Room were a group of first years comparing notes, some fourth years playing exploding snap, and a pair of third years conversing quietly in a corner, tucked away from prying eyes and voices—such as Fred Weasley himself.

Fred raised a brow at the two boys who looked away quite quickly when they met the older boy's gaze. He turned back to you for a quick second, replying quietly to your previous comment. “Maybe…”

You crease your brows and look over at the pair of boys as well, “What—?”

“Oi!” Fred hollered at the two third years, making the entire room snap their heads over at the sudden boom of a voice. You blew a piece of hair away from your face in exasperation, giving the other students apologetic looks for the commotion.

“What are you blokes whispering about?” He called out, making the third year on the left burn bright red.

You poke Fred's arm when you saw the poor boy's face, not deterred by all his muscles underneath his own sweater. “Fred, stop bothering them."

The same boy looked away from you two, swallowing thickly while his friend pursed his lips in an effort to not laugh at the current situation. While the rest of the room went back to what they were doing, Fred continued to watch the pair, waiting for a response from either one of them.

Finally, after the two boys whispered back and forth—for Godric only knows how long—one of them spoke up, making the red-head beside you perk up instantly.

“Nothing important.” The teen on the right said for the sake of his friend, waving a dismissive hand in your general direction. “Just trying to figure out how to ask this girl out."

The second you both heard those words come out of the boy's mouth, you looked over at Fred who was already looking back at you with a grin that could only be described as smug.

You sighed, knowing you couldn't do much to stop whatever Fred planned on doing. “Freddie, don’t—“

He stood from his spot on the couch, hands placed on his hips like he suddenly knew the answers to everything in the universe. “Luckily, you’ve come to the right man—“

“—Boy—“ You quipped from his side as you followed him to ensure he wouldn't do or say anything stupid.

“Shut up.” Fred half-heartedly pushed you to the side, still catching you when you stumbled over your feet. He stuck his thumb in the other teen’s direction, “Anyway, who does he fancy?”

You roll your eyes at his antics and give them a warm, reassuring smile, hoping it would take their minds off whatever foolishness Fred has in plan. “First, what are your names?”

“I’m Oliver, and he’s James.” The boy on the right said tentatively, the one on the left—which you both now knew was James—nodding in agreement.

Fred clasped his hands together and nodded mindlessly, keeping his eyes trained on the boys. “Alright, I’m Fred and she’s the pain in my arse—“

“Can you focus?” You groan and shove him to the side, laughing loudly when he threw you over his shoulder to get you to stop interrupting—although the two of you knew it was hopeless.

“Oliver, who does James fancy?” Fred asked, ignoring your calls and protests.

You continued to wiggle yourself free from his grasp, huffing when he held onto you tighter. At that point, the rest of the Common Room gave you odd looks, making you flush a bright pink in slight embarrassment.

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, hesitantly as he stared at you and Fred in concern and confusion, unsure what to do in the situation. “Uhm… He fancies this girl in Hufflepuff named Lila—“

You gasped and hit Fred hard in between his shoulder blades, earning a groan as he dropped you from his arms. You spun around and gave James a soft look, knowing exactly who Lila was. You had tutored her last year in Potions—and based on your five minute interaction with James—the would be the perfect pair.

“She’s really bright and gifted in Herbology.” James says softly, making your heart ache at how he spoke about Lila in adoration.

“Have you tried to ask her out before?” You ask and watch him fidget with his hair.

He shakes his head, eyes darting away from your face toward the ground. “I’m too nervous.”

After recovering from you sudden attack, Fred clapped his hand on James’ back, ruffling his hair when the boy looked up at him. “Don’t be, you look handsome and clearly you’ve got the brains for it.”

In an instant, you saw an increase of confidence in the thirteen year old, making you grin at the sight. Maybe Fred being nosy in other students’ conversations wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

You watched for another second before murmuring something to Fred about finally finishing your Charms essay, giving the two boys one last smile. Before you left for the couch, Fred subconsciously pressed a kiss to the top of your head, knowing you were leaving even though he barely listened to you as he continued to speak to the younger students.

“Ask her out to a picnic by the lake or in one of the outdoor gardens—Not Hagrid’s, of course. That would be a nightmare.” Fred clarified with a small smirk decorating his face, leaning back on one of the armchairs behind him as the boys listened intently.

“Thanks, I’ll ask her tomorrow after class.” James replied with a new found determination in his voice.

Finally snapping out of his small trance, Oliver switched his gaze from Fred to your spot on the couch, tilting his head with a raised brow. “How did you ask your girlfriend out?”

Fred copied his facial expression, turning his head to follow the boy’s eye line when they landed on you. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue before clearing his throat, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

“Oh, we’re not dating.”

“Sure seems like it.” Oliver crossed his arms and raised both brows this time, judging Fred like he was a liar. “You can’t give out advice about dating without having a girlfriend yourself.”

“My advice is fool proof!” Fred blurted, almost baffled that a thirteen year old accused him of spreading false information—though he has done that multiple times before to everyone he knew

“Then how come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Fred opened his mouth and shut it, putting his index finger up toward the boys before turning and walking over to you. He stood in front of you with his hands in his front pockets, waiting until you finished your thoughts on the essay before speaking.

“Did you know people think we’re dating?” He said quietly, earning a wide-eye look from you. Based on your reaction, you probably didn’t know either. “Yeah, weird. Those two boys thought we were dating.”

“That’s the weird feeling I was getting in this room.” You say as you twirl your golden charm necklace between your fingers, looking over at the two boys who suddenly looked guilty and mischievous at the same time. You raise a brow and look back at Fred with a small smirk, making him grin back.

“Can you imagine the shock on their faces if they believed it took you two seconds to land a girlfriend?”

Fred bent over by the waist, lips mere centimeters from yours. “And what do you have in mind, Faucett?”

Your smirk widens before you pull him in by the collar of his sweater, lips meeting his faster than anyone could have expected it. As if someone flipped a switch in Fred’s mind, he quickly reciprocated, hands coming up to cup the back of your neck and cheek.

For a second, the two of you were completely immersed in each other that you didn’t realize that—once more—the Gryffindor Common Room stared. This time, they stared only for a brief moment before looking away. It seemed like everyone expected it since the moment you both walked into the Common Room together on any Sunday evening.

You separate after the kiss that lasted longer than you both thought it would last, the two of you slightly out of breath, but still wearing eat-shitting grins at fooling the two third years in their small corner. Fred glanced at them from the corner of his eye, winking at Oliver specifically when he stared with a gaped mouth.

“That’ll be the best piece of advice they’ll ever get.” You laugh quietly as Fred plops down beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arm around your abdomen, warm against your skin under the sweater. “You’re not going back to those two boys?”

“Nah, it’ll ruin the fun.” He drawled and looked up at you with his pretty brown eyes, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder unexpectedly. You looked down at him and raised a brow, waiting for an explanation from the one Weasley you liked a little more than the others.

“So, you? Me? Next weekend? Hogsmeade?” He asked with a confident smile, twirling a piece of your hair in between his index and thumb.

You bite back a smile and pat his cheek, his own smile never wavering. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Weasley.”

“Is that a yes?” He questioned, looking between your eyes.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” You say as you go back to finishing your essay, not caring for the blush that rose to your cheeks.

You and Fred have been friends since first year, but it never crossed your mind that you could ever be in the relationship everyone assumed you were in. Not until this year. It felt like you clung to every single word he spoke to you this time, and it felt so different.

All the pranks he would plan with Lee and George was always relayed to you, every gift he planned to give to his family members went through you—you were practically his without officially being his.

“I plan for many things, Faucett.” Fred moved to sit properly and dragged your legs back on top of his lap, messing with the embroidery on your jeans. “But I never planned on someone like you kissing me just to mess with two thirteen year olds.”

“You went along with it.” You clarify, knowing damn well that he also wanted to prank the two teens. Besides, it’s not like it was your first time kissing Fred. Not at all.

Your gaze meets his, “So what, you actually want to take me out on a date now?”

“Yep.” He continued to grin and trace the embroidery.

You carefully tuck away your Charms essay once more, continuing to hide the smile that came with the thought of going out with Fred Weasley. “I guess I’ll go on a date with you.”

Fred didn’t even know his grin could get bigger, but it did. He pulled you as close to him as he could, arms wrapped securely around your waist as he tilted his chin down to meet your eyes. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You are bad news.” You laugh and melt into him when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You raised a brow at him, “Never planned huh?”

“Nope.” He popped his syllables with a smile so bright you swore the sun would shake in it’s presence. “Never planned.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[femmesport]

Almost Something - Chapter Two

warnings: none besides language i suppose?? an: this is a bit jumpy, but i am just trying to set the pacing and build up the characters and friendships a bit. i have really appreciated all the love y'all have been showing this fic!! also, i literally needed amari to be in this fic so thanks for allowing me that 😭 wc: 3k

Merely a drink. That was all Paige had last night, and yet she woke up feeling like she had been hit by a freight train or two. Her head was pounding and her eyes were red rimmed with a disgusting dryness. A heavy nausea lingered in the back of her throat.

Paige was wholly and unequivocally fucked. Like harboring potential feelings for the one person she shouldn’t level of fucked.

Paige sighed and pushed herself out of bed as if her body weighed a ton. She barely was able to push her glasses up her face and winced as she truly was able to take a look around her mess of a room.

Walking out into the living room, Paige heard muffled conversations around the table. Upon her emergence, her friends stopped talking and their eyes settled on her in the sympathetic way that made her skin crawl.

“Good morning,” Paige headed to the cabinet grabbing cereal, “what time are you guys heading to practice?”

“P,” Caroline started and Paige couldn’t have that.

“I was thinking of heading out right after breakfast,” Paige hurried through pouring her cereal and adding milk.

“P,” this time it was Aubrey and far more firm, “sit down.”

Aubrey’s eyes point to the chair sitting across from them.

Paige sighed and brought her things to the seat slouching down and hoping for the floor to swallow her whole. She could do a lot of things but having her friends stare at her as if she were a fragile thing was not on that list.

“Listen, you can lie to yourself, you can lie to her, but clearly things are not getting better. You need an outlet, you need to tell us what is going on” Caroline explains in a firm yet soft tone.

Paige’s eyes drop to her bowl and the tears have found their way to her eyes again.

“I don’t know when it happened” Paige whispers out and her voice is so weak that she winces at the sound.

“I don’t know when I started feeling this way, or when she started meaning that much to me” Paige put her elbows on the table and pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes trying to hide.

“P,” Amari starts softly, “is it possible that it has always been that way?” Paige winces and lets out a sound that sounded an awful lot like a sob.

“I don’t know.. I don’t know” Paige whispers her voice laced thickly with raw wet emotion.

“I feel like the world’s worst friend, I am sitting here crying and hurt because my best friend is going out and trying things to experience happiness” Paige voices her feelings and Aubrey sighs at that.

“P, you know it is not like that. You are okay with her finding happiness but you can also want your own” Caroline offers gently.

The pity and gentleness of their tones rattles Paige to her core. Her stone walls are quickly falling apart.

“Listen, I just don’t want anyone to look at me differently or treat me like I am some delicate thing on the verge of breaking” Paige lifts her head and her eyes are red rimmed and filled with a bone deep exhaustion.

“You’re not different or on the verge of breaking” Caroline replies, “we’re just worried.”

“I know and it is unfair of me to hate that when I would be doing the exact same, but damn” Paige’s eyes attempt to convey the feelings that she can’t say.

The room is silent and her friends search her face for any kind of a sign that there was more that she would say. When they came across nothing, they did what they did best. They did normal.

“I have classes until noon,” Amari says, looking down at her watch.

Caroline nods and then directs her attention back to her breakfast. “We can leave for practice in thirty minutes, Aubrey and I were going to walk together. Want to join?” Paige nods and lets the world continue on around her.

Her morning remained relatively silent. The kind of silence that is heavy and loaded, but the silence no one is addressing. 

By the time they left for practice, the trio had only managed a few words and acknowledgements.

The silence around her was far more soothing than her brain which seemed to get louder and more unbearable by the time they walked into the locker rooms. The silence around her was shattered by the boisterous laughter and chatter that was filled by her teammates.

Paige tried to join in. She tried laughing with her teammates and joining in on meaningless conversations. She wanted so badly for everything to be and feel normal.

And, to her credit, it did work for a bit. That was all shattered as Azzi, her best friend, entered the locker room.

Paige had made eye contact and Azzi simply smiled before heading in her direction. Normal was only so possible when forced proximity was the reality. 

Paige had shot up from her seat at her locker. She tried to be normal when muttering something about stretches and shooting practice, but her voice sounded off to her ears and her teammates' eyes lingered a moment too long.

Azzi frowned but nodded while the rest of their teammates continued on.

Paige joined a few of the underclassmen on the court for their stretches before grabbing a ball. The ball felt like lead in her hands and her body felt disoriented. Paige had been known for her ball control and having a strong shot. Today, she noted, this would not be the case. Every touch on the ball was off, her hands lingered in the wrong spots, her feet would land off and a moment late.

More teammates were joining the court and Paige’s frustration was growing. Not doing well was one thing. Not doing well and letting everyone see it, well that was an entirely different beast.

Paige tried one more shot that simply hit the rim and rode around before falling to the side. She sighed and stepped off the court and towards her water bottle.

“My shot is shit today” she groans and she slouches into the chair beside KK.

“P Boogers has an off day,” KK smirks looking in Paige’s direction, “who knew it was possible?”

Paige huffs a laugh and looks up seeing Azzi across the court. Her shots were beautiful. The way she handled the ball and the grace she held was much like watching a performance. She was graceful and appeared weightless on her feet.

Azzi looked over after making a shot and just smiled brightly at Paige. Paige tried to smile in return, but her breath had caught and she is sure she looked more pained than anything else.

The moment is short lived before the team is being called over in groups to split off and run through drills. The intensity that comes with practice allowed Paige to breathe without the insistent hum of her brian working over time. 

The first drill allowed Paige to take a step back. She focused on her mindset and getting better footwork to make up for her struggling handles. Her efforts were clean and tight. It was almost impossible to notice anything wrong. Almost.

The next drill required her and Azzi to work together. Paige was fine. Really. Well, she was fine. 

She was fine until she made eye contact with Azzi. Azzi had her normal game face that was calm, fierce, and wholly unpredictable. Paige tried feeding the ball up to her, but the ball landed slightly left of where she intended. 

The touch wasn’t right for the play she had intended. Azzi noticed. She smiled reassuringly at Paige and they tried running it again.

This time, the ball went too far forward, and it was quickly turned over. Paige huffed out in frustration, but still, Azzi smiled. Though this time it was slightly strained.

The third time was by far the worst. The ball landed close enough to Azzi, but not with enough space for her to have a clean shot. Azzi quickly turned to pass the ball to Paige, and Paige was able to get a hand on it and turn it over to Sarah who was able to shoot.

“Thank God” Paige groans. This drill had been messy and she was feeling the frustration of it all.

“P, you good?” Azzi stepped up to ask with a concerned expression that showed she was just as frustrated, “you normally have a pretty good read on me, but that was all over the place.”

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but the idea that she didn’t have a good read on Azzi served no purpose except further upsetting Paige. “You were never making it down far enough” Paige sighs out deflecting.

Azzi’s face fell at that. “I am not the one with consistent turn overs here, let’s clean it up.” She walked away and Paige groaned out again.

Geno had called her over and she didn’t have time to linger on what Azzi was saying.

“Paige, what the hell was that?” he grits out, hands flailing in the direction of the court, “you two have some of the best chemistry, and now you guys can’t even complete a simple pass?”

Paige felt his frustration tenfold. She kept her head down but nodded with tight features. 

She had shut down and gone cold. Sensing he was getting nowhere, Geno goes into a monologue about completing beginner level passes without heads up your asses.

The rest of practice passed in a cold blur. Her handles were inconsistent, her footwork was messy, and her passes to Azzi had lost their touch.

Paige knew everyone had noticed. She knew Coach was watching her with a hardened expression and jaw tight, certainly planning an hour long film review. She knew Azzi had noticed and was just as frustrated.

When everyone began shuffling out of practice, Paige was the first to the locker room. When she was asked about recovery, she was quick to brush it off with promises of next time. Instead, she gathered her things, shoved on headphones, and headed out.

She still had about an hour before her first class, but if she sat still she would think. Even worse, she might do. So instead, she blared music in her headphones and walked to campus to grab some shitty food to focus on instead of staying in her head.

Campus normally had shitty food, but when you were suffering at the hands of your own mind, there was nothing that would be as awful as you felt. Paige knew this all too well.

As she was eating her low-quality food and trying to think about anything else, her phone buzzed.

Azzi: Hey, are we good?

Paige pauses. Her fingers hover over her phone. For once, she has lost all words for Azzi. How would she explain this at all?

Her brain runs through a million possible responses. 

Yeah, we’re good. Why wouldn’t we be? 

It is just me.

No.

I am going through it.

Instead, Paige sighs and locks her phone. She has nothing to say that wouldn’t lead to bigger conversations that she wasn’t ready to have.

Paige shifts her focus to finishing her shitty lunch and making her way to some communications class she signed up for at Azzi’s insistence that it was the best professor ever, seriously.

Class left Paige feeling just as drained. She spent most of the time berating herself in her head for not being able to focus. Her notes were disorganized jumbles with terminology she is pretty sure Azzi used.

They had been assigned a paper and Paige missed all of the instructions. As she packed up all she could do was hope it would be sent out in an email later.

She headed out of her class and failed to consider that Azzi knew her schedule and was also likely to have classes in this building. Immediately outside of the door waiting for her was Azzi.

“P,” she says firmly as Paige steps outside of the door and sighs upon hearing her name, she pauses but doesn’t turn around. She couldn’t.

“P,” Azzi tries again, wrapping her hand around Paige’s elbow trying to capture her attention.

Paige’s whole body tenses up. She pauses for a second and takes a deep breath before turning around.

“Hey Az,” she says with a forced smile, “what’s up?” 

Azzi frowns, “you’ve been ignoring me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Paige sighs, “I’ve just been stressed with school, training, and draft prep stuff. We’re good” Paige says with as calming of a smile as she could manage. It wasn’t fooling Azzi.

“Look, you’re my best friend. I know you’re lying to me right now” Azzi sighs and Paige swears she sees her eyes gloss over, “but also, you’re my best friend. I need to trust that you will tell me if something is truly wrong.”

Paige tries to smile reassuringly at Azzi, but her heart breaks. She doesn’t mean to be pushing her away or letting her think that it’s her fault. She doesn’t mean to lie or avoid. She just cannot handle any of this right now.

“I will tell you,” Paige says softly with a smile. Azzi returns the gesture and drops her hand from Paige’s arm.

“Hey, team hangout tonight” Azzi says with a bright smile after a moment of silence and Paige cannot help but smile in return.

“You guys planning hangouts without me again?” Paige grins at Azzi who lets out a genuine low chuckle. 

Paige’s heart sputters at the noise.

“You would be included in making the plans if you would start opening upperclassmen group chat again” Azzi jokes leaning in to bump Paige’s shoulder with her own.

“Yeah, yeah” Paige laughs and then more sincerely, “I’ll be there.”

Azzi smiles at Paige so softly that she couldn’t help but melt a little bit, “see you, P.”

Azzi wraps her arms around her best friend’s middle. Paige’s heart stops for a second and she freezes with her arms laying flat at her sides. Her hands quickly catch up to the moment and wrap around Azzi’s shoulders.

In the hug, she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Before the team hangout, Paige decided to join Jana, KK, and Ice at the library for a study session. She had been in her head for so long now, that she had been neglecting her friendships and studies.

“Well, look who decided we were lucky enough to be graced with her presence” Ice smirks, looking up from her work and KK gasps dramatically with Jana joining in.

“Yeah, yeah. Here to put the student in student athlete or whatever” Paige jokes putting her book bag around the chair and grabbing out her computer.

“You’re better than I am,” Jana groans looking at her computer.

Paige does spend some time working through an assignment. At least she tried. But her mind wouldn’t stop wandering.

She couldn’t stop thinking about dark curls, brown eyes, and a smile that made her melt. It was honestly kind of ridiculous. She couldn’t last more than a few minutes without thinking about Azzi.

Suddenly she was thinking of every quiet moment between practices, every shared hotel room and the hushed moments of the night. She couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who has occupied her every waking thought for the past few months and her sudden interest in Tyler.

Paige almost groans at that mere thought of his name. 

After a few minutes of flat faced staring at a blank document, Paige snapped out of it and looked around to her teammates. She noticed that all of them were too engrossed in their work to notice her struggle.

She flips her phone over and sees no notifications, but knows she needs a break.

“Hey, I have a missed call. I’ll be right back” she stands up and the other three vaguely acknowledge her before returning to their work.

She finds a quiet room and opens her contacts. She finds who she is looking for and clicks the call button waiting through only a few moments of ringing.

“Hey Paigey,” the soft voices flowed through the speaker on her phone, “what’s up?”

Paige hears her dad vaguely say something to a coworker and then a door shutting on the other end.

“Hey, dad. I just wanted to call and chat, miss you” Paige explains gently and she hears her dad chuckle a little bit on the other end.

“Are you going soft on your old man?” her dad jokes and Paige just laughs, “we miss you too.”

“How is your training going?” he asks and Paige shifts into a more comfortable subject. She shares the strengths of the team and excitement based on the results of their previous games.

Her dad fell into comfortable conversation. He shared some observations he saw from watching the previous game. Paige was always grateful for the feedback and support of her family.

“You know who I am really excited to see this season?” he asks suddenly with a lot of excitement. Paige just hums.

“Azzi” her heart speeds up at the girl’s name, “she has been playing really well. It’s like she has something to prove. She’s going to kick some ass this season!”

At this point, Paige begins floating away from the conversation. Her concentration shifts and she can only think about what her dad said.

It’s like she has something to prove.

Right now, the only person Azzi is trying to impress is Tyler. Paige cannot handle the fact that if Azzi is playing really well or is trying to impress someone, it is likely the very guy whose name makes Paige’s skin crawl.

Refusing to entertain that thought any longer, Paige settles back into a normal rhythm with her father. They discuss upcoming games and breaks and try to work out times to come visit.

The call ends, as it usually does, with promises to keep in touch.

The end of the call allowed Paige a few moments to try calming her heart. She missed her family and would normally turn to Azzi in times like these. She knew this wasn’t possible in her current mindset.

Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose, tried blinking away the emotions, and headed back inside to the library. She would not let this distract her from the things that mattered most.

Please repost, like, and leave your feedback! Thank you!!! <33

-- tea ★’*•.¸♡

[xoxolaw]

+ HOW TO WIN A HEART

in which her friends challenged her to make the scariest guy in school fall in love with her — and she said, “easy.”

GEUM SEONG-JE X READER

CH 1 , CH 2 , CH 3 , CH 4

RULE 4 - NEVER FALL FIRST

Y/N flirted harder after that.

It wasn’t love. It was a strategy.

Or that’s what she told herself every time her fingers grazed his arm “by accident,” every time she leaned in closer than she needed to, her perfume lingering like a challenge. She laughed more loudly around him. Touched his shoulder when he said something dark. Licked her bottom lip when she caught his stare.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t play dumb.

He played *along.*

But never the way she expected.

Sometimes, he’d glance at her lips for just a second too long, and her pulse would stutter. Other times, he'd walk past her in the hallway, brushing shoulders like they were strangers. He moved through the school like he didn’t owe anyone a reaction—not even her.

Especially not her.

And the worst part? That only made her want more.

---

She spotted him outside after class on Wednesday.

He was pressed against the brick wall near the side gate, surrounded by two other Kanghak boys and a kid she didn’t recognize—smaller, trembling, his backpack half open on the ground. Something about the scene was off. The tension was wrong.

Seong-je had his hand on the kid’s collar.

He wasn’t yelling. Wasn’t angry.

He was *smiling.*

Not the kind of smile people wear when they’re amused. It was slow. Icy. Like he was explaining a punishment the boy didn’t fully understand yet. His fingers gripped the fabric with idle cruelty, like he was waiting for an excuse to tighten.

Y/N stood frozen for a second, watching from behind the vending machines.

No punches thrown. No yelling. Just that expression on his face—the same one he wore when he walked away from her after that kiss. Like the whole world was something he could crush in one hand if it got boring enough.

The boy mumbled something. Seong-je let go.

But not before leaning in and whispering something low.

The kid paled, grabbed his bag, and scrambled away.

Seong-je lit a cigarette.

One of his friends laughed.

Y/N felt something twist in her stomach—not fear, not exactly.

It was *fascination.* And something dangerously close to concern.

---

Later, her friends talked about it at lunch.

“Did you hear?” Jina said, popping a fry into her mouth. “Some guy called Seong-je a mutt in front of the second-years. Said something about him chasing skirts now.”

Bora blinked. “Wait—like, *you* skirts?”

Y/N didn’t look up from her drink. “I’m not the only girl in this school.”

“No,” Jina said, lowering her voice. “But you’re the only one he kissed in a hallway.”

Bora leaned in. “But it’s kinda hot, right?”

“What?”

Jina grinned. “Don’t act like you’re not obsessed.”

Y/N twirled her straw through the ice of her orange soda. “He’s just another boy.”

But her stomach betrayed her.

Because the truth was, she hadn’t stopped thinking about that look in his eyes.

How easily he flipped—danger coiled just beneath the surface, like a knife under skin.

---

He found her first that day.

After school. Behind the art building. She hadn’t planned to see him—she wasn’t even sure what she would say if she did. But there he was, leaning against the cement ledge, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly.

“Enjoy the show earlier?” he asked without looking at her.

Her blood went cold.

“You knew I was watching?”

“You breathe louder when you’re nervous.”

She scoffed. “Please. I don’t get nervous.”

He finally turned, and for a second—just a second—his eyes dropped to her lips before meeting her gaze again.

“You should,” he said simply.

She hated the way her heart jumped.

“So what,” she snapped, trying to regain control, “you rough people up for fun now?”

“If they deserve it,” he said. No apology. No explanation.

“And what if *I* piss you off one day?”

His eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade. “Then don’t.”

A silence stretched between them, charged and hot and full of everything she wasn’t ready to admit.

Finally, she huffed, brushing imaginary lint off her skirt. “You’re not that scary, you know.”

He smiled. That same *dangerous* smile.

“No,” he murmured, stepping past her, brushing her shoulder just enough to make her shiver. “But I don’t need to be.”

---

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

Not because of what he’d done. But because of the way he’d looked at her.

Because of the way she *felt* watching him.

She stared at the ceiling for hours, tangled in her sheets, replaying every word, every shift in his voice. She wasn’t supposed to care this much. She wasn’t supposed to feel this unsettled by silence.

This wasn’t part of the game.

He wasn’t supposed to have this kind of hold on her.

She sat up at one point, clutching her pillow to her chest like it might stop her heartbeat from rattling against her ribs.

“Don’t fall,” she whispered, like a prayer.

“Don’t fall.”

But her hands were already shaking.

And her heart?

It had already taken the first step.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I think I am losing the vibe I wanted this series to have 😭 I don't feel motivated to write a series lmfao. This and Hearts & Hazards but I also don't want to disappoint the ones who were looking forward to this. Idk what to dooooo

TAGLIST

@lveegsoi @lilah1020 @adenosistriphosphate678 @stxr-lilac @iloveaustinelvisandmannymore @ashayein @ellaaa505 @bobamiikteaas @ruruyinn @itzcandy @heeknow @liliasf @lizaaae @uniquecookieartisanwobbler @gacktsa @thebatapex @chimmyn0chu @doiegami @satoru2716

[slayerkitty]

The Unofficial TaUs Timeline

(as written to the best of our knowledge by @blu-eyed-demon and myself. Disclaimer: The dates and events are to the best of our recollection and memory. If they are not 100% accurate or in exact chronological order, please forgive us as the bulk of this was written until the wee hours one night on a whim and stuff started to run together.)

When things first started happening, I hadn't been dragged into this, but @blu-eyed-demon is a big BOC fan, so they were paying some attention.

Ta, Us, and 2J start attending events as a trio throughout Summer 2024

August 31st, 2024: BOC announces that Us' contract has expired, 2J's (his KP partner) would be ending Oct 31st, 2024.

Fall 2024, exact date unknown: Copper (Ta's partner from DFF), departs for the UK for school (unofficially splitting their pairing).

Fans start assuming that when 2J's contact ended, he and Us would maybe sign somewhere else as a pair - but practically the second 2J's contract ends, he joined the cast of Lover Merman and immediately started sailing his new ship.

(this is around when I came into the picture, @blu-eyed-demon messaged me and was like, "Ta and Us are doing things, it feels weird, you know more about BL branded pair marketing than I do, is this weird? YES, IT WAS WEIRD.)

Ta and Us' social media started to feature each other a lot at this point (road trips - they went to the Heart Burger restaurant!, photoshoots, and even meals in Us' car at Us' families coffee shop).

ChalarmJames posted a clip of a workshop, where James was lying his head on Chalarm's lap and then the camera pans over and the joke was that he was mocking Us, who had his head in Ta's lap! (still no idea WHY these four were workshopping together)

In another workshop around the same time, TaUs posted IG pics/clip of them drawing on each other's hands and feet (FEET!)

The BOC Halloween party had a drunken revelation about two of the actors confirming they were a couple - two pairs were speculated: PongTong or TaUs (it ended up being PongTong and we all saw how that went, yikes).

During this period there was a noticeable uptick in their skinship, closeness, and even sniff kisses.

More surprising IG stories followed: Ta and Us did a week long training with a real class of recruits at a police academy (STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS FOR EITHER AND IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE).

Love is Like a Bike press conference was announced in early November 2024, Ta and Us are confirmed to be attending the press conference.

The press conference to officially announce the cast was held on November 24th, 2024 and Ta was slated to play one half of a secondary pairing in the show… BUT NOT WITH US. While Us was in the show, Ta was actually paired with another actor named Nanon (I'm going to be so real, I do not remember this guy's name)

(At this point, I told @blu-eyed-demon I had no idea what the fuck TaUs were doing. If they had been paired for the Bike BL, then I would have said "oh, they were soft launching, makes sense". BUT THEY WEREN'T. So my other thought was "well, fuck me, maybe they're dating, idek?")

Heading into December 2024, Toey (Ta's sibling, who just made a movie with Fourth from GMMtv), started attending events with TaUs.

There was an awards show (I can't even begin to remember which one ooops), where the cast of the Bike BL attended. Ta took ONE pic with Nanon and spent the rest of the time with Us and Toey.

(This is the second and last time we saw Ta and Nanon interact publicly, EVER)

BOC's NYE countdown party brought more fun: Ta took one pic with Copper (who was home for the holidays) and spent the entire night with Us, WHO WASN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE THERE, HE CAME AS TA'S +1). They were caught sharing drinks, holding hands, hugging, and at least one sniff kiss.

They did a joint Chinese New Year photoshoot, where Ta was sitting on a throne and Us was perched on the arm next to him (it read very, very couple-y, imo).

Also for Chinese NY, they visited 9 temples together as part of Buddhist practices (accompanied by Toey).

On Valentine's Day 2025, they released a tiktok where they danced together to "How Deep is Your Love"

Us brought Ta a cake at Ta's birthday event in February 2025 (and Ta gave him a special cupcake of his own).

One of the road trips they had taken was filmed for Tong's (former KP castmate) you tube channel and dropped in March 2025. There was a "hickey" discussion back when it was filmed because pics of Ta had some questionable marks. Ta said it was from "playing airsoft." (Sure, Jan)

March 1st, 2025: Ta's contract ended with BOC. Ta, Us, and Toey all confirmed they were under the same management, Bright Venture Artists.

Either in March or April 2025, TaUs did their first joint interview. It was poorly subbed, but we were able to glean that they considered themselves a pair (unclear in what capacity) and they had future upcoming plans. They also promised that they would have a Big Announcement ‘sometime soon’ but couldn’t even give hints.

Other things learned during this interview: since DFF, Us does Ta's make up. He doesn't have a make up artist. Also, they use Guu/Mueng pronouns for themselves/each other (both of which are considered vulgar and offensive unless you are extremely close).

After Songkran, things went quiet. Love is Like a Bike had released schedules for workshopping, costume fitting, script read throughs but according to social media, nothing seemed to be happening. Everything was suddenly very hush-hush for no apparent reason. 

TaUs attended the KP reunion (via Jeff) together

May 14th, 2025: the Bike BL IG makes a huge casting announcement. Nanon was no longer with the show and his character would now be played by Us.

And that is the timeline of how TaUs became a branded pair in the most ass backwards way possible (and the six months of insanity, frustration, and cage rattling that @blu-eyed-demon and myself suffered during that time period.)

Tagging by request: @respectthepetty @babyangelsky @italianpersonwithashippersheart @benkaben @callipigio @lukaherehelp

And if anyone wants to see the tik tok compilation that @blu-eyed-demon put together, it's here: https://youtu.be/H2HftdRaqdg?si=x4Y6ac5mWp0lUu6d

[idanceuntilidie]

Friendly Rivalry

Yandere perfect student x fem(?) reader

AUTHORS NOTE; So this was inspired by that drama I watched by the same title that had some yuri and I was like oh my god! So i whipped something up with that in mind. The reader is implied to be a girl BUT there are no prononus used besides you and such so maybe it can be still considere gn? anyway enjoy cus I sure as hell making a part two.

Remember your breathing exercises? Breathe in, hold, count to 7 and then let go. Now do it enough so you won’t get dizzy later. Your luggage shuffles across the sidewalk. Despite being small it's terribly heavy, it hit your legs on multiple occasions now and you wish you had someone to drive you. No matter, you followed the navigation motivated to get to your destination. After 20 minutes or so you finally arrive at Marble Hills High School The most prestigious highschool in the country for girls. Not many get into this school. You have to be either exceptionally smart or wealthy. It took a lot of work, sweat and restless nights.  You were first in every single class, a shining example to your fellow peers. People treat you differently once you start getting good grades. Yet you wanted more, the high from achievements was not enough. Finally you tried transferring to Marble Hills and by some divine luck you got accepted. With shaky hands you watched as people passed you by, blurring into a blue swarm with pristine uniforms. You can even smell how much money they have. You briefly looked at your shorts and sweater, sadly you were sticking like a sore thumb. You can’t help but sigh, standing makes you more obvious. Slowly you shuffled along, luggage in hand trying to maneuver between people finally seeing clearing at the main building. God finally. You almost ran to the front desk, with the biggest yet polite smile you could muster only to be met with a wall. The woman at the desk had the most obvious scowl the world has ever seen. Oh this will be good. She barely looked at you before saying. “The community college is 10 minutes away.” She admired her red nails. “Well actually..” “Yes?” “I am the transfer, I-” “Oh, it’s you huh?” she finally looked at you, sharp green eyes looking you up and down, finally meeting your eyes and staring into your soul. She didn’t even look away before handing you a schedule that might as well could be a colour wheel. “Your class is 3B, the next building over. Don’t be late.” she hissed and went back to admiring her nails. Your soul might have left at this point as you took the paper in your sweaty hands. Well these years will be lovely.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ In and out. You didn’t manage to get into the dorms in time so still, you were stuck in your casual clothes sitting in a room with a bunch of people chattering away. They eyed you briefly, before rolling their eyes and continuing to chat away. Still shaking you sat in the back, perfectly synchronising with the teacher who walked into the classroom. She was tall, looking just as sharp as the woman at the front desk. Her face barely showed any emotion as she spoke. “Welcome to another year, let’s start with what this school is expecting you all to complete this year.” Your hand moved swiftly along the paper, noting out the books you will need, important tests, mock exams. Finally it came to questions. “Miss! Which class is Vivianne in?” one of the girls squealed. “Pleaaase tell us?” another begged and soon more and more girls chimed in. The teacher only sighed, as she looked at them. Nodding her in disapproval of their behaviour. When she tried to speak a soft knock came at the door, before it opened and a very stunning girl came through. Her soft black hair swayed as she walked in. Somehow her figure made the uniform look good, and her eyes made you pause. You were almost sure her eyes were black until a small ray sun hit them. So in fact they were warm chocolate perfectly matching her olive complexion. It doesn’t take a genius to piece the puzzle together, this is probably; Vivianne. You did see her name pop up a lot while roaming through the halls, most noticeably on the board that showed the prides of the school and all of the achievements. Finally you saw her face to complete the full mental image. “Hello fellow classmates” Vivian Ashworth smiled, yet it didn’t reach her eyes who were empty despite the warm feeling. “Finally, is the ceremony over?” The teacher looked at the girl. She nodded, tucking hair behind her ear. “Good, I expect great things from you this year Vivianne.” Finally the girls probably came to realise their idol came to class with them. They yelled, squealed and some even begged for her to sit with her. You watch this ordeal, wiping off your clammy hands against your shorts. Vivianne looked at the class with a polite smile, probably scanning it for the perfect seat. At some point you locked your eyes with her, the interaction made your breath hitch. Something shined in her eyes now, despite looking empty just a few minutes earlier. She didn’t listen to the begging and pleading and walked to you. Her perfectly manicured hand stretched out to you. Oh, oh no. “Hi I am Vivianne.” she beamed, “Can I sit next to you?” You blinked at her, once, twice. Yet she still had her hand out, smiling cheerfully. She still existed. Begrudgingly you shook her hand, already feeling the stares and the radiating hate. She sat next to you and proceeded to talk your ear off about everything and nothing while you tried not to notice her hand reaching for your thigh under the desk.

God, this will be a long, long day. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Your shoulder slammed into the bathroom stall. You recognised one of them, she sat in front of you, patting the place next to her saying to Vivianne how she saved it just for her. Next to her were two other girls, they didn't look too delighted to be there.

“Hey transfer student.” she smiled sweetly, her nails dug into your shoulder painfully. “I see Vivianne chose you this year huh? What do you want for changing seats?”

“Wow, buying your way again Abby?” one of the girls laughed

“You are just jealous, you can’t do it too.” Abby hissed.

“Cat got your tongue transfer student?”  the third girl hummed as she played with your hair.

You were still against the stalls, good thing everything is so clean here, otherwise you might have thrown up.

“Name your price” Abby spoke again, finally letting go of your shoulder. “Unlike you I can buy anything, just say what you want.”

“If that was the case you would buy better make up, the zit on your forehead is distracting.” You hummed, rubbing your shoulder. Abby's face went red, while the other girls laughed.

“Okay, I can do that. I will think of what you can pay me back with.”

“Listen here little bitch,” Red faced Abby hissed through her teeth. “Don’t get too cocky now, I eat whores like you for breakfast and-”

The bathroom door opened up with a bang and you barely registered who came in before you were pulled out of the room. You felt like your arm was going to pop out of its socket with how much force you were yanked away from the conversation. Honestly you liked the little showdown so this was disappointing.

Viviann smiled proudly as she dragged you through the halls, her hand was soft and despite looking fragile her grip was tight. The students who saw you two were shocked to say the least but still moved away to make way for you two.

“My God Y/N, I couldn’t find you,” the girl giggled “Were you hiding from me? I wanted to eat lunch with you!”

Your mind was blurring but you nodded, letting her drag you away. You did feel like anything you would say wouldn’t change her mind. Amongst the chaos in your head only one thought remained clear. What the hell is happening?

[goquokka00]

hello!! omg, I used to love sending in requests, but it’s been a while \(^ヮ^)/

I would like to request a SFW ff or oneshot (it doesn’t matter :) ) for Felix where he saw y/n for the first time in a while (or ever since high school) and she was performing in a small local band for the college festival/event and was like wow!! heart eyes heart eyes!! He used to have a big crush on her also! 😝 Just wanted to see how you come up with this ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

Long Time No See

Summary: It had been years since Felix had last seen you. But while on break in Melbourne with Bangchan, the two came across a small fair held by a college in town. And the main center of attention wasn't them. It was you and a small band covering their songs that you had re-written in English. And Felix just couldn't stay away.

Pairing: Felix X Reader (F!)

Genre: Humor, Fluff (It's Felix I mean come on lol)

Word Count: 2.8K

The last time Felix had seen you was in Highschool.

You were the same year as him, a shy band nerd. You were heavily involved in anything music; playing in the pit for theatre, doing jazz bands, ensembles, and all sorts of choirs and singing stuff. It felt like any time he saw you, you always had something music going on. But he liked that.

Your friend groups were really different, but you two did get along when you had classes together. Always wearing your glasses, having to push them up your nose...it always got Felix's heart pumping. He always tried to partner with you on projects because of that. You were also really smart in certain subjects. If anything, it made you more attractive to him.

Unfortunately, the time you two had together grew short due to Felix going to Korea to become an idol. And while it made him a bit upset, he wanted to follow his dreams, too. And so, he left. And while he spent countless hours training and working hard to become an idol and one of eight members in Stray Kids, you had continued to go to school, and eventually to college.

But Felix hadn't seen you since.

Now, he was one of the most infamous. Everywhere he went, people knew him. He was Felix of Stray Kids; the one with the deep voice and the cute face. It's what he was known for. And after working for so long, he was finally on break with one of his fellow members, Bangchan.

They had gone home to Melbourne to spend time with their family, relax, and just do what they wanted. It was needed, and it was nice. Really nice. But today, he had gotten bored and wanted to go out with Chan. Just hang out as friends, and not band members who performed in stadiums.

And so, he called Chan.

"Hey, Felix! What's up?" Chan asked, Felix smiling as he heard his hyung's voice.

"Channie-hyung, I was wondering if you'd wanna go out and just walk around Melbourne."

"Yeah, sure! I actually heard that there was a fair going on at the University of Melbourne and wanted to check it out, but Lucas is out with friends, Hannah is in America, and my parents are busy with work."

"Oh, then we should go and check it out, see what's going on!"

"Definitely! I'll come get you later...around two work?"

"Yeah, that works."

And so, Felix got ready before meeting Chan outside, the two off to go to the University. And once they got there, they noticed just how busy it was. Turns out, there was a lot to check out.

There were competitions, games, food, art, and so many other things. Felix actually ended up buying gifts for all of the other members of Stray Kids, as there seemed to be something for everyone. He even got something for Chan, who turned the gift down. Felix...just slipped it into Chan's bag.

And as they walked around, they heard music coming from the plaza. And because they were idols, they just had to go and check it out. Sure enough, it was a small group of students from the music department playing some jazz tunes that they had written. It was pretty cool, if they were being honest. And after the group was done playing, another group appeared.

And there you were.

At first, Felix didn't recognize you. You weren't in glasses anymore, and your hair was a lot longer than what it used to be. But after a moment, Felix's eyes widened.

"No way..." He blinked, leaning his head forward as his eyes narrowed, almost as if his brain didn't believe what his eyes were seeing. But Chan? He had no clue what was going on.

"What? What is it?" Chan looked to Felix, then to the group as they set up, and then back to Felix, seeing his friend's face suddenly red. "Why are you suddenly so flustered, huh?"

"I...I went to school with that girl. The one with the guitar." Felix instantly pointed you out, only to see you laugh and smile as you grabbed the microphone, adjusting it to your height before doing a quick sound check.

"No way, really?" Chan asked, looking at you as you did the typical "check, check, check, 1-2-3". But it was only a second before Chan smiled, nudging Felix with his arm. "She's kinda cute..."

"Hyung, stop..." Felix just shoved Chan back, hearing him laugh. But his attention was back on you in an instant. You had so much more confidence than you did when you were in highschool. It's almost as if you managed to find yourself, and pick yourself up.

"Hello! Um, we're Wallflower, and today we're gonna be playing a few songs that we really learned to love by a group named Stray Kids." You greeted, smiling at the crowd that had gathered around. People cheered, clapping before you laughed nervously, continuing. "Oh, and they're all covers we've learned and translated, too. So you'll be able to understand them. Hopefully."

And with that, you looked to the keyboardist, nodding. And they were quick to play an opening both Felix and Chan recognized instantly.

"Twilight, huh?" Chan murmured. It wasn't an easy song, that was for sure. It was a song Han had written, for crying out loud. His songs weren't ever easy. And yet, with a gentle breath, you began.

"I think my day, Has grown shorter than everyone's... And your thoughts, Make my night come faster than the sun... I try to follow you, cause you left just by chance, Will you be waiting for me in the end? I still remember you warm words from back when Your eyes held all that sweet love just for me..."

Felix forgot how beautiful your voice was. It was so smooth and soft, having just a hint of a raspiness that made it irresistible. Even Chan whistled lowly, crossing his arms as his eyes widened slightly.

"Damn, she's good." Chan said, looking back to Felix. But what he saw was his friend in absolute awe.

"Yeah..." Felix trailed, watching you closely. He couldn't even take his eyes off of you. You were enchanting, from your voice to the way you looked around the crowed, to how your hands moved and played each lick of twilight perfectly.

And then, your eyes caught his. And it was like everything stopped for Felix. His cheeks burned red, unable to look away from your beautiful eyes. He half expected you to freak out, but you didn't. Instead, you smiled, and winked to him. Winked.

Felix swallowed in response.

After Twilight, your group played Limbo, then Cover Me, then a softer version of Unfair. You sang Felix's solo. And your voice fit it perfectly. From Unfair, your group played Youth and Hold My Hand as well before finishing up.

"Thanks again for coming everyone! You all have been amazing!" All of you bowed before heading off of the make-shift stage to pack up your things.

"Wow...they were really good." Chan commented, only to watch Felix just walk over to you. He just blinked, watching Felix leave before going after him. "Fe-Felix, wait for me, man!"

Felix just ignored him, walking up to you before tapping your shoulder. You had just been putting your guitar away, zipping the case up when you felt the tap, turning around to see Felix, Chan running up behind him.

"Um, hey. I-I don't know if you remember me, but--"

"How couldn't I remember you, Felix?" You just smiled, giggling a bit before continuing. "Honestly, I should be the one asking you that question."

"Oh...Oh yeah, I guess so--"

"Felix, come on! I asked for you to wait!" Chan interrupted Felix, making Felix whip around before bowing to him.

"Sorry, Hyung, I didn't mean to. I just...I wanted to come say hi to--"

"Ah, right. Your school mate, right?" Chan looked to you, smiling before offering his hand. "I'm Chan, though...I'm sure you knew that already. You are...?"

"I'm Y/n, and its an absolute honor to meet you." You replied, shaking Chan's hand.

"Ah, Y/n! You did an amazing job with your performance, the translations were really good, too. You should've seen Felix, he was awe-struck-"

"HYUNG!" Felix gave Chan a look that just said 'shut your trap before I punch you'. It only made Chan laugh and put a hand onto Felix's head.

"Right, right, sorry. I need to embarrass you at least a little bit." Chan said, smiling before looking to you. "I'll give you guys some space. I saw a booth I wanted to check out, anyways. Have fun, love birds!"

Felix was going to kill Chan.

You simply laughed, waving to Chan as he walked away, before looking to Felix. "So..."

"So..." Felix repeated. All of a sudden, it was awkward. Really awkward. Damn it all... Felix just cleared his throat, looking to you with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about him. He's like a dad. A really, really embarrassing one."

"Ah, don't worry about it. I found it funny." You replied, putting your arms behind your back. And then, you gestured to the side, smiling kindly to Felix. "So, do you wanna catch up a bit? Maybe grab a bite to eat?"

"Yeah, sure." Felix smiled to you, before the two of you headed on your way. You both decided to get some meat pies from the cooking club, sitting down before chatting about the simple things.

Felix told you about his training and the show Stray Kids did before debuting, all sorts of stories about the other members and what they were like outside of their idol image. And you shared stories about college and how your group came to be. And it was nice. Really nice.

"You know, I never expected you to go into music." You eventually spoke, taking a sip of your soda. "I mean, you always seemed like you were too cool for it, y'know?"

"Really?" Felix blinked, watching you nod. "But I was a dancer in high school."

"Yeah, but that's not the same as music." You leaned forward on your hand, tilting your head as you looked at him. "But hey, it puts your deep voice to good use. Have you seen the compilations of people reacting to it online?"

"Actually, yeah." Felix laughed a bit, drinking some of his own drink. "Granted, you've changed too."

"Not really..." You shrugged, watching Felix shake his head.

"Yes really. I mean, you don't wear glasses anymore."

"Well, they got annoying."

"And you're not as shy."

"Trust me, I am with new people."

"You weren't shy with Chan."

"But I was awkward."

"They aren't the same thing though."

"They're close enough."

"Well, the girl I knew from Highschool would've never performed songs that she translated on a stage in front of people."

"I had other people on stage with me, I don't get nervous when I'm with them."

"See, you said that in Highschool, and then you passed out from nerves when you had that solo that one choir concert."

"I--what? I didn't do that!" Your face flushed as Felix brought that up, the man only laughing as he saw your reaction.

"Did too! I was there, remember? All because you asked me to support you!"

"And then I told you to never bring that up again!" From there, you covered your face up, letting out an embarrassed groan. "God, it was so embarrassing..."

"Hey, it's not as embarrassing as ripping your pants. Or face planting into the stage floor while performing." Felix had a point. But after a second, your brows furrowed as you looked at him, raising a brow.

"Wait, but didn't all of that happen to Chan?"

"...don't...don't tell him I mentioned that."

"I'm SO gonna tell him you mentioned that."

"No, don't!" Felix just whined as he watched you laugh, Felix only leaning forward. "Seriously! Chan will kill me!"

"Okay, okay! I won't!" You giggled, wiping a tear from your eye before you looked to Felix, smiling to him. Felix just blinked, taking in your beauty for a moment before smiling.

"You know...I'm really happy you've come out of your shell." Felix said, watching as you ran a hand through your hair.

"Yeah...college really changes people." You said, your eyes soft. "But you've changed a lot, too."

"Not really..." Felix said, watching as you shook your head.

"Yes really." You then leaned forward on your hands again, looking into his eyes. "You aren't trying to force this cool guy facade anymore. You're a lot humbler now than you were, too. You're letting people see the real you. The you that I got to know."

That got Felix blushing. He didn't know why, but...your words were so sweet. Something that he knew he needed to hear.

"Oh...um...thanks." Felix bowed a bit to you, silence coming between you both for a moment. But then, you let out a sigh, smiling softly.

"You know...I kind of wish that we got to be closer back in Highschool." Your voice was a lot more sincere now. Felix didn't miss it in the slightest.

"Yeah...me too." And then, the next words just flowed right out of his mouth before he could even stop himself. "I wish that I had the courage to ask you out back then."

You blinked, freezing before looking at Felix. He looked like he hadn't even said that. Just...staring at the table with eyes that showed how he was thinking.

"What?"

"Yeah. I had a thing for you back then, y'know?" Felix then looked up at you, his smile soft. "But I wanted to pursue my dreams. So I did."

"I'm happy you did." You responded, your cheeks pink. Felix then looked at you, his eyes wide. "You seem happy. A lot happier than you used to be. I think in a sense...you found yourself, too."

"Yeah...Yeah, I did." Felix nodded, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. "But...I'd be a lot happier if you were in my life."

Once again, your eyes went wide, your heart beating fast. He...did he really just say that?

"You think so?"

"I know so." Felix smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his, interlacing your fingers together. His eyes watched your hands, before he looked back up at you. "Let me do what Highschool me didn't have the guts for, and take you out on a date tonight, yeah?"

You couldn't believe your ears. But...you couldn't help but nod, feeling shy now.

"Y-Yeah...I'd like that."

"Oh, thank god." Instantly, Felix let out a breath of relief, his hand relaxing more in yours. "I was so scared you were gonna say no...god, that was horrifying."

You just laughed, Felix watching you before laughing with you. And after a moment, you both stopped, your sweet voice speaking up. "You did good, though! You made me feel butterflies!"

"Really?" Felix smiled, his eyes filled with so much joy. "I was really trying my best, I mean...like, I didn't want to be cringey, but I also wanted to be charming, but not too charming. That would've been cringe worthy. Like, seriously cringey, and I wanted it to be good enough to where I wouldn't ruin my shot..."

And as Felix continued to ramble on and on, you just watched him, smiling with love in your eyes. He was so cute...even though he had practically swept you off of your feet moments ago.

"Felix..." You spoke, interrupting him. He looked at you, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. You just moved forward, going to land a kiss right onto his lips.

Instead, you missed, hitting his chin.

You blinked. Felix blinked. And then you both burst into laughter.

"I missed! I was trying to kiss your lips!" You laughed, Felix just bending forward as he practically wheezed. "That's so embarrassing, I'm sorry!"

"No, no, it was perfect!" Felix cackled, only to look up at you with a smile. And after you both calmed down, you gazed into each other's eyes, happy as can be.

"Can I try again?" You asked softly, Felix nodding. And as you leaned forward, you slowly closed your eyes, waiting for the impact until...

"Don't miss this time."

"Felix!" You just smacked his shoulder, making him laugh before going to cup your cheek.

"Sorry, sorry...here, I'll guide you." Felix said. And finally, the two of you met in the middle, sharing a soft, sweet kiss. It felt like the two of you set off fireworks, only the two of you in the world. And as you both pulled away, you didn't go far, keeping close as Felix spoke softly. "I'll come get you at seven tonight. Sound like a deal?"

You just nodded, putting your forehead onto his. "Deal."

One thing was for sure...neither of you could wait for tonight.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d @skzlover24

[mmatchadd]

yamaguchi headcanons (you’re dating!)

warnings: fem reader! Not proofread, I was typing fast as heck

He definitely uses kaomajis ! I can see him inserting them into his daily messages whenever he texts someone. Especially his mom, you and tsukki!

yams: “Thank you for the gift y/n! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶”

yams: “you got this tsuki! (ง •̀_•́)ง”

yams: “I swear I didn’t see them right there! (_　_|||)”

Has a natural scent, which smells really good! It doesn’t assault your nose and he smells like a well managed house with fresh laundry and a hint of wet cucumbers. He uses body mists..instead of perfume and cologne. he says cologne is too harsh and can never find one that doesn’t make him smell like a divorced dad. But the body mist smells like the seaside and ocean. His hair also smells good, but like the smell is distinct so you’d have to BURY your nose in his hair to smell it.

I feel like he’s not the candy type of person. He doesn’t eat a lot of candy and doesn’t like a lot of candy. The only time you’ll catch him eating candy is if it’s a gummy worm that’s not sour (he hates sour stuff) and also only like white or teal gum. No flavored stuff! (I’m totally not projecting..heh. I hate candy.)

You two met because of yachi who was BEGGING..PLEADING you to walk with her to the storage room cause she was scared (you were to😭) the teacher needed you to get the mops and paper towel after she spilled her drink on the floor..and to no avail neither of you could reach the top shelf to get the paper towels. There were no stools or chairs and the two of you combined couldn’t even reach the top shelf..damn genetics. So you both were initially going to head back to the classroom until she spotted yams and ask you to go get him while she tried to her best to get ahold of the paper towels that were literally almost at the end of the shelf! You saw yams with tsukki and got SCARED, he looked so mean and yams looked so awe, (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) but you mustered up the courage to ask him if he could help you and yachi and he did! You bowed to him and kept thanking him like he was your upperclassman until yachi told you that yams AND tsukki were also first years..yeah your face got hot IMMEDIATELY and you began to sweat from embarrassment “I thought they were older than us!”

after a while you, yachi, yams and tsukki began studying together to hanging out outside of school. You and tsukki were eh okay, bickering here and there but you and yams got closer and eventually it would only be hangouts between the two of you! Him stopping by your house to “check up on you” just to lollygag and end up calling his mom around 3hrs later to ask if he could spend a night (real😭) your parent/s love him and so does your pets/siblings (if you have any). He always helps them out around the house even when you aren’t at home and he came at the wrong time.

After some months of being friends he finally confessed to you and genuinely hoped you felt the same because he would call tsukki every time he left your house or when you left his and text him, keyboard jamming whenever your leg, arm or hand brushed up against his. And when you told him you felt the same every ounce of air he didn’t even know he was holding came out in one gush of wind. He’s never been so relieved and happy in himself that HE was the first one to confess. (Tsukki def did NAWT convince him he’d be a lifelong punk if he didn’t confess to you..he low-key scared tadashi into doing it by saying some other guy will take her if you don’t)

All you guys did whenever you got to be with each other at school was hold hands.😭 at first it was the sleeve, then the pinky and now the whole palm. He’d walk you to class, lunch and home. Speaking of lunch he’d bring you drinks because he knows your fav soda and that you forget to stay hydrated during the day due to always leaving your water bottle at home (smh y/n! 🤦🏽‍♀️, do better!!)

Whenever you two hangout (tuh which is every day when he isnt having practice.) he lets you rest your head on his chest, stomach or lap while he plays in your hair (vice Versa cause this boy his a loser for your touch and warmth.) he has some type of understanding of hair and how to do styles even if your hair is textured and not straight/wavy.

Loves you with ever molecule in his body. From every hair follicle to the bottom of your feet. And he’ll show you & tell you! :p. You don’t even have to feel insecure for him to reassure you hoe good you look, you could do the bare minimum with your looks like applying lipgloss or washing your face and he’ll look at you like lost treasure, the 8th wonder of the world. He loves you so much.

I feel like his ideal type in a girl when it comes to physical attributes, is someone with a plump body, not too plump but plump enough (?) like I mean he loves your back, arm and thigh fat. Yes he loves your cellulite and stretch marks. He seeks solitude in your body warmth (reminds him of his mom, okay? He’s a momma boy. He still cuddles his mom and calls her beautiful to.) will never tolerate your self deprivation and literally hypes you up in the most calm yet assertive way, ASSURING you that no one could ever top you and that you’re better than what you realize. (HES THAT BOYFRIEND WHO SPEAKS LOVE AND ENLIGHTENMENT INTO YOUR SOUL INSTEAD OF TRYING TO TOUCH YOU WHERE YOU TINKLE)

ALSO want love and encouragement spoken into his ear/soul. He wants to be in relationship where both can tell each other how good they are, how beautiful and talented they are. And uplift each other, like you scratch my back I scratch yours with love. Cause he knows how hey gets when he insecure, he cries, overthinks and scare himself. So please be gentle and patient with him! Don’t get annoyed or angry that he doubts his self worth at times, he doesn’t know how precious he is sometimes.

Definitely wants a girl whos head over hills for him cause he’d bring you every star in the sky if he could. It’s not even a possessive thing, he just wants his own person yknow? It likes looking and waiting for someone to seek you out or come to you gradually like it was meant, you get close and it’s obvious you two were good as friends but harbored so much romantic feelings for each other. That love is like the wax on a letter, the inside is his heart— something vulnerable, secretive yet truthful and he doesn’t want to give it to the wrong person. So that’s why he listens to you and actually puts aside things to keep the relationship up and running. Cause he’s given all of his trust to you, so don’t run away with it and abuse it!

Wants to be highschool sweethearts, you ARE highschool sweethearts. Even if you guys broke up a few..3 or 4 times you both come back to each other like magnets. So when you told him you’re going to the same college as him or to another college that’s in miyagi he’s thrilled. Knowing you aren’t going overseas or an hour+ away. He definitely lets you move in with him.😭 cooks for you, you cook for him. Etc, you two might as well plan your family and house layout when you get pregnant…JUST SAYING!

[probablyasocialecologist]

What does it mean that, in 2025, a mere call for equal rights for all Israeli citizens stirs more outrage than a plan for publicly owned grocery stores? Against two national parties in thrall to a genocidal regime and reflexively hostile to the very notion of Palestinian humanity, Mamdani spoke with the same force and clarity in defense of Gaza’s people as he did in support of working New Yorkers. Mamdani was always going to be labeled an antisemite by politicians and operators running cover for Zionist slaughter; his actual answers to all the rhetorical traps and ludicrous insinuations, the badgering questions about Israel and intifada, were almost irrelevant. Yet he did answer them, with conviction and without apology. Witness the interview with Stephen Colbert, where Mamdani meets the late night host’s anxious, circuitous interrogation about Jewish “safety” with plainspoken poise. The antisemitism panic has come so unmoored from empirical reality that any contact with that reality is a bracing risk.

[...]

But with the primary all but won, a longer, fiercer fight begins. The redbaiting caricatures, antisemitism slanders, and Islamophobic threats will intensify. Most chilling has been the anti-immigrant vitriol. Stephen Miller points to Mamdani as an example of the peril of “unchecked migration”; Vickie Paladino, a northern Queens Republican and the scummiest member of New York’s City Council, called for Mamdani to be deported. But the more material threat will come from genteeler quarters. Whether through a Cuomo revenge run as an independent in the general election, a last-ditch Eric Adams recuperation, or some other vehicle, real estate and finance—sectors long accustomed to pliable New York mayors and governors—will revolt. An injustice to the ruling class in New York is a threat to the ruling class everywhere. “What happens in NYC,” a worried Larry Summers tweeted from Massachusetts last week, “is consequential for all of us.”

26 June 2025

[odalismus]

THANK YOU, I've been seeing brain-dead op eds from both the right and the left that drive me fucking nuts

the neocons who were shouting that daddy trump's gonna build a wall at the mexican border and put tariffs on china to protect american industry got all pissed off on behalf of big ag losing their illegal work force to immigration raids, because we've got to protect businesses at the expense of american workers (same shit as always tbh they just keep proving that the millionaire class is more important to them than nationalism)

the libs who keep wetting themselves about how inhumane it is to stop border-jumpers and crying about how "no one is illegal" are acting like it's a gotcha against trump to point out how dependent the agricultural and service/hospitality industries are on illegal immigrants like it should continue

most of these people have no true convictions or independent thoughts. they see themselves as either right wing or left wing and therefore obligated to support whatever the current administration does (if it's their side) or oppose it (if it's the other side) even if it's completely against the values they were claiming two months ago. trump exposes this to the extreme because he can't seem to be consistent from one day to the next and everyone's doing the most retarded backflips to figure out how to be for him or against him at any given moment.

>40% of workers in some of these us industries are illegal immigrants. these companies are bitching that immigration raids hurt them because it's impossible to find american workers to replace them. what they conveniently neglect to say, while they're complaining about the work ethic of americans, is that they can't get american workers because they're paying less than minimum wage to do 16 hour manual labor jobs without basic health and safety protections. they are doing exactly what both the right and the left are afraid of: taking american jobs by undercutting wages and also getting treated like pack animals. but somehow, protecting this system is important.

Listen I'm not commenting on ICE or the stuff going on in cities across America because frankly I'm not qualified and I'd be embarrassed to post my take on that when there are far more qualified people on both sides of the aisle who you'd be better off listening to and forming your own opinion, but do people not realize how unbearably racist this sounds??? "We need workers we can pay crap wages and exploit because the law won't protect them thanks to their legal status so we can enjoy unfettered access to cheap goods." What???? How on earth are you mentally justifying that????? Like this is someone with a LOT of followers on social media who touts himself as being very progressive. Brother this wasn't progressive for 1870?????????

[whore4wroetoshaw]

introduction and backstory to minter!reader.

it was always her and simon.

technically, there were four minter siblings—nick, johnny, simon, and her—but the age gaps had naturally split the house into factions. the older brothers were kind, calm, composed, and busy doing "older sibling" things. and then there was simon and his baby sister. built-in best friend, video game partner, co-conspirator since birth.

from the moment she could talk, she was yelling over him. and from the moment she could walk, he was dragging her into games she didn't understand but refused to lose in.

they did everything together. from football in the garden to secret snack runs to late night fifa. she couldn't care less about the offside rule—all she wanted to do was hang out with her big brother.

and simon? he let her. he shared everything. his room. his hoodie. his ps2. his terrible opinions.

when simon was 12 years old, he came home absolutely fuming. some boy at school — jj something — had called him 'lanky' in front of the whole class. she was nine. she didn't know what lanky meant, but she knew it had made her brother sad, and that was enough.

so the next time she saw jj's annoying younger brother, same age as her, teasing her in the school corridor with the same insult, she did the only thing that made sense to her at nine years old.

she punched him. in the face. broke his nose, even. it was a messy, chaotic fight that ended in two detentions, one very confused teacher, and a strange, shaky truce between the minter siblings and the olatunji siblings that would — against all odds — grow into a lifelong bond.

when simon started posting on youtube in his room, she wanted in. while he was uploading fifa videos on miniminter, she was sitting on the floor filming q&as on an old flip cam. lip gloss too bright. lighting non-existent.

they both grew. seperately, but together.

then came the sidemen.

by 2013, simon was filming every weekend, working with the og crew, growing a channel that would change all their lives. she was around for all of it — helping with thumbnails, occasionally hopping into a video, eating leftover pizza after shoots.

the boys loved her immediately. jj called her "miniest minter." josh made it a ritual to bring her iced coffee before a shoot. ethan was practically her cameraman. tobi let her paint his nails. vik even made vines with her. and simon? simon pretended he hated that she was always around — but never actually told her to leave.

wroetoshaw.

he wasn’t there at the start. he joined in 2014. which meant she didn’t know him. at least — not yet.

harry lewis came into their lives like a tornado in a blue hoodie. they brought him in like a missing puzzle piece. the perfect mix of explosive fifa rage and hilarious.

except… he didn’t know her.

the boys had been talking about her for months. y/n this, y/n that. so, naturally, harry asked. "sorry—who the fuck is y/n?"

simon didn't even look up from his phone. "my sister." harry's ears immediately perked up. "you have a sister? how old?"

“yeah, your age,” josh chimed in, like it was common knowledge. “she’s around a lot. how have you not met her yet?”

tobi nodded. “you’ll meet her soon. she's... something.”

"she's fuckin' gorgeous, is what she is." ethan grinned.

simon groaned. “don’t say that.”

twenty minutes later, as if summoned, she walked in. oversized hoodie (stolen from simon), lips glossed, phone in one hand, coffee in the other, speaker poking out of her bag blaring graduation.

she didn’t even glance up at first. just waltzed in like she owned the place, humming to the beat of the song, nails clacking lightly against her phone screen as she dug through her tote bag. “simon,” she called casually, still not making eye contact, “did you take my charger last night?”

simon didn’t look up either. “no.”

“liar.”

“check your bathroom drawer.”

“i did. all I found was your deodorant and a full bag of haribos.”

“so that’s where i left them—”

jj cut in, already grinning. “y/n, meet harry.”

she paused. looked up. finally. harry stood there, awkward and wide-eyed, a half-eaten flapjack in his hand and his soul visibly leaving his body because, what. the. fuck.

nobody said she’d be hot. he hadn’t known what to expect — maybe someone who looked vaguely like simon with glasses or braces or weird posture. he wasn’t ready for this. she didn’t look like simon at all. not lanky. not awkward. she was… gorgeous. completely unaware of it. or maybe very aware. either way, he was spiralling.

she tilted her head. "you're wroetoshaw?"

he nodded. “technically, yeah. i mean—yes. harry. i’m harry. but that’s—uh—yeah.”

she blinked. "... okay."

he cleared his throat. "you don't look like simon. at all."

"i'll take that as a compliment." she grinned and moved toward the couch. "hold this for a second, will you?" she gestured toward her coffee.

of course he took it without thinking. zero hesitation. and then… she walked off. sat herself on the couch like it was hers, casually pulling things out of her bag, legs tucked under her like she’d been there forever.

harry was still standing there. clutching her half-melted iced coffee. blinking. breathing weird.

she held out her hand, palm open, not even looking. he gave it back. obviously.

she leaned back, finally looking up at him properly. “nice to meet you, wroetoshaw.”

“harry,” he said again, a little too quickly. “you can—uh. call me harry.”

she smiled, lips glossy, eyes unreadable. “okay, harry.”

and just like that, he was gone. done. dead. buried. six feet under. fully fucking smitten.

from that day on, they just clicked. in a “bickering all day but also maybe sharing snacks” way. in a “she steals his hoodies and he pretends not to care” way. in a “everyone else noticed before they did” way. in a way that looked a lot like love — long before either of them would call it that.

it was just harry and y/n. y/n and harry. like it had always been them. like it would always be them.

then her youtube career really took off. people loved her. she never planned anything. just set her camera up on a pile of books, lit a candle for vibes, and started talking. about boys. about bad dates. quick grwms and girl advice. a stupid challenge or two. but they really loved her.

it didn’t take long before she had a solid fanbase. then a manager. then pr packages. then brand deals.

the modelling thing started by accident—like most things in her life.

she had posted a photo promoting her new video. that was it.

messy hair. glossy lips. stacked necklaces. low rise cargos and a white tank top. the most basic fit ever. mirror dusty. lighting mid.

someone at a beauty agency saw it, and that was it. in the blink of an eye, she was being flown to paris. then milan. then london fashion week.

one minute she was filming chaotic mukbangs on her bedroom floor — the next she was wearing silk dresses and glass heels and getting flown out for perfume launches.

suddenly, she wasn’t miniminter's sister, or the girl with good advice—she was walking for campaigns, fronting lookbooks, holding tiny designer handbags she used to manifest in her notes app. but she didn't change. not even a bit. she was still the same girl who pulled up to sidemen shoots with pizza boxes in her hand. still vlogged in her pajamas. still did football slip-n-slide challenges with the boys because it was fun.

and harry?

harry watched it all happen — quietly, protectively, helplessly in love. he was never far behind. in her vlogs. in her comments. in the background of paparazzi shots, holding her hand. in her phone, always.

because no matter how many runways she walked or editorials she booked, she always came home to him. her favourite face to see after the cameras stopped flashing.

[baosour]

༝ play the part ( hange z. )

⤷ content : nerd!hange x fem!reader, college au, fake dating, fluff ⤷ word count : 6.2k words ⤷ notes : wanted to write a fluff fic and tried writing oneshots here on tumblr for the first time. needed some awkward nerd hange to boost my serotonin 🙏

( cross-posted on ao3 )

The library sits in a hush so thick it feels like pressure in your ears. It’s not silence, exactly, but the sound of pages turning, pens scratching, someone shifting in their seat like a slow creak of floorboards.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting long, sterile beams that catch in the fine dust drifting through the air. Two aisles down, someone muffles a cough into their sleeve as the old radiator ticks in the corner.

You sit across from Hange Zoë — checkered flannel sleeves rolled to the elbows, notebook open like a crime scene. They share a morning class with you in an elective. However, you have never talked to them one on one until this very moment. You glance down and catch a glimpse of their handwriting: messy, slanted sideways, like it’s trying to outrun their thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about our arrangement,” you murmur, glancing around the quiet library. “We need details if we’re going to be convincing.”

Hange props their chin in their hand, eyes already gleaming like this is a social experiment. “Already started making notes. We should start coordinating our stories before the party this weekend. People might ask questions.”

They look at you like they’re already analyzing your microexpressions.

“We need a meet-cute,” they add, casually chewing the end of their pen.

“We’re not writing a romcom.”

“A romcom would be easier. Less chance of being exposed and publicly humiliated.”

“Charming.” You raise an eyebrow. “Did you write that down, too?”

“No,” they say, like it’s obvious. “That’s just how I talk.”

You watch them for a beat, pen ink on their thumb, sleeves pushed up to their elbows, one sock slightly mismatched with the other. Always vaguely rumpled, like they got dressed in a tornado and didn’t care as long as their brain was working. 

Their hair’s shoulder-length and unruly, dark brown with waves that curl awkwardly at the ends like they’ve been sleeping wrong on it for weeks. They wear their glasses low on their nose, lenses a little fingerprint-smudged, frames sliding every time they look down to scribble. And they smell like something lived-in; old books and laundry that’s just barely dried. 

You used to think Hange was strange.

Not in a mean way.

It’s the kind of strange that doesn’t flinch when silence stretches, or when someone says something dark and expects you to look away. The kind of strange that lives comfortably at the edge of the room, taking notes on everyone else.

They cycle through the same three flannels like it’s a controlled experiment. They carry a neuroanatomy textbook around like a security blanket, even when there’s no class for it that day. And once, when a professor made an offhand joke about historical psychiatry, Hange spent more than five minutes delivering a quiet, unflinching monologue about the evolution of the lobotomy.

Everyone stared at the floor when they were done. You stared at them the entire time.

You weren’t supposed to talk to them—let alone conspire with them, but here you are. 

Because your ex doesn’t understand what silence means — or boundaries. Or blocked accounts. They’ll be at the party and so will you. And Hange? Hange is close to you in a way and is invisible enough to be useful. They’re off-radar, which is safe.

“Okay,” you say, leaning in. “We met during a group project.”

“Cliché,” Hange replies, tapping their pen against their notebook. “I like it.”

“We were friends first. Then something just… clicked.”

“When?”

You pause. They’re looking at you like they’re trying to see the timeline. Like they want to believe it too, even if it’s fake. You weren’t expecting them to care about the details. Most people wouldn’t.

“Last month,” you say. “During midterms. I lent you a pen.”

Hange hums, thoughtfully. “The one with the chewed-up cap that died halfway through the essay question?”

“Yeah.”

“I was impressed by your confidence.”

You snort. “You would be.”

They write as they talk. Bullet points, evenly spaced, crisp lettering that gets messier the more excited they get.

→ Started talking more over coffee.

You nod.

“Not the good café,” you say. “The one with the haunted vending machine and chairs that squeak if you breathe wrong.”

Hange grins. “The one where they forgot my name and called me Hammy for three weeks?”

“Romantic,” you deadpan. “We fell in love instantly.”

They underline the coffee bullet twice.

→ Inside jokes ??

They pause, pen hovering.

“Should we pick one now, or improvise?”

“Improvise,” you say. “More realistic. High-risk.”

“Bold,” they say. “I like that in a fake partner.”

Hange pauses, chewing the end of their pen again. Then, their face lights up as a thought occurred to them.

“Honestly, this works out for me too.”

You glance up.

“My friends won’t stop setting me up with people. I’ve had three blind dates this month. One of them brought a résumé.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“I think it was supposed to be funny,” Hange says flatly. “A bit too much on my part.”

You snort. “So this is your excuse to opt out of the dating pool?”

“This is me buying myself plausible deniability and two weeks of peace,” they say, tapping their pen. “Mutually beneficial deception. My favorite kind.”

→ Pet names?

They glance up at you, already smiling. You don’t let them get the words out.

“No pet names,” you say, flatly. “Not even ironically.”

Hange makes a scandalized sound. “Not even... dumpling?”

“That’s not a pet name. That’s a cry for help.”

→ Pet names?

They groan and drag a thick line through the bullet, muttering “coward” like it’s the worst insult they can think of.

Their smile stays, soft and crooked, even as they pretend to pout. They’re half-folded over their notes now with their hair slipping out of its tie, glasses askew. Their knee’s started to bounce again under the table. There’s ink on their thumb and sleeve, and the overhead light turns the strands of their hair a deep, burnt amber.

You shouldn’t be staring.

“Photos,” you say, clearing your throat. “We should have something saved on each other’s phones. Something blurry and kind of awful.”

They light up.

“Yes. Mutual blackmail.”

They reach across the table and tap your phone screen like they’re summoning a spell.

“Unlock it. Give me two minutes and your front-facing camera.”

You laugh — really laugh, enough that the girl at the next table sighs and pointedly types harder.

“No peace in academia,” Hange mutters.

They’re already writing again.

→ Blurry photo (Possibly incriminating)

You watch them for a moment — ink on their hand, hair slipping out of its loose tie, glasses reflecting the yellow cast of overhead light. They look too alive for this room.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you say.

“Faking things?”

“Lying under pressure.”

Hange hums like it’s a compliment. Low and pleased, like they’re already sketching your dynamic in their head.

“I do my best work when the stakes are emotionally devastating.”

You exhale through your nose, watching the way their pen twitches near the margin, like their thoughts are still racing ahead of the conversation.

“Okay. Rules,” they say, straightening their spine and spinning the pen once between their fingers. “We need some.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“No kissing unless absolutely necessary,” you say, calmly. “And only if you’re not weird about it after.”

They freeze. Their fingers go still, pen suspended mid-spin. You can hear the air shift around the table — the soft hiss of a page being turned in the next aisle, someone’s shoe scuffing the tile.

You wait.

“I’m not gonna be weird,” they say too fast. Their voice goes up, then cracks a little at the edge.

You tilt your head.

“I’m normal,” they add, insistently, like you’re the one who needs convincing.

You glance down at their notebook.

“You just wrote ‘blurry photo (possibly incriminating)’ inside a heart.”

“It’s how I take notes,” they mutter.

You lean forward, resting your elbow on the table, letting your finger tap the edge of the page. “Physical touch is fine,” you say. “Hand-holding. Arm around my shoulders. Or waist, if the situation calls for it.”

They blink. “The... waist?” 

You don’t miss the way they shift in their seat. The scrape of denim against vinyl, the soft click of their glasses slipping lower down the bridge of their nose. Don’t miss the pink rising in their ears. You push on anyway.

“My ex usually hangs around the quad between 3 and 4. And Studio Hall on Thursdays. We should be seen. Deliberately. Arm around me, casual but obvious. Nothing too dramatic.”

Hange swallows.

You don’t mention it.

“Oh,” you add, leaning back in your chair, “and the terms of this fake relationship require you to shower every day. Sorry. Non-negotiable.”

Their mouth parts in mock offense. “I do shower every day.”

You hum, unconvinced. “Prove it.”

“I smell fine.”

You lean in, exaggerated, sniff the air, then wrinkle your nose.

“You smell like printer ink and library dust.”

“That’s just college!” they hiss, throwing up their hands, but their voice cracks again on college and now you’re laughing.

You grin, sharp and lazy. The kind that makes people wonder what you’re planning.

“I like tulips,” you say suddenly.

Hange blinks. “That’s... noted?”

“I want them when you pick me up Saturday.”

“Pick you up?”

“At 7 p.m. On the dot.”

Their expression flickers — something between dread and fascination. Like they just realized they signed up for a group project with no rubric and high emotional stakes.

They blink again—flustered, now. Visibly buffering.

You enjoy it far too much.

“And wear something nice,” you add, standing slowly, sliding your notebook into your bag. “By nice, I mean something that makes people stop and stare.”

They track your movements. Their hands are still. Their leg’s bouncing again.

“That navy button-up you wore at midterms? That. And do something with your hair. Use the cologne that smells decent. Not too much, just enough that people notice. And, no ink stains.”

You glance back at them over your shoulder.

“You’re playing the part of someone desirable,” you say. “Commit to the role.”

Hange stares like you’ve just handed them an exam with questions in a language they don’t speak.

“Okay,” they say, eventually.

You nod, satisfied.

“Good,” you murmur. “Then it’s settled.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

For the rest of the week, Hange walks you to class twice — entirely unprompted.

They claim it's coincidental. That, of course, they just happened to be heading in the same direction, carrying two coffees and wearing that same navy button-up, sleeves rolled up like a uniform. But they hesitate a little longer each time they say goodbye, with eyes lingering, foot tapping like there's something else they were supposed to say but forgot how to.

During your (fake) study dates, you catch them doodling in the margin of their notes. A stick figure with wild hair and glasses, holding hands with another stick figure that’s supposed to resemble you. You pretend not to notice, but your smile gives you away. Hange pretends not to be mortified that you noticed. And definitely pretends not to die a little inside when you giggle.

When Friday comes, you’re both crammed at the same table in the library again, sharing a playlist you both curated and a power outlet, pretending the silence between you is academic.

Someone from your block passes by, then slows. “Hey,” they ask, casual but curious, “are you and Hange… a thing now?”

Your fingers freeze on your laptop keys. You don’t look up. You wait.

Hange doesn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” they say smoothly, tucking a pencil behind their ear like it’s muscle memory. “The midterms got us delusional.”

The words are effortless—almost too effortless. Their tone is light, teasing, the kind of thing you could laugh off. But they don’t look at the person who asked. They’re looking at you.

Eyes steady. Lips quirked into something small and knowing.

Like they’re daring you to deny it. Like they’re trying to figure out if you want to.

Something hooks low in your stomach. Your mouth goes dry. You hate how warm your face feels.

You huff a laugh, try to brush it off. “Speak for yourself. I was always delusional.”

They grin — wide, bright, too pleased — but then something flickers. Their gaze dips from your eyes to your mouth, then away, too fast. Like they surprised themselves. They fidget with the pencil again, suddenly more focused on aligning it perfectly with their notebook.

You go back to your laptop screen, but your heart’s not in it anymore. Your fingers hover above the keys, unmoving.

Maybe it’s the way the sun filters through the grimy library windows and catches in their hair, turning it warm and gold at the edges. Or maybe it’s how they’ve started wearing ironed clothes still rumpled by the time they reach you, but less like chaos and more like care.

Maybe it’s the way they smell — clean and warm and just a little like cedar, like they actually remembered the cologne you mentioned. Or maybe it’s the mnemonics they come up with for their organic chemistry class, stupid and clever at once, whispered under their breath like secrets meant only for you.

Maybe it’s the doodles in their margins. The ones they try to hide. The ones that try to look like you.

You shouldn’t be watching the way their lips move when they mouth formulas to themselves, or the way they blink slowly when they’re tired, like the world softens for them for just a second.

But you are.

And you’re starting to think — Hange’s kind of cute. Painfully, stupidly cute. In a way that makes your chest ache a little.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You open the door to find Hange standing on your porch with a lopsided smile and a bouquet of pink tulips. They're wearing the black button-up with the first button loose. Their hair is half-tamed, and they’ve combed it back, a few strands still rebelliously curling near their ears. 

“You’re… wow,” they say before you can even tease them.

The words tumble out too fast, like they’d meant to say something cooler, but their brain short-circuited somewhere around your collarbone.

You’re wearing something just this side of effortless: an oversized cream cardigan slipping off one shoulder, a ribbed black tank top tucked into high-waisted dark jeans, boots scuffed at the toes like you’ve lived a life in them. The cardigan matches the softness of the tulips, and the black tank matches their shirt.

You take the tulips slowly, eyebrows raised. “These better be the best ones out there.”

“They were overpriced and awkwardly wrapped,” Hange replies, visibly sweating. “I panicked.”

You grin. “Perfect.”

You step aside and let them in. They hover in the hallway like they’re afraid to touch anything, hands shoved into their pockets, gaze darting to every framed photo on the wall like they’re collecting intel.

You grab a dusty glass vase from under the sink, fill it halfway with water, and set the tulips in with care. They look too bright for your kitchen, like they belong in some alternate life where this is a real date and you’re not both pretending it doesn’t feel weirdly important.

Footsteps echo from the stairs.

“Who’s this?” your mom asks, peeking in with raised eyebrows and the tone that means you better introduce them before I start assuming things. She’s wearing black reading glasses pushed halfway down her nose and a dark olive green robe.

Hange freezes like a raccoon caught in a porch light.

You clear your throat. “This is Hange. My—study partner.”

Hange lifts a hand in a stiff little wave. “Hi, ma’am.”

Your mom eyes the flowers. “That’s sweet, didn’t know study partners gave flowers now. Your ex never did.”

You nearly choke. Hange, to their credit, just nods solemnly.

“I’m setting the bar,” they say. “Low enough to be charming, high enough to be remembered.”

Your mom snorts, clearly amused. “You staying for dinner?”

“No ma’am, we’re headed to a party.”

“Oh. Well, if anyone throws up on your shoes, tell this young lady here to text me and I’ll pretend to be your emergency.”

“Noted,” Hange says. “I’ll rate the trauma on a scale from one to deeply scarring.”

“Good kid,” your mom replies, and disappears upstairs again.

You and Hange stand in silence for a moment.

“...I like her,” they whisper, almost reverently. Like your mom was some uncrackable code they’d finally deciphered.

You snort. “You called her ma’am. What are you, a first-class soldier reporting for duty?”

They gasp, clutching their chest like you’ve shot them. “It’s called respect. Bet your ex never had that one either!”

They’re still grinning when you grab your keys and open the door. The night air hits your skin like a soft shock — cool, a little damp, buzzing faintly with distant music from a few blocks away.

Hange follows you out, tulip petals and kitchen light left behind. They fall into step beside you, a little too close, hands stuffed in the pockets of their slacks like they’re trying not to touch you on purpose.

By the time you reach the car, they’re humming under their breath. You don’t ask the song. You don't want to know how many parts of tonight already feel real as the radio crackles to life. 

“Regrets collect like old friends…”

Shake It Out by Florence + The Machine starts playing through the speakers. Hange doesn’t skip it. They tap the wheel in rhythm, eyes on the road, but smile crooked at the corners.

At the party, the house is big and too warm and too loud, with music thudding through the floorboards. The air is thick with perfume, spilt beer, and something faintly like burnt sugar.

When you head inside, people call out your name. Someone offers you a drink. Hange stays close, shoulder brushing yours like they’re afraid you’ll disappear if they lose contact. You pretend not to notice. Their hand finds your wrist when a group brushes too close. You let it stay.

They trail behind you through the crowd, half-curious, half-overstimulated, and reconsidering all their life choices. Their glasses slide down their nose, and they push them up again without looking.

“Why are there lights in the bathtub?” they ask, peering into the bathroom as you pass.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

They nod solemnly. “Wise.”

You guide them to the kitchen, press a red plastic cup into their hand. “Drink. Mingle. Pretend to have fun.”

“I’ve watched Superbad to train for this,” they mutter, holding the cup like it’s cursed. “I think I’m ready.”

You lean against the counter and watch them sniff it suspiciously with their eyes narrowed like they expect it to lurch upright and bite them. The kitchen lights flicker faintly against the half-empty bottles on the counter, and someone laughs too loudly in the next room, sharp and echoing.

“What is this?” Hange asks, brow furrowed.

“Probably tequila,” you say. “Or something pretending to be tequila. Or battery acid.”

They take a sip, cautiously. “Tastes like—” they pause, grimacing, “like someone tried to make lemonade using nail polish remover and melted gummy bears.”

You clink your cup against theirs. “Welcome to college. Even if it’s our sophomore year.”

People swirl around the kitchen as someone dances with a bag of chips, another attempting to open a bottle with their teeth. The room pulses with music, but for a brief second, the space between you and Hange feels quieter. Like a bubble.

Then Levi appears, expression flat and entirely unimpressed by the chaos.

“Four-eyes,” he says flatly. “You’re upright. Shocking.”

“Levi,” Hange replies, grinning like they’ve been caught red-handed. “Didn’t think I’d see you out in the wild.”

He eyes them with the same disdain someone might reserve for a sentient stain. “You have glitter in your hair.”

“Intentional,” Hange says a little too fast, brushing a sparkly strand behind their ear.

Levi’s gaze slides to you. “You’re responsible for this one?”

You smile sweetly, holding up your own drink like it’s evidence. “Temporarily.”

He grunts. “God help you.” Then he turns and walks off with a red cup in hand and the posture of a man who came here only to refill his existential dread. You’re still laughing when Hange tugs at your sleeve and nods toward the living room. 

“Come on. I heard there’s a cat upstairs.”

“A cat? In a college party?”

“I might be wrong,” they say. “But, don’t you want to find out?”

You let them pull you out of the kitchen and into the maze of rooms beyond with glowing string lights, smoke machines, and bodies dancing like outlines in a dream.

Someone calls your name again. It’s Porco, crouched mid-battle in a game of giant Jenga like he’s defusing a bomb. His cheeks are flushed, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw set with the kind of intensity usually reserved for the finals or group projects worth half the grade.

“You made it!” he hollers over the music. “Didn’t think I’d see you out in the wild. Especially after calling it quits with—”

“I’m trying new things,” you say, cutting him off before the name can land. Hange, just behind you, grins and waves with both hands.

Porco raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking between the two of you. “New things?” he echoes. “Like… experimenting?” 

His tone is sharp-edged with curiosity, but not cruel. It’s Porco being his usual, incapable of minding his business.

You tilt your head, deadpan. “Studying chemistry. In a controlled environment.”

Porco blinks.

And then his tower crashes with a loud, brittle clatter of wood and ego. He groans like he’s been shot and collapses into the carpet, face-first, limbs spread like he’s surrendered to the universe.

Hange snorts, grabbing your wrist. "Let's go before he goes to ask more questions."

You let yourself be pulled forward, weaving through the house. The music thickens in the air with some pulsing remix vibrating through the floorboards, lights strobing gently across walls littered with half-finished drinks and scribbled flyers for old shows. Laughter drifts from the living room. Someone spills something and curses. The scent of something burnt lingers faintly near the hallway smelling like a mix of incense or fruit punch.

You turn a corner and slow down.

Someone’s turned the narrow hallway into a makeshift photo booth. Twinkling fairy lights are taped haphazardly to the wall, curling like vines around thumbtacks and leftover party tape. A Polaroid camera dangles from a string, spinning lazily from the ceiling fan breeze. 

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should sabotage every other fake couple here by being hotter?” they ask, voice low.

“I was going to say take a terrible photo for our evidence folder, but sure. Let’s be insufferable.”

The two of you step into the glowing frame of light. You can hear the camera click as it swings gently between you. Hange picks up a ridiculous prop — a plastic sword — and presses it dramatically to their chest like they’re about to declare their love or perish of stage fright. You find yourself laughing before the photo even snaps.

“Here,” they say, reaching up. “Tilt your chin a little. There. Perfect.”

They’re closer than you expected. The camera flashes. The photo develops slowly, like a secret.

Hange pins it to the wall with a magnet shaped like a frog. “Mutual blackmail,” they whisper. “Now immortalized.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You both end up on the back patio next, sipping mystery punch and watching people play beer pong like it’s a high-stakes sport. Hange stands beside you, arm brushing yours every few seconds like they can’t help it anymore. They’re warmer now. The air’s cooled, and the night has softened everything.

“You having fun?” you ask, keeping your voice light.

They glance at you, almost shyly. “With you? Yeah.”

You pause. That shouldn’t hit the way it does. It shouldn’t curl something behind your ribs.

You look away.

Inside, someone changes the music. The bass picks up, and a cheer rises from the living room. You feel it before you see it — Hange’s fingers brushing yours. Then, slowly, their pinky hooks around yours. Not a full hand-hold. Not quite, but it’s enough.

You glance down at your linked fingers. Then up at them. Their smile are faint, eyes bright. 

You open your mouth to say something — anything — but then the crowd shifts inside, and a familiar voice cuts through the hum of the party. And just like that, the warmth flickers.

Your ex is here. And he’s looking right at you.

Leaning against the far wall like they own the place. Familiar smirk with the same entitled posture. They’re already watching you.

You grip your cup tighter. The alcohol burns on the way down. Not enough to numb anything — just enough to blur the edges.

You look at Hange. “Kiss me.”

They freeze, wide-eyed. You don’t wait.

You move in before they can second-guess it — hand at their collar, mouth against theirs. It's warm, awkward, a little too fast, a little too much teeth. Their hand goes to your waist like it surprises them, fingers tightening reflexively.

They smell like clean laundry and nerves. Their breath catches when you pull back. Their lips are parted, eyes a little too wide.

Your ex’s gaze flicked away already by now. You don’t care.

You don’t remember making the decision — just the sudden tightness of your grip, the way your fingers laced through theirs without asking. You pull them through the tangle of bodies, dodging laughter, neon lights, the pulse of bass thudding against the floor like a second heartbeat.

Hange follows without question, their hand twisting into yours like it belongs there. Like it’s always belonged.

Your feet hit the stairs two at a time. Breath ragged. Pulse louder than the music.

At the top, you find the first door that’ll shut out the world, and you step inside. You lock it behind you with a soft click that sounds louder than it should.

The room is dim and quiet, untouched by the party’s chaos. It smells faintly of old laundry detergent and perfume. Hange leans against the edge of the desk like their legs have forgotten how to hold them. Their breath comes quick, uneven.

You stand there for a second, blinking.

You let out a laugh — sudden, dry, shaken loose from your ribs. Not at them. You’re laughing at everything — the absurdity of it all. The fake relationship. The flowers. The kiss that didn’t feel fake at all.

“Sorry,” you murmur, voice catching. “I panicked.”

Hange shakes their head, dazed, like they’re still blinking through the aftershock. “No, I—It was fine. I mean. It was good. I mean—”

You sit down on the edge of the bed like your bones gave out. Elbows on your knees. Fingers knotted. You try to keep your breathing steady, try not to let your heart punch through your ribs.

“I just didn’t want them to see me flinch,” you say. “That’s all.”

Hange’s expression softens. They step forward, careful like the floor might crack beneath them. The air shifts with them. They sit beside you — not quite touching — shoulders rounded, fidgeting with the hem of their sleeve like they need to do something with their hands before they say what they’re about to say.

“I’ve never done that before,” they say.

You glance over.

“Kissed someone,” they add. “Not like that. Not with people watching. Not when it—” Their voice trips. They bite it off. “Never mind.”

You watch the way their eyes stay fixed on their lap. Watch how their knuckles pale around their sleeve.

Then, quieter: “Did I… kiss okay?”

The air thickens. Your throat goes dry again. Your heart squeezes something tender.

You don’t say anything at first. Just study them — the slope of their nose, the mess of curls fraying loose again, the warmth radiating off their shoulder.

You let the silence hold your answer, then say softly, “Yeah. It was… I mean, it was you.”

Their head jerks up. There's something in their eyes; a fragile, burning kind of hope, like they don’t dare breathe too loudly in case it shatters.

You clear your throat. “You’re a good kisser. A good fake kisser. Not that I’m saying it was—well, maybe it wasn’t completely fake, but—”

Your words crumble, feet shuffling against the floor. The tension crackles between you like static. It’s not awkward anymore. It’s electric. Barely containable.

“You’re warm,” Hange says, voice barely audible. Like a thought slipping through their lips.

You smile. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

They don’t answer. But they lean in — just enough for the air between you to narrow.

“Do you feel like an idiot right now?” you ask.

Hange huffs a laugh, low and real. “Terrible one. But, yeah. An idiot.”

You grin. “Great. We’re idiots together.”

Their body turns toward yours, angled and open, knees brushing. You’re still on the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder now, the heat of them sinking into your skin.

You glance at the old analog clock glowing dimly across the room: 11:47 PM.

Hange shifts again, weight settling beside you as they prop one arm behind them on the mattress, close enough to feel their breath ghost across your collarbone.

“So,” they murmur. “We still keep up the act? Even if your ex won’t bother you anymore after that?”

You stare up at the ceiling, fingers playing with a loose thread on your sleeve. “Yeah,” you say. “We keep it up a little longer.”

Hange nods slowly, eyes fixed on the wall. “And then what?”

“Then we fake break up. Quietly.”

“And after that?”

You glance at them. Their face is unreadable. Guarded. But their fingers twitch where they rest between you, like they’re waiting for a different answer.

“We… pretend we never talked. Like normal strangers.”

You try to make it sound like a joke, but it falls flat. Hange lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in their chest for weeks. 

“Wow. Harsh.”

You nudge their knee with yours, trying to shake the heaviness off. “I said pretend, didn’t I?”

“Right.” Their voice barely rises above a whisper. “Pretending.”

But the word sounds wrong on their tongue now. They’re still looking at you like they’re not pretending anything at all.

“Cool. Great. Love a clean emotional exit strategy,” they mutter, dragging a hand through their hair. It falls messily over their forehead again.

You don’t respond. Not out loud. You’re too caught up in the way their voice cracked around the exit. You notice the way the clock ticks softly.

They shift beside you, legs brushing again — and this time neither of you pulls away.

“I don’t want to go downstairs yet,” they say eventually. “I know we’re not hiding, but…”

“Me neither,” you whisper.

The quiet after feels softer now. Not empty. Just full of things unspoken. You glance down at their hand, close, barely an inch from yours.

So you reach out.

Your pinky brushes theirs. Then hooks. A small gesture barely there. Not a claim, not a confession of any sort, there lies only contact.

Hange doesn’t flinch.

Instead, after a moment, their thumb moves. Gently. It traces the back of your hand. Once, then twice. You look at them, and this time, they’re already watching you. Eyes wide open. No teasing. No inside jokes. Just something raw and vulnerable, sitting heavy in the air between you.

“I was scared shitless when you kissed me,” they admit.

You laugh, startled — a small, breathy sound that escapes before you can help it. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Your knees are still touching. You haven’t moved since your fingers found theirs again, and neither have they. The air in the room feels like it’s holding something in.

They smile faintly, then duck their head. “You always looked like you belonged to the part of campus with clean skylights and perfect notes and people who never lost their student IDs.”

You blink. “What?”

“I mean—freshman year,” Hange says, voice hushed, like the walls might overhear. “I noticed you the first week. You sat in the third row of bio. Took notes with that pen that had a pompom on top. You kept correcting the professor under your breath.”

You gape. “I thought no one heard that.”

“Oh, I did,” they say. “It was borderline terrifying—in a cute way. If that made sense.”

Your brain short-circuits on the word cute. You stare at them, lips parted, but no sound comes out. They rub the back of their neck, suddenly sheepish. 

“But, like. You were always surrounded by people. I wore the same hoodie three days in a row and kept chewing on my pencil caps like a gremlin.”

You choke out a laugh, a little too high-pitched.

“I mean, I didn’t think I had a shot,” they continue, quietly. “So I just…kind of admired you from the corner like a creep. Got over it now, though. I think.”

You’re staring now. Openly.

Because all this time, you thought you were the one falling a little too fast. You didn’t know Hange had already fallen—just that it never landed.

“You liked me,” you say, stupidly.

“I think,” they reply. Then they wince. “Sorry. That wasn’t—shit, that wasn’t part of the script.”

But you don’t laugh it off. You don’t tease. You just look at them. Study the slope of their nose, the way their hair’s gone wild from running their hands through it. The shape of them, slouched and uncertain and breathtakingly sincere.

“You’re cute,” you say softly.

Hange goes still. Their eyes snap up to meet yours, stunned. “I am?”

“I found you stupidly cute when you handed me a rubber frog and said, ‘This is my son. His name is Bean.’ ”

“Oh my god,” they groan, dropping their face into their hands.

“Well…”

“I was trying to impress you!”

“You could say it worked,” you laugh. “It really did.”

The room is warm, the bed creaking under your combined weight. Outside, the bass of the party has faded to a distant heartbeat. But in here, everything feels loud with the rush of your pulse, the air between your knees, and the silence that isn't empty at all.

“There’s no use faking this anymore,” you say. The words fall out like you’ve been holding them behind your teeth for weeks.

Hange’s hands drop from their face. They’re blinking at you, like they’re trying to make sure they didn’t imagine that.

“I mean—if you want. We don’t have to rush or anything,” you add, suddenly nervous. “We can take it slow. We can start over, even. Real meet-cute this time.”

Hange exhales, long and shaky. “No more pretending?”

“No more pretending.”

They reach for your hand again. This time, fully. Fingers interlacing with yours like it’s instinct. 

Hange lets out a breathless laugh. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Same,” you say. “But you smell nice. That’s a start.”

They grin. “Cologne. The one you said was decent.”

“And the shirt?”

“I ironed it,” they say solemnly. “With a straightener.”

You lose it as you collapse into their shoulder, laughing so hard your eyes sting. Hange leans into you, laughing too, and their arms wrap around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You both slip out the front door like fugitives, muffling your laughter behind sleeves, half-drunk on nerves and off-brand soda. The night air is cooler now, crisp against your cheeks, the party’s thudding bass fading behind you like a memory being exhaled.

Hange walks you home with your hands swung lazily between you, back and forth — like this is something you’ve always done. Like your hands were always meant to find each other in the dark.

The world feels quieter here. Streetlamps cast golden pools across the pavement, and the sky above is smeared with stars. You reach your porch. The familiar creak of the step beneath your feet. The chipped paint on the railing you keep meaning to fix. 

Hange stops just short of your front door, your fingers still gently twined. 

They hesitate. Then, in a voice low and careful; the kind people use when asking for something they’re afraid might be too much, they say — “Do I get to kiss you again?”

You don’t answer. Not out loud.

You step in gently, rising onto your toes, and press a kiss to their cheek, light and deliberate. Hange goes still. Their breath catches. You feel the warmth bloom beneath your lips, feel the way they lean in just a little too late, like they weren’t expecting it and now already miss it.

You pull back slowly. “Don’t get cocky,” you mumble. “earn the next one.”

The smile that tugs at Hange’s mouth is small, uneven, and impossibly soft. Their eyes are wide behind their glasses, like the world just tilted.

“Okay,” they whisper. “Taking it slow.”

Inside, the glow of the living room lamp spills warm across the hardwood floor. Your mom glances up from the couch, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, remote resting loosely in one hand.

She raises an eyebrow. “So… how was the study date?”

You both freeze, caught like teenagers in a coming-of-age movie — which, you suppose, you sort of are.

Then Hange, never one to back down from theatrics, straightens their spine like they’re standing trial. They lift their chin, eyes wide but voice clear. “Good evening, ma’am,” they say. “glad to say that I’m the real deal.”

Your mom squints. Eyes them for a long moment. Then hums.

“We’ll see,” she says, but she’s smiling. Really smiling.

You feel Hange’s fingers tighten around yours, and you don’t let go. Not when you close the door. Not even after.

Because this time, there’s nothing fake about it.