hi guys,,,, unfortunately,,, I’m quitting this account, or atleast writing 🥹
lifes been really busy lately for me, so I don’t have the time to write. I’m sosoosos sorry to everyone’s request that I never did, but this is my decision.
I will be posting all of my unfinished work, which is just the Rin x reader smut. It’s not finished nor do I plan to finish it. I’m just too burnt out to write ANYTHING right now, I’m so sorry!
I’m not sure if I’ll come back, but right now it’s a no.
my phone rn is ass like straight bootycheeks (its old okay..) so instead of my plain wallpaper and homescreen i have rn bc i have no space im using an old ss of one of my old themes HELP
MY LOCKSCREEN IS OF MY SIBKINGS SO NO WAYGG! LMAO AND THE SECOND PIC... its true🤤 LMFAO NOT OUR CONVO JESS TAAA💔 i meant foeces (however u spell it) not feotus guys
THX FOR THE TAG BAE I’ve been collecting flowers for a project and half my gallery is basically a forest now 🥀 tags; @ginginmaru @ttheggrimrreaper @xxxanimesimpxxx + anyone else who’d like to join 🫶
The field stretches wide under the scorching sun, a blur of green and gold. The crowd roars, the whistle blows—but all the noise fades when your eyes find him. Bunny Iglesias.
Your Bunny. Or at least, he used to be.
He glides across the field like the game was made for him—every move deliberate, every pass seamless, every goal a masterpiece. The others cheer for his skill. You used to, too. Now you only watch, frozen, your heart pounding in rhythm with his footsteps.
You tell yourself not to look. But your gaze betrays you, always finding its way back to him—the boy who once looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. The boy who used to call you home.
Now he’s smiling. Laughing. Eyes bright, alive. And it hits you—he’s happy. Without you. You sit in the dirty, faraway bleachers, hands trembling, the dust clinging to your skin like the memories you can’t wash off.
Why?
Why did he do this to you?
What did you do to deserve being left behind?
You were there—every time he broke, every time he doubted himself, every time the world seemed too heavy. You caught him. You held him. You listened when no one else cared. You loved him through his storms, cheered for him when the crowd was silent, and forgave him when he didn’t deserve it.
You were his safety net. His quiet refuge. His constant.
But maybe that was the problem. You were always there. Always waiting. Always understanding.
He kept you warm enough to stay, but never close enough to matter. You were his pause between heartbreaks, his comfort when the lights went out—the one he’d return to when the world stopped clapping.
And now, the world is clapping. For him. For her.
You saw the messages—the ones that made your stomach drop and your chest tighten. You saw the photo, blurry but undeniable, of his lips on someone else’s under the neon lights of his team’s victory party.
You told yourself it was nothing. You tried to believe it. But deep down, you knew.
You were never his first choice.
You were just the one who stayed.
And as he scores another goal, his teammates lifting him in triumph, you can’t help but wonder—how long were you sitting on the sidelines of his heart, waiting for your turn to play a game that was never yours to win?
Because when he wasn’t at his prime—when the world didn’t chant his name, when the crowd didn’t care—you did.
You were there when the stadium was empty, when his hands trembled from failure, when he swore he wasn’t good enough. You wiped his sweat, his tears, his fears. You whispered that he could make it—and he did.
But the cruelest thing about success is that it makes people forget who clapped for them when no one else did.
Now he walks with his chin held high, pride stitched into every smile. Cameras flash, voices chant, fame fills the spaces you once occupied. He’s living the dream you believed in for him—the dream you built beside him.
Yet in his story, your name has been erased.
You became just a shadow in his highlight reel, a forgotten chapter in a book he claims he wrote alone.
He used to hold your hand and promise, “When I make it, you’ll be there beside me.”
But now that he’s made it, you’re nowhere in the picture—just a blurry memory, cropped out of the frame.
And as the crowd rises for him once again, you realize—you were the foundation he built his pride on, and now he stands tall on the ruins of everything you gave.