#and I hate that I'm being so unrealistic with everything right now

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

the worst part of having a crush is that it makes me feel inutterably stupid at all times

[itneverendshere]

hi again! so I've been meaning to send a request, but before i go about it I wish to say it's completely okay if you're not inspired by this, or if you simply don't want to write it, i would hate myself if I made you overwhelmed or smth. love you anyways 💕 so for the request: reader who's autistic. she's not very talkative nor socially active, never had a boyfriend, has one or two friends, yet somehow rafe notices her and finds her endearing. she's okay being herself with her friends, like she's funny, kind and passionate about her interests (like geek stuff, fantasy books, animals and such). she has zero flirting experience and is always dismissive towards rafe bc she doesn't think someone could like her romantically, and she's always suspicious of people bc they've wronged her in the past (in my experience as an autistic person i tend to believe everything ppl say and am kinda naive, so ppl played me or said unrealistic things and I believed them, which then is a reason for laughter, now I'm always suspicious to ppl's intentions). I'm giving you creative freedom with this, just wanted an autistic reader for once :) if you feel like writing it but need to know more abt autism, you can just post question and I'll answer in your asks, if that's okay. Just a reminder again before I go: feel free to decline this request, I know it might not be something cool to write and that's okay ☺️ love you lots, thank you for your time!

i tried my best, hope you like it 🫶🏼 and if you don't lmk so i can do better!! this was really fun since it's a compeltely new topic of inspiration. kinda left an "open" ending bc i couldn't make my mind up lmao. thank you for the resquest and sorry it took me a while to finally do it 🫂

got dreams but i can't make myself believe them - r.c

paring: rafe x autistic!reader word count: 6.9k

The party was a mistake. You knew it the moment you walked in, the thumping music and crush of people making your skin crawl. Your friends had been relentless, insisting that you needed to “get out more” and “live a little,” despite your repeated attempts to explain that “getting out” meant something different to you.

But somehow, you’d caved, and now you were standing awkwardly in the corner of a stranger’s living room, clutching your book like it was a life vest. You needed to stop letting them drag you everywhere.

It was the typical college party scene, at least the one's you'd heard or read about before. Red solo cups everywhere, groups of people huddled on couches or pressed together on the so called dance floor, and a few already-drunk guys yelling loudly in the kitchen.

This was supposed to be fun?

“Just stay for an hour,” they said. “If it’s really that bad, you can leave.”

Right. Except an hour felt like an eternity when you were trapped in a sensory nightmare. You took a deep breath, scanning the crowded room. There were people everywhere—laughing, dancing, chattering loudly in clumps—and the noise was a constant, overwhelming buzz in your ears.

This was definitely a mistake.

So, you did what you always did in these situations: you found a place to hide. After walking through the drunk college students, you eventually ended up on quiet nook near the back of the house. It was a small room, probably some sort of den or study. Blessedly, it was empty. With a sigh of relief, you settled into an oversized armchair, opened your book, and let the world outside your pages melt away.

Time slipped by as you read, the noise of the party changing into a distant hum. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even notice when someone stumbled into the room until a loud crash jolted you out of your fictional word. He nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself at the last second with a slurred, “Shit.”

You looked up to find a guy standing unsteadily in the doorway, blinking blearily at you. He was tall, with tousled hair and a loose, easy grin that spoke of far too many drinks. His eyes were a striking blue even in the low light, and it took you a second to place him.

Rafe Cameron.

Oh, God. You knew him—well, of him, at least. He was in your sociology class, always sitting a few rows behind you with his gaggle of equally charming friends. He’d never spoken to you before, though, and you’d never had a reason to pay him much attention.

Until now.

Then his face split into a lazy grin, and he swaggered—no, stumbled—into the room, somehow managing to make even that look effortless.

“Heyyy,” he drawled, leaning heavily against the arm of the chair across from you. “It’s… it’s you.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he slurred, squinting like he was trying to see you clearly. “T-The girl from my class. The quiet one.”

Your stomach did a weird flip, part confusion, part disbelief. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely, as if you’d just confirmed some great truth. “You’re the uh, the smart one. With the books.” He gestured vaguely at the one in your hands. “Always sittin’ up front, all… all cute n'shit.”

Your cheeks burned. Was he seriously calling you cute? No. He was drunk—really drunk. He probably didn’t even know what he was saying.

“Do you need help?” you asked cautiously. “You look—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off, straightening up as if to prove it, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he swayed on his feet. “Needed to get away from those idiots out there. Too many people.”

You almost laughed. Rafe Cameron, overwhelmed by people? The guy who was always surrounded by friends, girls practically draped over him like accessories? But he looked sincere—well, as sincere as a drunk person could look.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, gesturing to the empty chair. “You, um, might fall over if you don’t.”

“Pfft, I’m not gonna—” He paused mid-sentence, wobbling precariously. Then, as if he’d just made the smartest decision of his life, he plopped down in the chair, sprawling out like he owned the place.

“See? Told ya m'fine,” he said, flashing you a lopsided grin.

You couldn’t help but snort. “Right.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his gaze roaming over your face “What’re you doin’ here?” he asked abruptly.

You glanced at your book, then back at him. "Reading?”

“No, I mean… here,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely around the room. “At this shitty party.”

You shrugged, feeling awkward. “My friends dragged me. I didn’t really want to come.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and for a moment, he looked almost sober. “Yeah, same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, a flash of the cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen in class. “Yeah, well… they’re fucking assholes, but they’re my assholes, y'know?”

You didn’t, but you nodded anyway. “Sure.”

“So, what’s that book about?”

You hesitated. “Um… it’s a fantasy novel.”

“Fantasy, huh?” He tilted his head, eyeing the cover. “Like wizards and dragons n'shit?”

“Sort of,” you admitted. “It’s about a girl who finds out she has magic and goes on a quest to—”

“Save the world?” he finished with a mock-solemn expression.

“...Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Bet it is,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re really into that stuff, huh?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into something that almost looked like genuine interest. “You looked happy, talkin’ about it.”

Your heart did another weird little flip, and you frowned, pushing the feeling down. He was drunk. This didn’t mean anything. He probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.

But then, his eyes drifted shut, his head lolling back against the chair. Within seconds, he was snoring. You sat there, stunned.

What the hell had just happened?

Three days later, you were sitting in your usual spot in the lecture hall, flipping through your notes. Class was about to start, and the room was filling up with the usual pre-lecture chatter. You were just getting settled when someone slid into the seat beside you.

You glanced up, expecting one of your friends. But it wasn’t.

It was Rafe.

“Hey, friend,” he said casually, like you hadn’t left him passed out at a party a few nights ago.

You stared at him, completely disoriented. “Hi?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair like this was completely normal. “Didn’t think I’d forget about you, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I… yeah, actually.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, princess,” he murmured. “I remember everything.”

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug. “You, sitting there all cute with your book, talking about magic and shit. Thought I was too drunk to remember, huh?”

“I—” You stared at him, completely off balance. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be,” he said simply. “Got a problem with that?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “No?”

“Good.” He flashed you a grin, all cocky charm. “So, you gonna tell me more about that book, or what?”

You gaped at him. “You actually want to hear about it?”

“Why not?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “It made you smile.”

And for some reason, that simple statement knocked the breath out of you.

“Okay,” you said, still unsure if this was some kind of elaborate prank.

But Rafe just leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I’ll stick around.”

The next few classes were…weird, to say the least. Ever since Rafe decided you were his new "friend," he’d taken to sitting beside you every lecture, plopping down in the empty seat as if he’d been there all along. It was confusing. Most of the time, he’d breeze in at the last possible minute, sauntering up to your row without so much as a greeting and settling into the chair with that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

You were already seated, your notebook open and your pen poised to start taking notes when he dropped into the seat beside you with his usual nonchalance. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, casting you a sidelong look as if daring you to acknowledge him first.

“Hi,” you said quietly, eyes flicking back to the front of the room.

“Hey, princess,” he replied, voice low and teasing.

You kept your gaze firmly on your notebook. You’d quickly learned that the best way to deal with him was to pretend his presence didn’t affect you—no matter how much his proximity messed with you.

He’d spent the last three classes nudging your foot under the desk, passing snide comments under his breath, or leaning over just close enough to murmur sarcastic observations about whatever the professor was droning on about. And today was no different.

The lecture started, Professor Callahan launching into her usual detailed overview of sociological theory. You tried to focus, pen flying across your notebook as you jotted down her points.

“Is she always this boring?” he whispered, leaning in slightly so his arm brushed against yours.

You stiffened, eyes fixed on your notes. “If you listened, it wouldn’t be so boring.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna waste my time listening to her go on about… what is it today? Class structure?”

“Yes,” you hissed, refusing to look at him. “And if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what?” he challenged, his grin audible in his voice.

You snapped your mouth shut, trying to ignore the way his leg brushed against yours under the desk. He was doing it on purpose—nudging your knee every so often, shifting just a little closer until the faint scent of his cologne surrounded you. It was infuriating. And yet, when you glanced sideways at him, he was looking at you with that maddening, lazy grin that made your heart stutter.

“Just pay attention,” you mumbled, cheeks warm.

“Why would I do that when I have such a pretty view right here?”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. “What?”

But Rafe just smirked, his gaze drifting lazily up and down your face before flicking back to the front of the room as if he hadn’t just made your brain short-circuit. 

“Relax, princess. Just messin' with you.”

You swallowed, trying to refocus on the lecture. His attention was like a physical thing—intense and all-consuming. It made you uneasy. 

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you forced yourself to look at the professor, tuning out the heat of Rafe’s gaze. Professor Callahan was in the middle of explaining something about social hierarchies when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

You looked up, eyes widening in surprise as Professor Callahan fixed Rafe with a stern look. “I’m aware that I’m not as pretty as your classmate,” she said dryly, gesturing toward you, “but I would appreciate it if you could pay attention for at least ten minutes.”

A ripple of snickers spread through the room, and your cheeks flamed scarlet. Rafe, however, didn’t even blink, he was completely unruffled and offered the professor a lazy, arrogant smile. “Sorry, Professor. Just got a little distracted.”

Your stomach dropped. He was staring at you, unabashedly.

The professor raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Her tone was dry, unimpressed. “Would you mind keeping your distractions to yourself until after class?”

Another murmur of laughter swept through the room, and you shrank in your seat, mortified. His smirk widened, but he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course, ma’am,” he drawled. “No more distractions.”

Professor Callahan gave him a pointed look, then turned back to the board, resuming her lecture. You sat there, face burning, refusing to look anywhere near Rafe, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Guess I got you in trouble, huh?” he whispered, leaning closer.

You grit your teeth, still staring resolutely at the front of the room. “Stop talking.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice teasing. “You’re way more interesting than this shit.”

“Rafe, I swear—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” he said lightly, sitting back. But he didn’t take his eyes off you. You could feel him lingering, warm and intent, and you wanted to scream. How was he so calm? So unaffected, like getting called out by the professor was just a minor inconvenience?

You hated every second of it.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, finally daring to glance at him. “Will you just—”

“What?” He leaned in again, eyes bright with mischief. “You want me to go back to ignoring you?”

“Stop staring.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t promise that, princess.”

Your heart hammered, and you squeezed your pen so tightly it nearly snapped. “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged, his expression turning oddly serious. “I like sitting next to you.”

Rafe Cameron—the arrogant, cocky asshole you’d written off as nothing more than a nuisance—had just chosen to stay by your side.

As soon as class ended, you gathered your things in record time, heart still thumping wildly. The room buzzed with students shuffling out, but you kept your head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

Maybe if you were quick enough, you could escape before he decided to make good on his new, annoying habit of sticking to you like glue. But, of course, he was nothing if not persistent.

You’d barely slung your bag over your shoulder when he appeared at your side, his tall frame looming over you as he fell into step like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Heading to lunch?” he asked, all casual charm, as if he hadn’t just spent the entire class making you the center of unwanted attention.

“Yes?” You tried not to sound as thrown as you felt, but the way he looked at you—with that infuriatingly lazy grin—told you he could see right through you.

“Cool. I’m starving.” He said it like it was an invitation, like he was entitled to follow you, and before you could muster up a half-hearted protest, he was already steering you through the crowded hallway.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you demanded, glancing around in panic. People were staring, eyes widening as they took in the sight of Rafe Cameron, of all people, trailing after you. Whispers flitted through the air, curious and disbelieving, and you shrank under the scrutiny, feeling painfully exposed.

“Uh, going to lunch with you?” He made it sound so obvious, his voice lilting with amusement.

“I didn’t invite you!” You glanced at him, trying to tamp down the fluttery, nervous feeling his presence always seemed to stir up. “What if I’m eating with someone else?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll eat with them too.”

You gawked at him. “What?”

But Rafe just flashed you that cocky, confident grin. “Relax. It’s just lunch.”

Just lunch, he said, like this wasn’t completely absurd.

You narrowed your eyes, debating whether to make a break for it, but he was already steering you toward the main quad, his hand ghosting the small of your back in a way that made your skin tingle. 

Your heart hammered as the familiar outdoor seating area came into view. Your friends were already there, sitting at your usual table—a small group of two girls and a guy, all talking animatedly. You hadn’t even sat down yet, and they still managed to look up as one, their expressions morphing from curious to shocked when they caught sight of you—and Rafe—heading straight toward them.

“Uh, hey,” you greeted awkwardly as you approached. They just stared, mouths agape.

Emily was the first to recover. “What the—since when do you two know each other?” she asked, eyes darting between you and Rafe like she was seeing some kind of glitch in the matrix.

“Yeah, what’s going on here?” Max, the guy in your small circle, chimed in, his gaze flicking to Rafe warily. “Is this, like… a project thing?”

“No, it’s not—” you started, but Rafe cut you off with a breezy smile.

“Can’t believe y’all kept her to yourselves this whole time,” he drawled, pulling out the chair beside yours and plopping down like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Thought you’d have the decency to introduce me to the most interesting girl on campus.”

Your friends gaped, eyes wide with shock. You could practically see their brains short-circuiting. Meanwhile, you were fighting the urge to smack him upside the head.

“Please shut up,” you muttered under your breath, cheeks burning.

But he just smirked, his gaze sliding over your stunned friends with lazy amusement. “What?” he said innocently. “It’s true.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Emily demanded, still staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You—you and Rafe Cameron?”

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment. “There is no ‘me and Rafe Cameron.’ He just—he’s being annoying.”

“Annoying?” he repeated, feigning offense. “C’mon. I thought we were past that.”

“We are not past anything,” you snapped, shooting him a glare. But that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Okay, back up,” Max interjected, brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you guys even know each other?”

“Uh, sociology class?” you offered weakly, as if that explained anything. “He’s been sitting next to me.”

“Sitting next to you?” Emily repeated slowly, like she was trying to process a particularly difficult equation. “And now you’re… eating lunch together?”

“It’s not—” You looked helplessly at Rafe, who was watching the exchange with that insufferable smirk. “I didn’t ask him to.”

He looked completely unfazed by the mess he’d caused. “What can I say? I like the company.”

“Since when?” Emily shot back, clearly unconvinced.

Rafe shrugged, “Since she started talking to me.”

Your friends fell silent, eyes wide and suspicious as they turned to you, searching for answers. But you just sat there, feeling utterly, hopelessly lost. What were you supposed to say? That Rafe Cameron had decided, out of nowhere, to insert himself into your life? That he was following you to lunch like this was some sort of normal occurrence?

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s really not a big deal. He’s just—”

“Rafe Cameron is never ‘just’ anything,” Emily interrupted, folding her arms as she fixed Rafe with a suspicious look. “So what are you up to?"

“Nothing,” Rafe said easily, his smile all sharp edges. “Like I said, I’m just getting to know her.”

“Getting to know her,” Max echoed, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes never left yours, his eyes gleaming with something that made your pulse flutter. “What’s so weird about that?”

Your friends exchanged looks. You didn’t blame them. This was weird. More than weird. You’d never been the kind of girl to attract attention—especially not from someone like Rafe. Popular, arrogant, and completely out of your league in every possible way. And yet, here he was, acting like sitting with you at lunch was the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” He said suddenly, turning his attention back to the group, “Are you gonna sit here gaping all day, or are we gonna eat?”

Emily blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Uh, yeah, we’re… we’re eating.”

“Good.” Rafe turned to you, eyebrow raised. “You eating, princess?”

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re offering to get me lunch?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I am. Now, what do you want?”

“I—” You swallowed, glancing at your friends, who were watching the exchange like it was some sort of bizarre performance. “Um, a sandwich?”

“Got it.” Rafe pushed to his feet, his smile smug. “Be right back.”

And then, to your utter disbelief, he sauntered off toward the food line, leaving you and your friends staring after him.

“What,” Max said slowly, “the hell just happened?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I have no idea.”

The awkward lunch with Rafe didn’t end as badly as you expected.

Your friends had spent the entire time shooting you confused, bewildered looks, while he seemed to thrive under their scrutiny, lounging beside you like he belonged. He didn’t flirt—thank God—but he didn’t exactly tone down his usual cocky self either. By the end of it, he’d somehow managed to charm your friends just enough to leave them confused rather than outright hostile. Still, after that lunch, you’d expected him to lose interest, to move on to his usual crowd and forget all about his bizarre little experiment. But of course, he wasn’t known for playing by the rules.

You learned that the hard way two days later.

It was late afternoon, and you were holed up in the campus library, buried under a mountain of textbooks and notes for an upcoming exam. The library was your sanctuary—quiet, calm, and blissfully free of distractions. At least, until Rafe sauntered in. You didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in your notes. The library was busy, students murmuring as they worked, the rustle of pages and the faint clack of keyboards filling the air. You were hunched over a particularly dense passage in your sociology textbook when you felt it—

You stiffened, glancing up cautiously, and there he was.

He leaned against the bookshelf a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you with a lazy, assessing look. He didn’t move, just watched you, his lips quirking in that infuriating smirk when your eyes met.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, glancing around nervously. No one seemed to be paying attention, but you still felt like the entire room was suddenly staring.

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

“Since now,” he said easily, pushing off the bookshelf and strolling over to your table. He pulled out the chair across from you, dropping into it like he had every right to be there. “What? Can’t a guy broaden his horizons?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Not today, princess.” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he peered at your open book. “So, what’re we learning?”

“We are not learning anything,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I’m studying. You are… I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Keeping you company,” he said simply. “You looked lonely.”

Your mouth fell open. “Lonely?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face. “All holed up in here with your books. Thought I’d help.”

What was he even talking about? This was insane. He didn’t just hang out in the library, especially not to “keep someone company.” He was the kind of guy who spent his free time at parties, or on the field, or wherever people like him thrived. And yet, here he was, sitting across from you in the library like this was normal.

“Rafe,” you said slowly, “you don’t even know what I’m studying.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re trying to help,” you shot back, frustration seeping into your voice. “You’re���what are you even—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down. Just trying to see what’s got you all riled up.”

You bit back a groan, rubbing your temples. This was absurd. You didn’t need—didn’t want—his attention.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your textbook around so he could see the page. “I’m going over Durkheim’s theory of social integration.”

Rafe leaned in, squinting at the page. “Durkheim, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, a little impatiently. “He believed that society functions through a collective conscience—shared beliefs and values that bind people together.”

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

“It’s not boring,” you retorted before you could stop yourself. “It’s actually really interesting—he argued that a lack of social integration could lead to anomie, a state of normlessness that causes people to feel disconnected and isolated.”

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At least it felt that way to you.

“What?” you demanded, suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, a strange, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Just… you get really into this stuff, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s sociology. It’s important.”

“Yeah, but…” He shook his head, “It’s kinda cute.”

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting. “Cute?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a casual, easy confidence that made your heart flutter. “You get all intense when you talk about it. Like, you actually care.”

“I—I do care,” you stammered, “It’s my major.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I like that about you.”

What—what was that supposed to mean? Why was he looking at you like that, like he actually meant it?

Before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, a shadow fell over the table, and you glanced up to see another student standing there—a tall, lanky guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked vaguely familiar, probably from one of your classes.

“Uh, hey,” the guy said awkwardly, glancing between you and Rafe. “Are—are you using this seat?”

Rafe’s expression changed instantly, “Yeah,” he said flatly. “We are.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”

“You just can find another table,” Rafe cut in, “We’re a little busy here.”

You gaped at him, mortified. “Rafe, stop.”

But he didn’t even glance at you. He just kept staring down the poor guy, his posture tense and unyielding until, with a muttered apology, the student backed off, scurrying away like he’d just had a close encounter with a predator.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed as soon as the guy was out of earshot. “He just wanted to sit down!”

“Yeah, and we’re studying,” Rafe said dismissively. “No room for distractions.”

“We’re not studying anything!” you shot back, resisting the urge to smack him. “You’re just sitting here, being—being weird.”

“Not weird,” he corrected, leaning in again. “Protective.”

You froze, your mouth going dry. “Protective?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were dark, intense, locking onto yours. “Can’t have just anyone bothering you, can I?”

After the bizarre encounter in the library, you were convinced Rafe would drop this whole… whatever it was. Surely, following you to lunch and then “protecting” you in the library was enough.

So when you found yourself at another party two nights later—dragged along by Emily despite your vehement protests—you knew it was only a matter of time before he found you. Because somehow, no matter where you went, Rafe had made it his mission to seek you out.

“Come on, you need to have some fun,” Emily had insisted, half-pulling, half-dragging you through the front door of one of the fraternity houses on campus. The music was already blaring, the heavy bass vibrating through your body. People were packed in the main room, laughing, talking, drinking, the buzz of chatter filling the air.

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” you muttered, hugging your arms around yourself as you tried to avoid brushing against the partygoers. It wasn’t that you disliked parties, exactly—it was just that the noise, the sheer volume of people could get overwhelming quickly.

“Just stay for an hour,” Emily pleaded. “Please? I swear it’ll be more fun than you think. We can dance, have a few drinks—”

“I don’t dance,” you cut in flatly, giving her a pointed look.

“Okay, fine, I’ll dance, and you… can hang out and people-watch,” she amended, undeterred. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

You gave her a withering stare. “Yeah, because I’m such a social butterfly.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate, and began making your way through the press of bodies. After a few minutes you managed to find a relatively quiet corner in the back, near the stairs, and gratefully leaned against the wall. Maybe if you stayed out of sight long enough, Emily would give up on trying to get you to socialize and let you leave early. It was a long shot, but you could hope.

You hadn’t been there long when you felt it—the now-familiar prickling sensation of someone’s gaze lingering on you. Sure enough, when you glanced up, there he was.

Rafe, in all his infuriating glory, leaning against the wall a few feet away, his eyes locked on you with that lazy focus that made your heart stutter. He looked unfairly good, dressed in a dark button-up that clung to his frame in all the right ways, his hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool. And, as usual, he was watching you like you were the only person in the room.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your stomach twisting in irritation and something else. “Are you stalking me now?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Rafe’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Yes,” you said flatly. “It would be very bad.”

He chuckled, the sound low, sending an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Relax, princess. I just saw you standing here all alone and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now you can leave.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he straightened, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few long strides until he was standing directly in front of you, his presence overwhelming.

You tried to step back, but the wall blocked your escape.

“Actually, I was thinking we could, I don’t know, hang out for a bit?” he suggested, tilting his head as he regarded you with a faux-innocent smile.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Rafe blinked, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Why?”

“Yes,” you insisted, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Why do you keep… doing this? Showing up, sitting with me, following me to lunch, acting like—like we’re friends or something. What is your deal, Cameron?”

Slowly he reached up, bracing one hand on the wall beside your head, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“My deal,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, “is that I like you.”

No. No, no, no.

That couldn’t be right. People didn't just like you. They tolerated you, maybe, or found you useful sometimes, but they didn't like you. Not like that. Not in the way he was implying. You felt panic rising in your chest, like a wave that was too big to stop. You couldn’t stop it.

“You’re lying,” you said shakily, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re just—this is some kind of game, isn’t it? Some—some bet, or—”

Rafe’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. “It’s not a game,” he ground out, his eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching. No, this couldn’t be happening. This didn’t make sense.

“I don’t believe you,” you shook your head stubbornly.

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms defiantly. “You’re just… you. You can’t just decide you like me out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t decide,” he murmured, “It just happened.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“I—” You broke off, struggling to find words, but before you could answer, a loud voice interrupted.

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

You both jerked back, startled, and you glanced over to see one of Rafe’s friends—Topper, if you remembered correctly—stumbling over, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“What are you doing back here?” Topper slurred, his gaze sliding to you. He blinked, “Who’s this?”

Rafe stepped in front of you slightly, his posture tense and protective. “Doesn’t matter,” he said curtly, “Go find someone else to bother.”

Topper blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, man, chill. I was just—”

“Go,” Rafe repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Topper stared at him for a long moment, then slowly backed off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Rafe turned back to you, his eyes softening again.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, “Didn’t mean to—”

“Why did you do that?” you cut in, your heart still pounding.

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

“Get rid of him,” you said, shaking your head in confusion. “He was your friend. Why would you—”

Maybe you’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t actually mean any of what he said. He was probably just bored, looking for some amusement—another toy to play with for a little while.

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

You blinked, bewildered. “But he’s your friend.”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “So? Doesn’t mean I want him interrupting us.”

Us. Like there was an “us.” Like there could ever be an “us.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “But I don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours in a way that made it hard to breathe. “More than you think.”

You frowned. It was impossible to shake the nagging feeling that he was just… playing with you. That this was all some sick joke and at any moment, the punchline would hit, and you’d be the idiot.

“You’re just messing with me,” you muttered, taking a small step back to put some space between you. “You’re bored or something.”

“I’m not bored,” he said firmly, stepping forward to close the gap you’d just created. “I told you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. You’ve been following me around, showing up where I am, saying all these things like—like we’re something, but we’re not.”

Rafe stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about? You really think I’m just messing around?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted, throwing your hands up. “Yes, I do! Why else would you be doing this? You’re Rafe Cameron, for god’s sake. You don’t even like me. This is just some twisted game to you, isn’t it?”

You stared at him, trying to read his face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty, any sign that this was all an act. But all you saw was that same intensity, that same focus, like you were the only person who mattered.

Your chest tightened, panic grazing at you. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. People didn’t just… like you. They didn’t seek you out at parties or show up in libraries to talk about sociology. Guys like Rafe didn’t choose people like you. There had to be some ulterior motive.

“You show up out of nowhere, act like I’m some project, some… someone who needs your protection—why, Rafe? Because I don’t fit into your world? Because I’m some joke to you and your friends?”

“That’s not it,” He growled, his voice defensive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You haven’t been honest about anything. You haven’t given me a reason to believe any of this.”

“You think I’m lying? 

You moved your head again, harder this time. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re—you’re saying things that don’t make sense. I don’t understand.”

He took a slow, poising breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "What doesn't make sense to you?" 

"All of this," you replied, your voice quivering with frustration, "You, acting like you—like you actually care. Like you see me. People don’t just do that, not for someone like me. I don’t—" You cut yourself off, not sure how to finish the sentence, your thoughts spiraling.

It wasn’t just that you couldn’t believe him; it was that you didn’t know how to believe him. Your experiences had taught you to be wary, to always look for the catch, because there always was one.

Always.

Rafe's brows drawn together in something that almost looked like concern. "Someone like you?" he repeated, "What does that even mean?"

You swallowed, feeling your insecurities gripping down on your chest. "It means I’m not… like you. I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t get things right all the time. People don’t notice me, and when they do, it’s usually because I’ve done something wrong, or because they want something from me. That’s just how it is."

He shook his head slowly. "That’s not how I see you."

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something—anything—to dismiss what he was saying, to protect yourself from the disappointment that was sure to come. But Rafe didn’t give you the chance. 

"You think I’m messing with you because you’re not like everyone else? Is that it? You think I’m playing some kind of game because you don’t fit into some stupid idea of who’s supposed to matter?" 

You wanted to pull away, to recoil into the safety of your doubts, but something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you, made you stop.

"I’m not going to pretend like I know everything about you," Rafe continued, no less serious. "But I know enough to know that I’m not bored. I don’t care if you don’t fit in with my world, or whatever you think that means. I like that you’re passionate about the things you care about. I like that you don’t put up with anyone’s shit—not even mine." A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ve spent enough time around fake people to know the difference."

You weren’t used to this—this kind of sincerity. It felt too real. And part of you still wanted to push it away, to reject it before it had a chance to hurt you. But another part of you—a much smaller, quieter part—was whispering that maybe he meant it.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

For a long, breathless moment, the two of you just stood there, the noise of the party fading into the background. Your mind was still processing everything, but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you feel—just for a second—like maybe you could trust this.

You shook your head, "I’m not… I’m not good at this," you admitted, your voice uncertain. "At understanding what people mean, or knowing if they’re being serious or not. I don’t know how to read you."

Rafe’s eyes softened even more at your confession, and he took a deep breath, like he was trying to figure out how to make you believe him. "I get that," he said quietly. "And I’m not always great at this either. But I’m serious. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about this."

You wanted to believe him. More than anything, you wanted to believe him. But there was still that tiny voice of doubt in the back of your mind, reminding you of all the times you’d been wrong before, of all the times you’d trusted someone only to be let down.

You hesitated, your throat tight. "I don’t know if I can."

He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. Instead, he just nodded slowly.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to believe me right now. But I’ll be here when you’re ready."

And with that, he stepped back, giving you the space you so desperately needed. He didn’t try to force anything, didn’t press for more. Instead, he just gave you a small, almost hopeful smile and turned, disappearing back into the crowd.

And as you stood there, your heart still pummeling into your ribs, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong about him after all.

[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter iv

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader (not poly)

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 11.3k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, tornado of emotions (you might laugh, you might cry, and you might just wanna punch something after this chapter), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of broken home/families, mentions of therapy, struggles of self-blame, regret, guilt, denial, self-deprecation in some aspect, etc., mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: So, elephant in the room....how did this get past 11k when other chapters are significantly shorter? Well...I had ideas? I'm sorry!! 🫠 ANYWAY more angst in this chapter. Sorry not sorry for what you will consume here. I honestly love this chapter so much though! Okay, I won't say any more bc spoilers are cool but not in my fic! (hehe) Enjoy! 🥰

series masterlist | next >>

Numb.

It’s the only word you can rummage up to describe the sudden shift in your demeanor. You’d think one’s typical response to their ex-husband’s drunken confession would be one of confusion, anger, hurt, or the like.

But you’ve gone stone cold instead, barely able to feel the steaming hot water that kisses your skin from within the tub. The room seems to have become a bit of a haze too, your vision blurring as you grip your cell phone in your hand.

The absurdity of it all—the man who handed you divorce papers now professing his love—feels like a cruel joke. The sheer impossibility of the situation is almost laughable, yet you can't even bring yourself to do that at this point. You've exhausted all of your emotional resources.

You’re unsure how many seconds pass before his voice calls your name again.

“__? Are you still there?” His voice is a muffled echo in your mind. It sounds so far away, though you know he’s right here on the other end of the line.

"Honestly Jungkook…I don’t know what you expect me to say.”  The words come out slow, measured, and almost emotionless.

There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse, cracking under the weight of his confession. "I guess—I'm not sure either. But I just needed you to know. I needed to tell you everything."

“You're drunk. You realize that, right?"

“I had a few beers, yeah," he admits. "Maybe I'm a little tipsy. But it doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. I miss you, __, a lot."

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re back in the past, back when those words would have meant the world to you. But now, they feel hollow, devoid of the warmth they once carried. And how can they not? You tethered yourself to your ex-husband for three years, learned his patterns, became acquainted with his needs, and danced with his indifference. In the end, the result is always the same, and this time is no different. By morning, he'll likely forget everything he's ever said to you and return to his normal habits.

You take a deep breath, your head resting on the cool porcelain tub, and close your eyes. "I can’t do this," you say quietly. "Not now."

"It's late. I understand-"

"No," you interrupt, voice firmer, "you don't understand, Jungkook. You don't understand me and you never have. I'm hanging up now."

"Please don't. I know I've hurt-"

"Stop. Do you know how patronizing that sounds to me? Please don't call this number again."

"But... I love you, __," his voice is barely a whisper. "Do you not love me anymore?"

"Goodbye, Jungkook." You end the call before another word can drop from his lips, or yours for that matter. It's time you accept that you are never more than an impulsive decision, a temporary solution, and an item on his agenda. Tonight's conversation solidifies that for you.

Despite being sleep-deprived the next morning, you refuse to let fatigue keep you from fulfilling your promise to visit Taehyung at the hospital. You've been anxious about him all night, tossing and turning without respite. The weight of your ex-husband's drunken confession added to your restlessness as well. Nevertheless, you push it out of your mind as you bound out the front door.

Upon arrival, you are greeted by an abundance of flowers, cards, and thoughtful gifts scattered around Taehyung’s hospital room. One bouquet on the windowsill catches your attention in particular—its familiar scent of lavender is instantly recognizable.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind you. You turn to see Dr. Min entering the room, Taehyung’s chart in hand. He seems more lively than last night, his expression noticeably brighter with a faint smile on his lips.

“Yes, they’re lovely,” you reply. “I’m guessing these are from Taehyung’s fans and colleagues?”

He nods. “Indeed. Lavender is a calming scent. It’s no wonder people chose it for him.” The corners of his mouth lift slightly before he continues, “My girlfriend loves it too. She says it helps her relax after a long day.”

The comment is unexpected yet sweet. You notice the suppressed grin and the warmth in his eyes easily, signaling his deep affection for her. You wonder how it must feel to love someone so purely and without restraint. Before the thought lingers, your gaze shifts involuntarily to the man on the hospital bed, still asleep. Though the bandages are gone and his breathing is stable, your concern deepens as you take in his nearly still form.

“How’s he doing?” you ask, moving closer to his bed. Your heart tightens with each step as the cuts and burns on his face become more visible.

“He’s lucky,” Dr. Min says, walking to the opposite side of the bed, his tone growing serious. “He has multiple rib fractures, a mild concussion, and a few burns, but it could have been worse. Taehyung is stable now, and we’re monitoring his progress closely.”

“How long will it take for him to heal?”

“His face burns are only second-degree, so they should heal in a couple of weeks. The concussion should also resolve with ample rest and by avoiding strenuous activity—both physical and mental.”

“Which means he won’t be able to act for a while?” you ask, reading between the lines.

“Afraid not,” Dr. Min dismisses the idea. “Hopefully, his projects can accommodate his absence.”

“What about his rib fractures? I imagine those will require the most attention.” You feel like you might be asking too many questions, knowing Dr. Min will likely need to repeat everything to Taehyung later, but you can't hold back. After all, you made a promise to yourself last night that you'd ensure he'd be alright.

“Yes," Dr. Min answers carefully, "they could take up to three months to fully heal. We recommend applying ice for 20 minutes at a time, several times a day. As long as he remains stable over the next few days, he can be discharged to continue his recovery at home." He pauses, allowing you to process the information before continuing. "It's crucial that he rests. Even if he feels bursts of energy, he needs to let his body heal. Light activities like breathing exercises and short walks are fine, but he should avoid intense exercises until we give the all-clear.”

You nod thoughtfully, absorbing Dr. Min’s detailed prognosis. Taehyung’s condition sounds serious but manageable. After such a traumatic accident, it's clear he'll need months to heal. Getting him to adhere to the doctor's orders will be challenging, given his profession and active social calendar. However, if you need to be the one to remind him, you will.

“I’ll make sure he follows your recommendations,” you assure Dr. Min, your voice tinged with concern.

“I have no doubt,” Dr. Min replies with a reassuring smile. “You know, you're the first person who’s shown up for him both last night and today. Aside from that young man who came in briefly. Namjoon, right?”

“Yeah,” you respond slowly, the revelation catching you off guard. “He works as my secretary but he's also a good friend of Taehyung's. His family really hasn’t come in yet?” You circle back to Dr. Min's first point with a sense of urgency.

You wouldn't normally be this insistent on the matter; however, past conversations with Taehyung have revealed how much he cherishes his family, often sharing stories about their reunions with warmth and enthusiasm. With such a loving family, you’re taken aback that they haven’t shown up yet. Then again, his accident was sudden, and there could be various reasons for their delay. Do they even know about his accident, for that matter?

“They called, of course, but you’re the first to actually come in,” Dr. Min clarifies, his gaze thoughtful as he responds to your concern. "You must be quite an attentive boss to show this level of care for your colleague."

There's an underlying suggestiveness laced in his tone, but you're quick to brush it off, redirecting the focus to Taehyung’s condition. “It’s the least I can do, given what he’s going through,” you say, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “He’s a valuable member of our team, and I want to make sure he gets back on his feet as soon as possible.”

Dr. Min's eyes twinkle, as if holding back further commentary. “Even from a professional standpoint, not everyone would go to such lengths for a coworker. He’s fortunate to have you.”

You feel a slight flush as his subtle implications continue. “Well, I just…care about his well-being. Besides,” you glance back at Taehyung, your expression softening more than you intend, “I know he'd do the same for me.”

For a few short breaths, Dr. Min remains silent as your attention remains fixed on your colleague. “I need to check on a few other patients so I’ll leave you two alone for now," he finally says, breaking the silence. “I'll be back to check in on him again later, but if you have any questions or need anything in the meantime, the nurse is nearby."

With a nod and a soft "thank you," you watch Dr. Min exit the room, leaving you alone with Taehyung once more. After settling into a chair beside his bed, you silently observe the steady rise and fall of his chest. The rhythmic sound of his breathing is a small comfort amidst his vulnerable state. Despite everything, you're glad he's going to be okay.

As each minute passes, nurses come and go, and the hum of activity outside the room gradually fades into a background murmur. You had only planned to stay for an hour this morning, but time seems to slip away as the clock now nears 1 p.m. You had hoped Taehyung would be awake by now, but he remains still.

After a brief sigh, the thought occurs to you that you don't have to spend so many hours here, waiting for Taehyung to wake up. It's the weekend, and there are plenty of other things you could be doing instead. Dr. Min could easily call you the moment Taehyung wakes up. But something in your conscience urges you not to leave. Just give it another hour, you think. If he isn’t awake by then, you can come back tomorrow.

Suddenly, a slight movement catches your eye. Taehyung's fingers twitch, and his eyelids flutter. You nearly missed it with how lost you were in your thoughts.

Leaning forward with nervous relief, you softly call his name. It takes him a few seconds, but slowly, his eyes blink open. He turns his head slightly, gaze eventually finding yours, and you feel momentarily transfixed. It's unlike you to respond this way, but you had forgotten how piercing and comforting his eyes could be. A genuine smile immediately spreads across his face once your eyes meet, though not as boxy as usual due to his condition. Nevertheless, it's encouraging to see him awake and responsive.

“Hi," his voice is strained but recognizable. "It's...nice to see you."

“The feeling's mutual,” you respond gently. “How are you feeling?”

He shifts slightly, wincing a bit. “Like I got hit by a truck,” he mutters. “I’m sore all over.”

“You had a close call, but you’re in good hands now. Your doctor, Dr. Min, says you'll be okay, as long as you take it easy for a while. He was here earlier this morning, but he'll check in with you again soon.”

"You..." He hesitates, surprise flickering in his eyes. "You've been here since morning? What time is it now?"

"Oh, uh, it's around 1 in the afternoon," you say, gradually realizing the weight of your words. You consider whether or not to tell him the full extent of your stay. “I got here a few hours ago. Don’t worry.”

Taehyung nods slightly, a mix of gratitude and concern evident in his expression. “Thank you for being here,” he murmurs. “I wasn't sure if I'd be alone.”

A sinking feeling settles in your chest at his words, your throat tightening. Before you can ask what he means, he continues, “I must have taken a lot of your weekend from you.” His tone is apologetic, and your heart aches. Here he is, lying on a hospital bed, in pain and vulnerable, and he’s worried about inconveniencing you.

“I'm glad to be here,” you reassure gently. “I promise, you’re not alone. A lot of people care about you.”

Taehyung glances around, taking in the gifts and flowers scattered throughout the room. “From my fans, I’m guessing?” he asks, attempting to keep his tone light.

“And your colleagues too,” you reply. “We all want to see you get better." Taehyung returns his gaze to you, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Neither of you says anything, which unsettles you.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask, the question coming out more hurriedly than intended.

“I drifted in and out for most of the night. It’s hard to get comfortable,” he admits, "I think I could still hear a lot around me. It felt like someone was holding my hand for a few minutes too, but I’m not sure how much of it was real or just dreams, though.”

Oh shit. You weren't expecting that answer.

The possibility that Taehyung might have heard you talking to him last night shouldn't be that embarrassing, yet your mind races with thoughts of what he might have heard or understood in his semi-conscious state. Not only did you share more than you probably should have, but you also touched his hand to feel his pulse, and he felt it.

“Well, um, I'm sorry to hear you had a rough night. You should rest more,” you suggest, trying to compose yourself. "I should get going anyway and let you sleep.” You begin standing from your seat but don't get far before the gentlest of touches brush against your wrist. When you look at Taehyung, he quickly retracts his fingers, concerned he overstepped.

"Shit, I'm sorry, __. I didn't mean to grab at you like that," he says softly. "It's just...would you mind staying with me a little longer, please? I'd really appreciate the company."

You can hear the yearning in his request. It's clear that he doesn't want to be alone, and you don't blame him, especially after the accident he's endured. Settling back into the chair, you agree to stay a bit longer, perhaps another half hour, before heading home; you realize you haven't eaten lunch yet.

"So, how are you doing?" he asks. "We haven't talked in bit."

His question triggers a flood of thoughts, the most recent interaction with your ex-husband being one of them. Up until now, you've managed to push his drunken call out of your mind, preferring to focus on Taehyung instead. However, Jungkook's unexpected confession still throws you for a loop. It's not that you're riddled with the need for clarity on its validity, especially since you don't believe him anyway. How could he claim to love you when he also admits he doesn't understand his own feelings? On top of that, being drunk while doing so—it doesn't make sense.

No, the real question now is what happens next. How do you proceed? Will he try to reach out again? The way he asked if you still loved him before you ended the call weighs on your mind even now.

You know you'll need to discuss this with Melody during your next therapy session.

Before you spiral further, you decide to steer the conversation away from personal matters and opt for a safer topic.

"The company is doing well," you reply with a smile. "The new campaigns we've put out recently have been pretty successful. Although," you add, a hint of curiosity in your tone, "the team has missed your frequent drop-ins, especially Namjoon." If you're honest with yourself, you've missed them too.

"How is he? Namjoon?"

"He's okay, but he's been concerned for you," you answer carefully. "When we heard the news, we came to see you together, but he was quite affected. He promised to visit once you woke up."

"So," Taehyung takes a moment to process. "That was this morning, right?"

"No, actually, it was yesterday."

There's a brief, awkward silence as you sense Taehyung might be thinking the same thing you are—about your presence last night. Surprisingly, he doesn't bring it up. Instead, he eyes you curiously, biting down on his lip slightly.

"I meant to stop by last week," he admits. "But we were wrapping up the final scenes of my film shoots. The producers were eager to finish them. I'm just thankful we got them done. I wanted to spend a day riding my bike along a scenic route until... well, until all of this happened. I don't remember much, but I'm just grateful Tan wasn't with me."

"Tan?" you ask, curious now.

"Yeontan, my pomeranian," Taehyung explains with a soft smile. "He means the world to me. My parents take care of him when I'm busy with filming. I was actually planning to drive up and visit them this weekend. And, of course, bring Tan back home with me. They live pretty far from here, so it's better that I go up to them if I can."

Well, that answers the question about his parents not being here yet, you think to yourself.

As Taehyung speaks, you can see a flicker of fondness and relief in his eyes when he mentions his dog. It must have been months since he last saw him.

"I bet you miss him a lot," you comment softly, "Tan."

"I do," he admits with a slight smile, "but I know he's being well taken care of. Hopefully, I can see him soon. And my parents too."

"I understand that feeling," you reply, nodding thoughtfully. "Pets have a way of becoming family, don't they? I had a cat named Evie when I was growing up. She was a feisty little thing with green eyes, always getting into mischief. We got her from the streets and she was so slim, but it didn't take her long to beef up with all the treats we gave her. Whenever I was feeling down, she would curl up next to me, as if she knew. It's funny how they have that kind of intuition, isn't it?"

Taehyung listens intently, a small smile playing on his lips. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment at your tangent. It's one of the few times you've shared something personal about yourself that wasn't work-related. Feeling like you might have overshared, you decide to stop, assuming Taehyung isn't interested in knowing that much.

You chuckle inwardly at yourself.

Jungkook was your husband for three years, and he never seemed to care about such personal details.

I—" you start, intending to apologize, but Taehyung interrupts.

"Did you have any other pets?" he asks, curiosity piqued.

You chuckle softly, reminiscing. "Yeah, we had... uh, god, you don't want to know how many pets we had."

"Try me," his eyes become playful, yet there's a seriousness behind them, like he really wants to know. It's unfamiliar.

"Alright," you chuckle, "aside from Evie, there were three other cats. Calvin and Misha were the adventurous ones, always climbing trees, while Pip was the cuddly lap cat. Then there were two dogs: Toby, our sneaky Chihuahua, and Bella, a terrier who growled at everyone. Oh, and we had three rabbits too. Cute, but also feisty."

Taehyung laughs, "I sense a theme going on."

"What theme?"

"Well," he grins, "It seems like your household was filled with some strong main characters."

You chuckle at his joke. "Yeah, our house was never quiet, that's for sure. Each one had their own personality and quirks."

"You don't have any now though? Pets, I mean," Taehyung asks.

"Sadly, I don't," you reply with a hint of regret. "The company takes up a lot of my time, and I don't think it would be right to leave a pet alone for extended periods. I might consider getting another cat, but right now, focusing on running the company leaves me with little spare time. I miss having them around though."

Taehyung mulls over your word carefully. “If I ever get out of this hospital...maybe I—”

Before he has the chance to finish, the hospital room door opens, and Dr. Min enters, his expression serious yet composed. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, not expecting to see you still here and Taehyung awake. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he begins, glancing between you and his patient. “It’s good to see you up and looking a bit better."

Dr. Min approaches Taehyung's side, opposite to you. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

Taehyung's demeanor shifts instantly, his playful expression fading as he turns to answer. “Pretty sore, honestly,” he replies.

Dr. Min nods. “Let’s run a few checks to see how you’re doing.”

Sensing this is your cue to leave, you rise from your chair and reach out to touch Taehyung's hand. But you stop yourself short. Something about performing the physical action while he’s fully conscious instills a flutter of nerves within you. Instead, you gently tap his shoulder, causing him to meet your eyes. “I think I'll be going now, but it was nice talking to you,” you say softly. "Was there something you wanted to say earlier, though?"

He pauses for a moment before replying, his expression reminiscent of the time a few weeks ago when you declined his dinner invitation. You still don’t understand why he seemed somewhat disappointed; it's not like it was a date. He had made it clear he wanted to go out as colleagues. The only reason you declined was because you didn’t want him feeling pity for you, or the struggles that came with the divorce.

"It's okay, we'll have to save that conversation for another time," Taehyung's voice brings you back to the present. "Enjoy the rest of your day, __. Thanks again for staying with me."

"Of course," you reply, then turn to Dr. Min. "If you wouldn't mind letting me know when and if he can be discharged, I'd appreciate it. And Kim Namjoon too, since we're both nearby." Dr. Min nods in agreement. With that, you sling your bag over your shoulder and exit the room.

“He said what?!” Your best friend Jimin almost shouts through the video call, eyes wide with disbelief. You’ve just finished recounting your ex-husband's unexpected, drunken confession from the previous night. Jimin, who already holds a deep-seated grudge against Jungkook, looks livid.

“He had the nerve to say that to you? While he was drunk?” Jimin continues, his hands clenching into fists.

You nod, feeling a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “Yeah, I told him not to call my number again and he hasn't contacted me since.” As expected, he likely forgot all about it.

“Good,” Jimin declares with a fierce protectiveness, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You don’t need that kind of drama in your life, especially not from him. And if he even thinks about calling you again, just say the word, and I'll come down there and handle it personally.” He emphasizes 'personally' with such intensity that it makes you giggle for the first time tonight.

“Thanks, Jimin,” you say, a warm feeling spreading through you at his unwavering support. “I’m just trying to move on, focus on work, and other things.”

Jimin’s expression softens, and he nods firmly. “You're incredibly strong, __. Are you really okay though? It was a huge blow for him to make a confession like that and even though I dislike him, I know you still have some lingering feelings for him. I'm not a fool to believe you're unaffected.”

You take a deep breath, appreciating your best friend's perceptiveness. “It’s complicated. I’m trying so hard to move past everything, especially with Melody's help, and then he just…throws that at me. It’s like he’s trying to pull me back into his mess.”

Jimin’s eyes are filled with concern. “You don’t owe him anything. Remember that. He made his choices, and you have every right to move on without his baggage.”

“I know,” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “It’s just…easier said than done. But I’m working on it.”

“You’re doing great,” Jimin reassures, his voice gentle. “And you have every right to focus on yourself now. Don’t let him mess with your head.”

You nod, feeling a bit lighter with the support. “Thanks, I needed to hear that.”

“I'm always here for you love,” he says, his protective demeanor softening into a warm smile. “Now, enough about that idiot. How’s everything else? Work? Taehyung? Everyone at the office is talking about his unfortunate accident, poor sucker.”

At the mention of your colleague, you feel a sudden heat rise to your cheeks. Did the heaters in your apartment just turn up or something?

“He’s slowly recovering," you answer. "I saw him this morning and we talked for a bit. He’s... he’s been through a lot.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, “You saw him yesterday too, right? And if my memory serves, you were at the hospital with him until the afternoon. I remember I texted you to see if you were free to call earlier than planned. Something you'd like to tell me?” A teasing grin suddenly spreads across his face, and you shake your head, knowing exactly what he's insinuating. It's like talking to Dr. Min all over again.

“Seriously, Chim, no, it's not like that," you deny instantly, heart racing a little. "He's been my company endorser for a little over six months now, and he’s been nothing but kind to me. With everything he’s been through, I just want to make sure he'll be okay. I feel somewhat responsible for him. Maybe I'm crazy.”

“Responsibility, huh?” Jimin smirks, unconvinced of your denial. “Sure. Because ‘responsibility’ usually makes people blush.”

You wave off his suspicions, a nervous chuckle escaping you. “I’m not, so if you wouldn't mind ceasing your teasing, that'd be great."

“Okay, okay,” Jimin chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if you ask me, it sounds like more than just responsibility. Taehyung seems like a sweet guy, and you care about him. And I sense he feels the same way about you. Don't think I forgot about his little dinner request weeks back.”

You chuckle, brushing off his suspicions. “Oh, come on, enough. Believing that Kim Taehyung has any kind of interest in me is like believing that Jungkook loves me. It’s unfathomable. Taehyung's a colleague, that’s all.”

“Okay, excuse me? Unfathomable?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Someone help! My best friend is selling themselves short, again. __, you’re amazing, and anyone, including Taehyung, would be lucky to have you. That ex-husband of yours was an idiot, but just because he couldn't see what he had doesn’t mean others can’t.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but Jimin’s words hit a soft spot. “Chim, you're sweet, but I'm just saying that Taehyung is on a completely different level. I’m just me... a 30-year-old divorcee with a half-decent startup.” Those alone are enough to have any man steer clear of you.

“Stop this, __. You're much more than that, and it's pretty damn incredible,” Jimin insists, his voice firm. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re still standing. That’s not something to brush off. Taehyung sees that. Anyone with half a brain can see that.”

You sigh, feeling a mixture of gratitude and skepticism. “I appreciate it, Chim. But let’s just drop it, please?”

“Alright, I won't push it," he concedes gently, "just know I’m here whenever you need.”

“Thanks, Jimin,” you reply, feeling a warmth in your heart. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably explode from all that bottled-up stress,” he jokes, making you laugh again. “But seriously, you’re doing great. Just keep taking it one step at a time, and call me if you need anything!”

As the call ends, you’re left with a lot to think about. Jimin’s words echo in your mind, and for a brief second, you find yourself wondering if maybe your best friend is right—that perhaps you do care about your colleague more than you’re willing to admit.

Well, either way, it doesn't matter; you've got enough on your plate as it is.

Starting with the stack of papers laid out on the coffee table, work you brought home that's awaiting your attention. It's a critical deal for your startup, one that could secure much-needed funding and propel your business to the next level.

Sighing softly, you reach for your laptop and open the latest project proposal.

You start your Sunday as you always do, with a book in hand, heading to your favorite café. It’s a ritual that’s been with you since your teenage years, and today, you feel a desperate need for its familiar comfort. After wrapping up the project proposal late into the night, your brain craved a break.

Entering the quaint café, you’re greeted by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversation. Finding a cozy spot by the large window, you settle in for a day of reading, occasionally looking up to observe people passing by outside.

Hours slip away unnoticed in the serene atmosphere, lost in the pages of your book. Somewhere along the way, mid-sentence, your thoughts subconsciously drift to a conversation with Taehyung weeks before his accident—the day of your six-month anniversary.

You remember how he mentioned his interest in books that day, leaving you curious about what he enjoys reading. You imagine he might be into classic authors like Charles Dickens or Oscar Wilde. Then again, you might be mistaken.

Refocusing on your book, you manage to read another paragraph before thoughts of Taehyung intrude again. Did he have any company today? You quietly hope Namjoon paid him a visit. "Okay, __, calm down," you tell yourself, "Taehyung will be fine, and Namjoon definitely would have visited him now that he's awake." With a determined effort, you return to your book.

It isn't until the sun begins its descent that you decide it's time to pack up your things and head home. Passing by the hospital on your way, a sense of restlessness tugs at you once more. Should you stop and see Taehyung, even if only for a few minutes? The thought lingers, but then you recall Dr. Min's pending update on his discharge status. Maybe it's best to wait for his confirmation.

You continue driving, but the concern refuses to leave your mind. Eventually, you make a decisive turn, heading back towards the hospital. It wouldn't be as lengthy as last time—just a quick visit to check on how he's doing.

When you arrive at the hospital, you hesitate for a moment outside the entrance. It's Sunday evening, and visiting hours are likely limited. You check your phone quickly to see if Dr. Min has sent any updates, but there's nothing new.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to go in anyway.

Taehyung is awake when the nurse leads you to his room, casually flipping through a magazine. He looks up, his expression softening into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping inside. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. I hope it's okay."

"It's more than okay," he replies warmly, setting the magazine aside. "I'm happy to see you."

You nod, feeling relieved that he isn't disturbed by your presence.

"Though, in all honesty," he continues, "I didn't expect you back today."

"I just wanted to check on you and make sure you're okay," you admit quietly, taking a seat nearby. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm better, just a bit sore still," he says sincerely, his gaze meeting yours. "What about you? How's your Sunday been?"

"Quiet," you respond with a small smile. "Spent most of it reading at a café, and then decided to stop by here."

"Really?" His interest piqued, he asks, "Which one? Sometimes I do the same thing when I have some free time. Or, I'll read at the beach too. It's relaxing."

"Well, have you tried the one on Willow Street? I've been a regular there since I was 16."

"No... I'm not familiar with that one," he admits, "I usually go to the one on 5th."

"5th? You know, I don't recall a café on 5th, unless..." you pause, realization dawning, "oh no," you blurt out unintentionally.

"What?" Taehyung's eyes twinkle with amusement at your spontaneous reaction. "Have you been?"

You hesitate to answer, not wanting to risk offending him.

"Yes..."

"And?" Crap, you were hoping he wouldn't ask for details.

"Um... it's okay," you reply simply.

"What? Just okay?" Taehyung exclaims, feigning offense. "Their coffee and tea are decent, and they have those comfy armchairs by the window."

"I know, but there's just something about it," you reply with a playful shrug. "Maybe it's the lighting, or maybe I'm just picky."

"Fair enough," he chuckles. "Maybe I'll check out this Willow Street café sometime. You've been going there for years, so it must be good."

"Well, I highly recommend it." You can't help but feel a bit smug, though you try to keep a straight face. It's just nice to have someone take your suggestion seriously. "You'll have to tell me your review of the place if you go."

Taehyung nods thoughtfully in reply, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of admiration. You look away, pretending to straighten your jacket. Why is he staring like that? You're not used to being looked at without some sense of hostility.

Just as you begin to feel a bit awkward, the door swings open, and a nurse peeks inside.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says kindly, "but visiting hours are over for the evening."

You glance at your watch, surprised at how quickly time has flown. "Oh, okay," you reply, a touch disappointed. "I'll be heading out then, thank you."

Once the nurse leaves, you direct your focus back to Taehyung. He smiles understandingly, sitting up a bit straighter. "Thanks for stopping by," he says warmly.

"Yeah, of course," you reply, gathering your things. "Did Dr. Min mention having you discharged any time soon?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing yet. Might be here for a couple more days."

You nod, feeling sympathy for his extended stay. "Well, take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," Taehyung assures you with a grateful smile. He watches as you make your way to the door, but just before you can twist the metal knob, he speaks up agian. "Uhm...if you have time tomorrow, I wouldn't mind if you came in again. It was nice to...chat."

For the first time, Taehyung seems to stumble over his words. As someone who's naturally charismatic, not to mention a skilled actor, there's a hint of nervousness in his voice.

When you turn your head to glance back at him, his smile has faded, replaced by a hopeful look, hands gently clutching the blankets.

"Sure," you agree to his innocent request, somehow unable to resist. "I'll try to stop in tomorrow if I can."

His boxy smile returns instantly as he bids you one final goodnight.

As you walk out of the room, that same smile lingers in your mind—you're glad you decided to come by.

In the days that follow, you find yourself at Taehyung's hospital bed every evening after work. Initially fulfilling his wishes, you gradually realize you've grown fond of his company. Taehyung turns out to be easy to talk to, a good listener who encourages questions you wouldn't normally ask within office walls. Here you are again, immersed in yet another spontaneous conversation that neither of you minds.

"So, what's it really like?" you inquire, curiosity lacing your voice. "Being an actor? And what about kissing strangers? I've heard some co-stars end up together after playing an onscreen couple for so long."

Taehyung chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Being an actor is both exhilarating and challenging," he begins, reflecting on his experiences. "Kissing scenes... well, they're not as glamorous as they seem on screen. There are a lot of technical aspects to consider, like camera angles and timing. As for getting involved with co-stars outside of filming, I wouldn't be familiar with that. I prefer to keep those lines pretty separate."

You listen intently, fascinated by his insights into a world so different from your own. But one thing sticks out to you—how does he handle kissing scenes if he were to be in a relationship? Wouldn't that get complicated?

"I often wonder what I'd do if I had a partner," Taehyung muses suddenly, his voice thoughtful, as if sensing your unspoken question. "About the kiss scenes, I mean. I haven't actually dated for a while." Really? You think, he cant be serious...

"I'd imagine they'd be understanding since it's part of the job," you offer, trying to match his contemplative tone.

"Is that how you'd respond?" Taehyung's question catches you off guard.

"Me?" you ask, feeling slightly dumbfounded.

"Yeah, I'm just curious. Would you be okay with that?"

"Uhm... well, honestly, probably not," you admit, feeling a bit awkward. "I think I'd have a hard time wrapping my mind around it. I'd kind of feel like I was sharing my partner. I don't want to share like that."

Shut up, shut up, shut up, you mentally chastise yourself. You definitely said too much.

To your surprise, Taehyung merely gives a small smile in response. "I think I'd feel the same," he says softly.

The subject ends there, as the conversation soon shifts to his latest project instead—a romantic comedy series titled with a playful nod to a four-leaf clover.

"You know, I've never seen a four-leaf clover in my life," you admit with a slight chuckle.

Taehyung laughs softly, his eyes brightening. "Really? They're supposed to bring good luck, you know."

"Good luck, huh? I guess I've never had the pleasure," you replied with a grin.

"Well, then it's settled," he declared with a playful glint in his eyes. "I'll find one for you once I'm out of here," he promises warmly.

You smile, exchanging a silent moment before hitting him with your next question. "Do you watch your own shows or movies?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Taehyung's expression shifts subtly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Honestly, I don't," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "I guess I've always felt a bit awkward seeing myself on screen. It's strange, right?"

You reassure him with a smile. "It's not so far-fetched, but I don't think there's anything to be embarrassed about. You're talented, Taehyung. I'm sure your performances are amazing."

Taehyung nods thoughtfully but then quirks an eyebrow at you. "But have you actually seen any of my work? It's a little cheesy."

You hesitate, feeling a touch sheepish. "Honestly, no," you confess. "I've never watched any of your shows or movies. But I will!"

A flicker of déjà vu crosses Taehyung's face, his expression turning thoughtful. "That's funny," he murmurs. "I feel like I've heard those exact words before, recently."

You chuckle nervously, trying to lighten the mood. He can't be referring to that night you spoke to him while he was asleep, right? "Maybe it's just a sign that I need to catch up on all the great acting I've been missing out on," you quip, hoping to diffuse any awkwardness.

Taehyung grins, his playful demeanor returning. "Well, I'll hold you to that. You'll have to give me your honest review."

"Deal," you agree with a nod. "So, as much as I hate to cut this short, I think I'm going to have to get going now."

"I understand, it's past 6:30 pm. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing," you reply warmly. "Get some rest."

By Thursday afternoon, you finally receive the long-awaited call from Dr. Min, informing you that Taehyung will be discharged the next morning. You're relieved that Taehyung is healthy enough to continue his recovery at home. Seeing him yesterday, he looked the best he's been since his accident. However, a small part of you feels annoyed that Dr. Min didn't call you—he called Namjoon instead.

It was an ordinary afternoon when your secretary's phone rang. Namjoon was crouched over at his desk, concentrating on a number of spreadsheets just moments before. You remember leaping over to him as soon as you heard the words, "he's ready for discharge tomorrow," leave his lips.

It's now Friday morning, and you're standing in front of your secretary's desk.

"So, you're off to pick up Taehyung now?" you ask, as casually as you can. You do your best to ignore the lingering irritation growing inside you.

"Yeah," your secretary finally replies, glancing up from his screen. "I'll drive over to the hospital in about half an hour."

"Okay." You nod, biting your tongue. So what if Namjoon gets to pick him up instead of you? It's fine, you should get over it.

It's just a little odd that Dr. Min chose to call Namjoon instead of you though. You know for a fact you've been much more involved with Taehyung's well-being than he has.

Of course, Taehyung and Namjoon are good friends, but your secretary has only gone to see him twice over the past week his buddy's been in the hospital. You've been there every day, so wouldn't it make sense that you be called first?

Evidently not.

Namjoon will be taking Taehyung home, and you likely won't be seeing him at all today. In fact, you're not even sure when you'll see him next. Technically, you have his address stored away in an HR file, but you're no creep. And you most certainly are not about to show up at his place unannounced.

It's not like Taehyung has texted you today either. Not even a quick update on his condition.

"Um..." Namjoon starts, shifting awkwardly in his chair. "Is there something else you wanted to say? I feel like you're kinda hovering over me now, to be quite honest."

"Oh, sorry," you respond, stepping back a bit. You didn't realize you were staring at him, wordless, for longer than normal. "Nothing else. Drive safe."

As if seeing right through you, Namjoon's expression softens. "If you want to see how Taehyung is, you can just text him. I'm sure he'll respond to you."

"No, it's okay," you quickly dismiss the suggestion. You don't want to bombard a man who's just getting out of the hospital with your texts. You'll leave him alone to rest.

Namjoon gives you a knowing look, eyeing your slightly hesitant state. "I'm serious, boss. Text him. You've been at his side this entire week, so if there's anyone who'd be more deserving of knowing what's up, it’d be you."

Deserving? That's a bit far, is it not? Yes, you've been visiting him, but it's not like you saved his life or anything. It's not that big of a deal. You just wanted to...make sure he was okay.

"I—When did you decide to call me boss again?" you switch subjects, but Namjoon remains unaffected.

"Text him," Namjoon says for the final time before reaching for his keys in his desk drawer. "I gotta get going, but I'll be back after I drop Tae off."

"Tae?" You haven't heard him called that before.

"Yeah, it's kinda a pet name. Sorry, I started calling him that once we became friends, so it slips out here and there. It's like second nature now."

"Got it," you nod, a bit disappointed. Maybe you weren't as close to Taehyung as you thought. "Make sure he gets home okay," you finish.

"I will." Namjoon gets up from his desk and heads out of the office. You turn around and return to your own office once he's out of sight.

While Namjoon is out, his phone rings incessantly. You find yourself getting up from your desk multiple times to take calls. By the afternoon, you're exhausted from the constant interruptions.

Maybe you should consider giving the poor man a raise.

Before the thought fully develops, his phone rings again. You don't even bother checking the caller ID anymore; you simply pick up the phone and answer in your sweetest voice.

"__? I thought I’d be hearing Namjoon first... hey," his voice is hesitant. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

"Jungkook," you reply cautiously, instantly recognizing his voice. "Why are you calling my work phone?"

"I... I didn't know how else to reach you. Can I come in or can you come into the parking lot? I have something to give you."

You pause, feeling a rush of unease. You haven’t spoken to Jungkook since last Friday when he called you out of the blue. Honestly, you hoped you wouldn’t hear from him, especially after telling him not to call again. It's strange that he keeps finding ways to show up unexpectedly.

"What is it you need to give me, Jungkook?" you ask bluntly, "I'm very busy."

There’s a brief silence on the other end before he answers, "It’s... It’s something personal. I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Please, can you just come down for a moment?"

You weigh your options, torn between curiosity and apprehension. His unpredictability lately has left you unsure of what to expect. "Jungkook, I really don’t think—"

"Please," he interrupts, his voice sounding more urgent. "I promise it won’t take long."

Taking a deep breath, you decide to handle this with as much grace as you can muster. "Fine. I’ll be down in a minute."

You end the call and sit back, trying to steady your thoughts. His sudden request feels odd, and part of you worries about what he might say or do next. As you make your way to the parking lot, you mentally prepare yourself for another potentially difficult encounter.

When you arrive, Jungkook stands near his car, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His usual confident demeanor seems replaced by a sense of unease.

"Hey," he starts, his voice tentative, "thanks for agreeing to meet."

You give a brief nod, keeping your tone neutral. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

Jungkook shifts awkwardly, his gaze dropping momentarily before meeting yours. "I wanted to apologize," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry for calling you up drunk."

You feel a flicker of irritation. This is what he wanted to give you? An apology that's seven days late? You figured he would have just forgone the apology by now.

"Why now?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, a defense mechanism you've developed. "It's been a week. I’m not sure if you realize that or not though."

"I know," he says quickly, his eyes earnest. "I wanted to come sooner, but I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me or just never hear from me again."

You scoff slightly, "Well, for the first time, you are completely right. I don't want to see you, Jungkook." You try to keep your voice steady, but the raw edges of your emotions bleed through. There’s no point sugarcoating it at this stage; he’ll just keep pushing your boundaries if you don’t become firm with him.

He winces at your words, nodding slowly. "You have every right to feel that way. I messed up, big time. I just wanted you to know that I'm truly sorry. You deserve someone who isn't as screwed up as I am. But I still mean everything I said that night. I do love you. It took me until now to realize that, apparently."

You sigh, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Love? Now? After everything? Somehow, it feels more like a burden than anything.

"Jungkook, love isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card," you say slowly, your voice somewhat shaky. "It's not something you can just throw out there to fix things. Not only did you divorce me, but you also led me to believe we could actually be something. All those weeks of you being attentive and showing up for me after I shared my feelings made me believe that you were honestly trying to make our marriage work, that you were committed. You lied to me, discarded me, and now that I'm not around, you suddenly miss me? No, I'm sorry. You broke my trust, and that's not something you can just apologize away."

You pause, feeling the weight of your words settle in the tense air between you and Jungkook.

He looks down, nodding again. "I get it. I really do. And I don't expect you to forgive me or anything. I just wanted you to know that I understand how much I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I understand if you hate me."

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, trying to keep your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to stir inside. "Jungkook," you begin carefully, meeting his eyes. "What happened between us was painful. You calling me drunk last week was also painful. I'm sorry about the challenges you had with your parents, but it's no excuse to put that on others. If you need someone to discuss personal matters with, I suggest you see a professional."

You pause, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"I don't hate you, okay? I'm not that cold-hearted. There's still part of me that I think might always hold space for you, but I can't just forget everything. I need to move on, and that means you can't keep calling me at random times. It’s not fair to either of us. I appreciate the apology, but I don't think we can go much further."

He nods solemnly, understanding your stance. "Okay," Jungkook replies softly, his voice filled with a sadness you hadn’t expected. "I understand. I'll respect your wishes and leave you alone. Take care of yourself, okay? I...I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me," he says, his eyes earnest. "And... I'm really sorry for everything."

He begins to back away toward his car, and as he does, it hits you—it’s over.

"Take care, Jungkook," you say gently. "Don't overwork yourself, alright? Stay healthy."

He looks at you, forcing a smile. "You know I can't do that. It isn't in my blood." He sings the last part, referencing a song you both used to joke about, and you let out a small chuckle despite yourself.

"God, Jeon, I thought you'd stop with that song by now." you say, shaking your head.

"Nah," he replies, shaking his head with a faint grin as he opens his car door. "I'm taking it to my grave. I'll see you later, __."

You know the last part is a lie, an empty promise to soften the blow. Still, you respond, "Yeah, see you."

With that, you part ways in the parking lot, each going your separate ways. As you walk back to your office, the weight of the finality settles in. It's all over, you think, feeling the sting of a single tear trailing down your cheek. Unbeknownst to you, a similar tear streams down Jungkook's face as he drives away, each tear falling for completely different reasons.

Two weeks pass, and Jungkook keeps his word. He hasn’t called, texted, or shown up at your work. It’s as if he’s become a stranger, someone you once knew but is now part of a distant past.

Your days begin to regain a sense of normalcy. The emotional weight of the past few months slowly starts to lift, allowing you to refocus on your work and personal well-being. The company demands your attention, and you dive into projects, meetings, and strategies with a renewed energy.

Yet, despite the return to routine, there's a persistent sense of something missing. You haven’t talked to Taehyung at all since he got discharged from the hospital. You haven’t seen him either, and the silence pulls at you more each day.

Every time you try to get information about him from Namjoon, he gives you the same response: "Just text him. Don’t overthink it; he’ll be glad to hear from you." Once, you sensed that Namjoon wanted to say more but stopped himself short, making the excuse that it wasn’t for him to say. Whatever that meant.

You’re on your way home from running errands when the thought enters your mind for the umpteenth time: should you text Taehyung?

You’re torn between respecting his privacy and wanting to check in on him. He hasn’t reached out, so maybe he’s trying to distance himself or just needs time to recover alone, now that he’s in the comfort of his own home. On the other hand, you can’t shake the feeling that checking in would be the right thing to do.

As you approach your apartment building, you pull over into a quiet parking spot, letting your car idle. Gripping your phone, you take a deep breath and finally decide to text him.

You: Hey, Taehyung. I hope you’re doing well. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling. Let me know if you need anything. We still miss you at the office!

You stare at the message for a moment before hitting send. The butterflies in your stomach flutter as you wait. What if he doesn’t respond? What if he doesn't want to hear from you?

You end up deleting the message entirely.

Forget it, you think, if he wanted to hear from you he would have texted by now, right? Just leave it alone. You said you'd support him while he was in the hospital and you did. Now he needs his space to finish healing. He'll reach out when he's ready.

Your phone buzzes the next minute, snapping you out of your thoughts. You glance at it, half hoping that Taehyung was secretly telepathic. But it isn’t from him. Instead, it’s a notification from a friend inviting you to a small get-together this coming weekend.

Smiling, you accept the invitation.

Turns out your friend's get-together was a singles mixer. Unsurprisingly, you weren't approached much, if at all. It seemed the men were either too nervous, still associating you with your ex-husband, or not quite into accomplished women. That didn't stop them from ogling you, though, as your friend insisted that you dress for the affair. You didn't choose anything flashy, but it was certainly flattering.

Leaving without a phone number didn't bother you, though. At thirty years old, most of the people were younger than you, including your friend who was a couple of years younger. Plus, you found your mind often wandering to the one man you hadn't heard from in nearly three weeks—Kim Taehyung. Should you stop overthinking and finally listen to Namjoon's suggestion? Maybe it's time to contact him.

Lost in thought on your drive home, you snap back to reality when you slam on the brakes at a sudden red light. Damn, you hadn't noticed it change so quickly. Shaking off any lingering daze, you refocus and spot a man crossing the street ahead, a little dog trotting beside him on a leash.

"Taehyung," you whisper to yourself. "What is he doing out here, especially on this slipper—shit!"

Your heart skips a beat as Taehyung stumbles on the ice, struggling to keep his balance. Concerned, you pull up to the side of the road as soon as the light turns green, parking quickly and jumping out of your car to rush over to him. He leans against a brick building, his dog, Tan, yelping at your approach. Cute little guy, but you're focus is on Taehyung.

"Damn," he mutters, trying to steady himself. His eyes widen when he catches sight of you. "__, I—" he begins.

"What are you doing, Kim Taehyung?" you scold gently. "Are you trying to hurt yourself again?"

Taehyung meets your gaze, his Gucci scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. "No," he replies earnestly. "I just needed some fresh air. It's been nearly three weeks since I was discharged, and Dr. Min said short walks with Tan are okay now. My parents were here for a while, but they left this weekend."

His explanation sinks in as you take in his appearance. Despite the chill in the air, he looks better than the last time you saw him. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the cold, and there's a determination in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"You should be more careful," you reply softly, stepping closer to him. Tan, sensing the shift in attention, continues to bark happily, tail wagging. "Are you okay? My car is right here, if you need me to take you home or anything."

Taehyung nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I know, I know. Sorry for worrying you." He gestures to Tan, who is now circling around your legs in excitement. "Tan here doesn't seem to mind the ice at all, and surprisingly, he doesn't mind you either."

You chuckle softly, crouching down to pet the little dog. "Is he usually this friendly?"

"Not at first, no," Taehyung replies, his tone lighter now. He glances down at you, his eyes softening. "I'm glad I ran into you, though. It's been...a while."

You nod, standing to your feet. "It has. I'm glad to see you're doing better."

"I am," he affirms, his gaze steady on yours. "Thanks to you, mostly. You were there for me when I needed it the most."

"Oh, come on," you say, waving off the comment. "I didn't do that much."

Taehyung's smile widens, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You did more than you realize."

You feel a slight blush creeping up your cheeks at his words, but you maintain eye contact, appreciating the warmth in his gaze. The longer you stand there, staring at each other, the uneasier you feel. Perhaps you shouldn't ask the question that's been on your mind, but it slips out before you can stop it.

"Why didn't you call?" you ask, surprising both yourself and Taehyung as he simultaneously voices the exact same question.

Taken aback by the simultaneous question, you both chuckle nervously, breaking the tension. Taehyung scratches the back of his neck, sheepish.

"I thought about it every day," he admits, his voice quiet but sincere. "But I wasn't sure if you wanted to hear from me. I already took so much of your time, and I didn't want to ask more from you. So, I asked Namjoon to pick me up from the hospital. I thought maybe it would be better for me to wait for you to reach out and focus on recovering."

You nod, understanding flooding your expression. "I felt quite similar. I thought maybe you asked Namjoon because he's your friend. I didn't want to hound you when you just got released from the hospital, so I decided to let you recover in peace. I guess in the end, I was also waiting for you to reach out with an update of some kind."

Taehyung takes a few seconds to fully absorb your words before replying. "I'm sorry," he says softly, his eyes reflecting genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I was avoiding you. I would have been more than happy with you picking me up instead of Namjoon. I realize that I should have at least reached out to update you instead of going silent. I'd like to think of you as my friend too. But I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and I just didn't want to burden you." His gaze becomes downcast as he stares at the ground beneath him.

You're unsure where you find the courage, but you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, gently lifting his face so he meets your eyes. You have to stand on your tiptoes a bit, which he finds endearing.

"I’d like to consider you my friend too, and that means you shouldn't worry about burdening me anymore, Tae," you say softly, your touch lingering momentarily on his face, caught up in the moment. When you realize what you've done, you pull back slightly, flustered. "Um… sorry, I didn't mean to call you that."

"It's okay," he responds, his voice gentle. "I don't mind. You can call me Tae from now on if you'd like. Also, you're not a burden either, you never were to me."

You're speechless for a second before replying. "So, friends then?" you ask. "No more mixed signals and reaching out when we want?"

"I mean, I’d like that as long as you do too," he confirms with a warm smile, though his eyes say there's more that he's left unsaid. You don't notice, however.

"Text me whenever you have something on your mind," he continues.

"I will," you promise. “You too.”

"Definitely.” Taehyung pauses, glancing down at Tan who's decided to lay down by his feet. "So, I was going to take a walk with Tan at the park nearby. Any chance you'd like to join me?" His gaze shifts back to you, hopeful yet uncertain.

"I'd like that," you reply genuinely. "But we're taking my car over, so you don't break a hip on this ice, old man."

Taehyung's mouth gapes open as he shakes his head. "How many times do I need to tell you? I'm only two years older than you. Two!"

It's surreal.

How much you and Taehyung have started becoming friends, that is.

Almost two months have already passed, and it feels like just yesterday you were merely colleagues, you his boss.

Saturdays have become your day with Taehyung now. While part of you insists it's to prevent him from slipping on the ice again, deep down, you both know there's more to it now that he's almost fully recovered from his injuries.

Each weekend, you find yourselves exploring different parks and streets, swapping childhood stories, and sharing laughter over the dumbest things. Today, however, would be different. With rain threatening to drench the city, Taehyung suggested a change of plans—a cozy movie day indoors. Little did he know, you had a surprise in store for him.

You dash up to the front door, a bag of homemade food in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

Taehyung opens the door with a grin, holding his own umbrella. "Hey! Perfect timing," he chuckles, taking the umbrella from you and gesturing inside. "Come in. It's freezing out there today."

You step inside, shaking off the raindrops and removing your shoes. The warmth of his home envelopes you, a comforting contrast to the chilly rain outside.

"I brought something," you announce, holding up the bag. "Guess what it is?"

Taehyung looks at you curiously, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. "Hmm," he muses, pretending to ponder. "Knowing you, it's probably my favorite spicy chicken wings from that place near your office."

"Very close, Tae. Except these chicken wings were made by your favorite person in the whole world," you tease, handing him the bag with a grin.

Taehyung's eyes lit up as he takes the bag from you. "No way," he says, a mix of disbelief and excitement in his voice. "You made them yourself? You're the best, __. Seriously."

"It's the least I could do," you reply with a smile, following him into the living room where the TV flickers. "Besides, it's pouring out there. Movie day with good food seems like the perfect plan."

"Absolutely," he agrees, setting the food down on the coffee table. "I was thinking we could start with that new action flick I heard about."

"Aww, but I thought you said we could watch one of your movies instead?" you argue playfully, sinking into the couch. Tan bounds over, wagging his tail in excitement at the prospect of company. You scratch behind his ears while Taehyung sets up the movie.

"What? I don't remember saying that. Was I drunk that day?" he jokes.

"Well... maybe?" you tease back.

"I told you, __, I don't like watching my own films. It's weird, and half the time it's me kissing the female lead. You're going to need to watch those on your own time," he quips, his tone more serious than intended. The truth is, he really would rather not be there when you watch him kiss his co-stars.

"Alright, alright, getting aggressive over there," you chuckle, not seeing the faint rosy tint that's crept up on his cheeks. "We'll watch the action movie."

As the opening scenes roll, you can't help but steal glances at Taehyung. Despite the seriousness of his recent health issues, he seems more at ease today, a genuine smile gracing his face as he takes a seat beside you. It feels good to see him like this, relaxed and feeling more like himself.

Halfway through the movie, he nudges you gently. "Thanks for coming over today," he says softly, his gaze warm as it meets yours. "And for the food, of course."

"You don't have to thank me," you reply sincerely, nudging him back with a smile. "I'm happy to do it."

Unexpectedly, Taehyung reaches for the TV remote, pausing the scene playing in front of you. "Hey, __," he says, turning to face you, a hint of nervousness in his eyes as they shift from side to side.

"What is it, Tae?" You feel a slight unease, sensing tension. He's once again just staring into your eyes, wordless.

"Do you..." he starts but stops short, his voice trailing off.

"Yes?" You search his face for clues as to what he's trying to say.

"Would you want to go to a party with my family?" he finally asks, his words coming out in a rush. "My parents are hosting to celebrate my recovery, but really it's just an excuse to get the family together."

"So, a family reunion?" Your voice drops slightly, a mix of surprise and...disappointment? Why had you been expecting something different?

"I mean, yes, sort of. You don't have to if you don't want to," he adds quickly, almost anxiously. "I know it might be uncomfortable for you, but you've been here for me during so much of my recovery. It would mean a lot to have you there. My parents want to meet you too."

"Um... well, I've never been to a family function before," you admit hesitantly.

"You haven't?" Taehyung looks genuinely surprised.

You shake your head. "My family's never been one to do those types of things."

"Well, consider yourself part of my family then. Come with me, __. They'll love you."

"I-I don't know about that," you say softly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. "How can you be so sure that they'll like me?"

"Because I do," he urges gently, "and if I like you, so will they."

You're taken aback by his words, unsure how to respond. Surely he means this in a platonic way. Despite growing closer, you and Taehyung are just friends, setting aside any previous suspicions of romantic interest. Maybe if circumstances were different—if you weren't divorced—then maybe you could entertain the idea.

For now, you'll leave that side of him alone and simply be his friend. You feel a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

"Okay," you finally say, nodding your head. "I'll come. When is it?"

"They want to do it next weekend, weather permitting. We can carpool if you'd like, or you can take your own car," he offers.

"I'll think about it," you reply, trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

"Great." Taehyung flashes a boxy grin. "Thank you, I was so nervous to ask."

"Of course," you say, offering a tight-lipped smile. Taehyung unpauses the movie, and you return your attention to the TV screen. Minutes following your phone buzzes and a text message from Jimin appears on your screen.

Chim 🐥: __! Hate to be bringing this up, but have you seen the news about Jungkook? Looks like he's preparing to step down as CEO. Did you know about this?"

What? You had no clue.

a/n: If you are mad at me, well....I'm sorry but pls blame jk instead. But I am hoping you enjoyed! 🥰 vote jjk or kth

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

Tags:

@jksjx @lovingkoalaface @junecat18 @babystarcandyjk97 @wobblewobble822 @a-gayish-unicorn @neverthefirstchoice @whipwhoops @hubbytaehyung @jalexad @cassies-cookies @llallaaa @marshieeeemallow @baechugff @lovemazespluto @eegyo @iwanttobecalledaurora @harmonyflora @francheskarm34 @sftlrmin @saba-ya @11thenightwemet11 @yoursnixni @zafirowwa2909 @btsffreader92 @junniesoleilkth @iamcamlb @bangctans @lilliankoo @talyaaas-blog @blackswan18 @appleh4ad @hoseokteardrop @613tannies @whoa-jo @borahaeb1ch @getougf @chimmisbae @kookcobain @miniekookiegucci @purplelanterns @eegyo @inthemiddleofsomething22-blog @darkuni63 @bibimboppin19 @phanniefoo @chieftoadturkeynickel @existenciosa @dasommwa @minayas1998 @sumzysworld @pwd54gr54 @jellycake2109 @sigxx123 @00frenchfries00 @importantperfectionmiracle @stigma93 @lpgirl2324 @youremyjinearth @moonups-stuff @bubblyyz @hvnnibvni @ttanniett @secfir @urlovelily @iknowhistouch3 @nadzzzblog @itsmina29 @mochibites00 @syazzzlisa @ash07128 @kawennote09 @merrygo14 @butterymin @cybercheesygurl @juju-227592 @lesiacapouille

side note: I tried tagging readers in comments but most of them didn't go through, so i'm sorry about the clutter here...😬

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[victorbutnotreally]

ACADEMIC VALIDATION - LEE MINHO X MALE READER

A/N: i'm back!! heavily inspired by myself. to all the people struggling with their studies, you got this! your grades only define a part of you, a part of you that can be molded however you want.

warnings: thunderstorms, mental breakdown, mentions of dying, unrealistic expectations from parents, min's parents are horrible in this.

"You have so much potential, Minho! Where's that little boy who's always eager to learn, huh?? You got an A in maths instead of your usual A*. I can't believe this!!"

"Mom, let me-"

"No!! You're in university, for god's sake! Pull yourself together! Stop hanging out with your friends and you better study, young man-"

"I-"

"Or do you not want to achieve anything? Do you want to be stuck somewhere with part time jobs, barely making a living??"

An A is still a good grade, Mom! he wanted to say, but he didn't dare to. He wanted to scream and shout and defend himself, but he wasn't allowed to. The words were just fading echoes in his ears till the sound of the call ending snapped him back to reality.

His parents see his mistakes, but only that. It wasn't an easy exam, and only one person got an A*. But of course, his parents wouldn't understand that, because he used to get full marks for everything without even studying as a child. And even now, he's mostly relying on his memory and math skills. He doesn't know how to study. Why would you know how to study when you're "gifted"? God, he hated that term. He would beam with pride when he got called that till middle school. Things started going downhill in high school, but he picked it up somehow. Mostly to compete with Mn. And now, in one of the most prestigious universities in the world, he was doing well. Very well, actually. But his parents won't understand. Why would they, when their son is "gifted"?

Sobs wracked his body as he threw his phone onto the bed and slid down against the wall. He wished the wall had arms to hold him, since his parents never did. He wished his wall would come to life, talk to him, kiss his hair and wipe his tears away. He sat with his legs to his chest and his arms on his knees, but that wasn't comforting enough. He curled up into a fetal position on the ground as he sobbed. He didn't have friends. He was always alone growing up, and he was fine, since life wasn't so cruel back then. His comfort was being alone, but he wants to be held right now.

He pulls himself up somehow, going to the bathroom to wash his face. He had an image to maintain. The thunder seemed to rattle the windows and the lightning struck. On any other day, he would've admired thunderstorms, but the sounds and the light overwhelmed him at the moment. He opened the door to his dorm room and walked down the hallway. Mn. The only one who got an A* in the maths test. He wanted Mn. Sure, they wouldn't exactly be termed as 'friends', but he's the closest thing Minho has to one.

Mn heard the knock on his door and wondered who it was at this time of the night. It was 1:03. He went up to the door and and looked through the peephole. Minho? He opened the door, and before he could say anything, Minho threw himself into his arms.

"Min-"

The moment he felt those strong arms wrap around him, Minho lost control. He clung onto Mn like a lifeline, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His sobs echoed in the quiet room, his body shaking from the force of his emotions. And to Mn, the sound of his sobs seemed to pierce him deeper than the lightning. He buried his face into Mn's shirt, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He's never cried like this before, but something about seeing his calm, collected expression makes the floodgates open. The last time he broke down like this was…well, he didn't remember.

"I-I'm sorry," he chokes out between hiccups, voice muffled against Mn's chest. He's too embarrassed to meet those piercing eyes, but at the same time, he craves his warmth and stability. "Just needed someone…"

He takes a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. When he finally looks up, his dark eyes are puffy and red, and filled with vulnerability rare of him. "Please don't think less of me, Mn."

Mn's expression softened, his hand went up from Minho's back to his face, wiping away his tears.

"Of course not…not for this. Come inside," he says, pulling Minho inside the room once he realized they were still in the doorway. The door clicks shut behind them, loud thunder accompanying the sharp sound.

"What happened, Minho?"

The soft gaze, the gentle tone of someone who's supposed to be his rival, opened the floodgates once more. Years worth of bottled up emotions came out at once as he broke down in his rival's arms. Mn could do nothing but rub his back and hold him close. Minho didn't need anything else. He just wanted to be held. Minho's arms squeezed him tighter as his sobs grew louder. He buried his face in his chest so deep as if he wanted to be lodged in his ribcage, right next to his heart.

"They- they think I'm so smart…I'm not…I'm not smart or anything.."

More sobs.

"I can't do this anymore, Mn, I can't…I'll die at this rate. I just wanna disappear and stop worrying about all this."

"Oh, Minho.." Mn felt a strange protectiveness over the boy nestled so comfortably in his arms. His heart felt warm knowing that Minho came to him out of all people, but at the same time, he felt sad, knowing that Minho didn't really have anyone else.

"What if I don't get a job? What if adulting is harder than I thought? What if…what if I don't graduate?"

The last question was followed by hysterical sobs. If it weren't for the thunderstorm, Mn was sure he would've woken up the whole floor with his cries.

"I-I c-can't do this anymore, Mnie…I can't..p-please.."

"Okay..okay..we'll take a break for a while, yeah?"

"C-Can't…have to..study..I have to-"

"Minho."

Minho looked up from Mn's chest, eyes teary and red.

"How long has it been since you slept?"

"I- I don't know, Mn.." He said Mn's name with such softness, such…vulnerability.

Mn reached to wipe away Minho's tears and reached out to grab some tissues for him.

"Here."

Minho shakily took the tissues, mumbling a small 'thank you' as he wiped his face. He slowly got up, his feet somehow being able to carry his weight now as he went to the bathroom and washed his face. He came out of the bathroom to see Mn making tea.

"Y-You don't have to," Minho said, his voice sore and shaky from all the crying.

"Sit down, Min. Talk to me, okay?"

He obediently sat down, quite unusual for him. But right now, he just wants to hand everything to someone else. And he didn't think he'd be so open with Mn.

"I just..I got an A instead of an A*. I wasn't disappointed with it because it was a super tough exam, but my mom called and said a lot of things. Like I'm wasting my potential. I didn't hear the rest, I was so tired. Don't…pity me. Please."

"I won't. I don't. And you're not wasting your potential, okay?," Mn started, handing Minho a cup of tea. "You're one of the best students here. And one slight drop in your grade doesn't make you stupid. Besides, A is such a good grade."

Minho sips his tea, the warmth of the teacup a comfort to his cold hands. He listened intently to Mn's words, as if memorising them. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, a small smile finding its way to his lips.

"You're good enough. I'm proud of you."

"You're good enough." The words rang in Minho's head, louder than the thunderstorm outside. He felt safe. He felt like he could admire it again. He sets down the teacup and hugged him again, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

"Thank you."

taglist:

@forever-atiny

[asocialangel]

a toxic side of your relationship.

because every fairytale has its flaws ~

angsty short texts (<100w\character). Part 2 with more characters upcoming (you can comment for someone specific)

Isagi Yoichi, Reo Mikage, Itsohi Rin, Shidou Ryuusei, Itoshi Sae, Meguru Bachira, Otoya Eita, Michael Kaiser, Rensuke Kunigami.

[pt 2 includes: lorenzo, nagi, barou, yukimiya, karasu, ness] [pt3 includes: aiku, niko, hiori, chigiri, kurona]

Isagi coddles you too much. He feeds in your delusions, mostly by accident, because he apprehends the awkward moment where he breaks you from within. He keeps the harsh truth unbeknownst to you, he wrongfully thinks white lies are for the best. Sometimes reality hits anyways, and someone tells you with authenticity what's wrong with you. It hurts harder, because you’ve always had these extraneous walls protecting you.

Reo thinks materialistic love can make up for anything. He makes mistakes, just like everyone does, but he never really apologizes. He just sends you an impersonal gift, thinking it’ll make you forget.

He’s not always as present as you’d like him to be, but he defends himself saying he provides everything you could wish for. Except sometimes love cannot be touched. 

Rin doesn’t realize he has an impact on you. He’s so focused on himself, he forgets his harsh words or dirty looks mean something to others. It’s like he forgets interactions go beyond time. He doesn't understand why get so caught up over something he did. “Why does he matters to you that much ?” He won’t accept that he is now part of someone else’s everyday life.

Shidou pushes your buttons on purpose. When you fight, he does and says exactly what he knows will make you out of your mind. He considers that the one that gets the loudest ‘lost’, so he will make it happen. That’s also his way of taking out his anger, making you the maddest possible. He will cross lines to make you sad or angry. He doesn't know where to stop, it's kinda immature.

Sae lowers your self-esteem with how better he is than you. You know that he surpasses you at everything, it’s almost ridiculous. Looks, intellect, strength, sociability. You’re just constantly reminded that everyone will love him better. His ego stops him from denying it or comforting you. Deep down, he likes feeling superior.

Bachira can be judgy. He has this look that makes you feel so stupid. When he doesn’t approve of something, you’ll just know. Because he thinks he has the singular right answer for everything. Sometimes you feel like you should not be entirely yourself, because he’ll have something to object to. 

Kunigami is not the same in group settings as he is when alone with you. When he’s with his friends, it’s like he changes from a less thoughtful, caring person, to a sneery, detached individual. He probably doesn't do it on purpose, but it makes you feel so dumb and belittled.

Otoya is not as involved as you. He cares so little for your relationship, especially compared to you. He acts detached, is passive and sometimes even has the nerve to refuse plans you offer. If you didn’t do anything, your relationship would probably melt off instantly. It’s like he doesn't value your love to its true significance. 

Kaiser gaslights you. He hates arguments and he hates being wrong. So if you even mention the possibility of him fucking up, he will completely turn it around to make you the bad guy.  And if he does apologize, you know it comes with guilt tripping and unfulfilled promises. It’s like he cannot admit his mistakes, but on top of that, he blames it on you. 

A\N: thought of this because i want my Isagi person who will always agree with me even when i'm wrong~ Unrealistic tho, ik

[wannab-urs]

Title: Harsher Than the Bark

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Javi makes you feel things you’ve never felt before, will never feel with anyone else, but he can’t – or won’t – love you. 

Tags: smoking, probably shit spanish, smut, angst, fingering, squirting, unprotected PiV, probably unrealistic amount of orgasms (like 4 idk it’s kinda vague, choking/breath play, Javi has dom vibes but it’s not like BDSM he’s just bossy, one “good girl,” begging, religious imagery because Javi makes you see god, biting, that one position from that one scene – you fucking know the one, excessive cursing because it’s me and I refuse to change, Javi is a cuddler, emotionally unavailable!Javi, references to past arguments/past hookups because this has been an ongoing thing and I love to start in the middle of a story. Based on 505 by Arctic Monkeys, (being annoying and posting at 5:05 am) No beta we die like Oberyn WC: 1.4k

A/N: I kind of wrote this in a fever dream, I literally don't even know if it's any good. It's sort of a planned three parter, but I'm not putting pressure on myself to finish it, so each part can stand completely alone. If I write all three, it'll be called In the A.M. as in In the Morning but also because they're all based on Arctic Monkeys songs. Hope you like it &lt;3

Series Masterlist | Javier Peña Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

The knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark Frightened by the bite, though it's no harsher than the bark

Javier Peña is probably the best fuck you’ve ever had in your life. Actually, scratch that. He’s definitely the best fuck you’ve ever had in your life. He makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. Coming three times in one night with him is the absolute bare minimum. He loves it when you scream for him. Does everything in his power to get you a noise complaint from your neighbors. 

And God is he gorgeous. Long and lean with strong arms, broad shoulders, a tiny waist, a perky ass. His nose looks like it was carved off a greek statue and placed on his face. He’s got these big sad brown eyes, full lips framed by a neatly trimmed mustache, and a jawline that could cut glass. You’re probably in love with him. 

You put out your cigarette when you hear the door open, lay back in the bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s five in the morning, but you never turn him away. No matter what time. 

“Shouldn’t leave the door unlocked, hermosa,” Javi’s deep drawl drifts across the room to you. 

“Knew you were coming. Didn’t wanna have to get up.” 

Javi drops his shirt on the floor and crawls up the bed, draping himself over you and pressing a kiss to your lips. “No es seguro, cariño. Anyone could walk in.” (It’s not safe, baby).

“Lo que sea, Javi.” (Whatever, Javi). You roll your eyes at him. “It’s locked now, no?” 

Javi drags his lips along your jaw, nips at your throat, drags a finger through your folds. “Wet already, baby? Were you thinking of me?” 

You were, but you kind of hate him for being right. “Fuck you, Jav–” his name drags out into a moan as he stuffs two thick fingers inside you. He pumps his fingers in and out a couple times before curling them up into the spongy spot inside you. You throw your head back in pleasure, back arching and hips thrusting so that you’re practically riding his fingers. 

He wraps the fingers of his free hand carefully around your throat. “Mírame.” (Look at me). You force your eyes open and he’s so close you could count the individual hairs in his mustache. You look into his eyes with so much adoration, so much love, he has to look away. He squeezes your throat tighter and you close your eyes again as your cunt tightens on his fingers. 

He rubs circles on your clit in time with the thrust of his fingers, feeling you wind tighter and tighter around him. His hand on your throat isn’t blocking air, but you still can’t catch your breath. When your body is so tense it feels like you’ll shatter into a million pieces, he releases the hand on your throat. You gasp in a big breath and fall apart in his hands. He works you through it with firm, slow strokes. 

Just as you feel yourself start to come down, he picks up the pace again. He places the hand that was on your throat on your pelvis, holding you down on the mattress and rubs his thumb in quick, hard circles on your clit. He pumps his fingers into you hard and fast. 

“Come for me, hermosa. Come all over my hand.” 

Your vision whites out and you let out a near agonized scream as you clench around his fingers and gush all over him. Javi pulls his fingers out of you and slips them into your mouth. You suck the taste of yourself off his fingers. 

“Good girl,” he growls in your ear. He stands up, leaving you panting on the bed, and strips his jeans off. He strokes himself as he gets back on the bed, hand still slick with your cum. He pulls your thighs over his and you wrap your legs around him. He drags his cock through your folds and watches you shudder. 

“You’re soaked… You want me to fuck you?” The bastard is teasing you. You whine his name. “Las palabras, cariño.” (Words, baby). 

“Need you, Javi. Please. I need you so bad,” you’re desperate, aching for him. He taps your clit with the head of his cock one more time before lining up with your entrance and pushing in. You let out an absolutely wrecked moan, voice breaking as he bottoms out. 

He leans forward, planting his hands on either side of your head and pulls out before plunging back down inside you. He has your hips tilted almost vertically, driving you down into the mattress with every thrust. You dig your nails into the meat of his shoulders and drag them down his back, making him groan into your neck. 

Fucking Javi is always a religious experience. You find salvation and damnation at once in his arms and you swear you see God himself when you come on his cock. 

Javi doesn’t slow down despite the way you clench around him. He often works out his frustrations in your body, tries to bury them and himself in you. 

He pulls out and flips you over by your hips, sheathing himself inside you the second you’re on your knees in front of him. He fists one hand in your hair and pulls your back to his chest, wrapping the other hand around your breast. 

You lay your head on his shoulder and let the pleasure wash over you, lose yourself in it completely. You only exist in this moment, the pleasure and pain melding to form something divine inside you. He bites down on your neck and you come on his cock again, and you think you scream. You aren’t quite sure. 

Javi groans as he slams into you one, two, three more times and collapses forward onto the bed, trapping you under him. He stays inside you for a few more moments, nuzzling your neck. His lips catch your ear lobe as he pulls himself out of you and falls to the bed beside you. He wraps his arms around you, curling his body around yours, and holds you close. 

You lie in silence for a long time, just listening to each other breathe. This has become routine. Javi has a bad day at work and takes it out on your body in this bed. He never talks about it, about why he needs such a frenzied release, but you can guess. 

Sometimes, though, he’ll talk about growing up in Laredo or about a nice dinner he had with Connie and Steve or about an op that went well. Sometimes he lets you see beneath his hardened exterior. 

The truth is that you’re definitely in love with him. But Javi won’t ever be with you, not in the way you want. Javi won’t commit to being with you because this, what you just did, is all he thinks he deserves and all he knows how to do. He loves making you feel good, takes pride in making you come over and over and over. He loves making you moan and whine and scream for him. He loves it when you tell him how good he feels, how perfect he is, how pretty his cock is. He just doesn’t love you.

He always curls up with you, snuggles you close, clings to you. But if you bring up wanting something more, something defined and committed, he fucking runs. He can give you himself physically, but he can’t let you near his heart because it is rotten and caving in and no good. And you? You are good. He can’t touch you with that. The dark and broken part of himself. He can’t infect your good with his bad.

You know this and yet… 

A tear slips from your lashes, trailing down your cheek and falling onto the arm tucked under your cheek. 

“Cariño, ¿por qué lloras? (Baby, why are you crying?) He sounds… fucking anguished. “¿Te lastimé?” (Did I hurt you?)

“It’s nothing, Jav.” 

Javi sits up, grabs your face in his hands and makes you look at him. “It’s something. Dime.” (Tell me). 

“If I tell you, you’ll just fucking leave again, Javi. I can’t do this right now. Just hold me, please? Be here when I wake up?” 

Javi searches your eyes for a moment. You aren’t sure what he sees there. Heartbreak? Resignation? Desperation? Whatever it is convinces him. 

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.” 

[benedictscanvas]

i came across “i saved you a seat” and immediately fell in love with your writing 🥹🥹

could i request a jamie tartt x fem!reader where they both like each other but they’re both too scared to act on it so they’re kinda snappy to each other? and then angry love confession 🥹🥹🥹

only if you have the time!! love your writing so much <3

thank you my lovely, lovely anon <3 i loved the idea of this so much, but i'm not super happy with it, i think because i often struggle to write enemies to lovers in a oneshot without feeling unrealistic?? i hope you still like it and are happy to suspend some reality with me haha | 2.4k words!! tw language

"Tartt!' you bellowed across the dressing room, enjoying the way most of the team jump at your sudden commotion. The man himself just turned his head to you nonchalantly, and it only fuelled your fire, "Your fucking car is blocking me in."

"Right," he said, prolonging the sound, "And y' telling me because...?"

"Just move it, dickhead," you sighed, still in the doorway, "It's a bloody eyesore and all."

"She is a classic. And classy. Two things you wouldn't know anythin' about."

You snorted at that one, but refused to take the bait, flipping him off as you marched out of there and back the way you came towards the car park. Jamie was sure to make you wait but he would move it eventually. He wasn't a total monster.

Actually, everything would have been easier if he was a total monster, like he used to be. Now he was nice to everyone and smiled all the time and had way better hair - but he still couldn't bring himself to change his attitude towards you. Always at your throat.

You stood waiting for him, head buried in your arms that rested on your car. Eventually, you heard footsteps, but you didn't bother to raise your head.

"Where'd y' expect me to move it? No spaces, love."

"Just out of the way," you groaned into your forearms, "God, Jamie, I need to get home, would y' just do it?"

"No need to get funny 'bout it," he said and you lifted your head to glare at him to find him smirking, "What're you so desperate to be home for anyway?"

"Fuck off, Jamie," you said, staring out at the pitch behind him, "What is your problem?"

"My problem?" he said incredulously, taking a step towards you to force you to look at him, "I asked about what you were up to, Y/N, what the fuck?"

"I just don't need this right now, Jamie."

"Don't need what?"

"You!" you exclaim, pushing yourself away from your car and even closer to him, "Prancing about being a total dick to me and positively lovely to everyone else. I haven't got any fucking patience left for it, I need to get home because I just got a call that my entire kitchen is flooded, if you must know."

He just stared at you. Unflinching. You sighed, defeated, no venom left in your tone.

"Just move the car, Jamie. Please."

“Yeah, fuck, okay,” he said, voice small, “I’ll move it, alright?”

You went back to your previous position, arms on the car, this time with your head in your hands. It really shouldn’t bother you this much, but you decided to blame it on your shitty day rather than Jamie himself or the way you found yourself looking at him sometimes. The way you wished he’d just be nice to you, even for a moment. You weren’t an idiot - you knew that you’d never been nice to him, that he had no reason to change. It was just too terrifying - the idea of trying to be nice and him deciding he hated you anyway. Or that maybe he was never the prick and it had been you all along. All of it was too much.

A soft hand on your shoulder brings you out of your head, and you see Jamie standing sheepishly in front of you. You stared at his hand for a moment, but he’s quick to remove it. When you check, his car is categorically not out of your way - he’s moved it so that it’s blocking the exit instead. You felt the horrible sting of tears welling up and ducked your head to hide them.

“What have I done to you?” you ask miserably and his brow furrows before he realises what you’re talking about.

“No, fuck, no,” he mutters, leaning his head back to sky in frustration, “I’m not- Look, let me drive you home. You’ll need someone else there if your kitchen is flooded.”

So that was why he hadn’t moved his car properly - it was ready to go. He was ready to go, keys still in his hand, despite the fact he hadn’t got his bag or anything. One of the pesky tears fell and you brushed the traitor away with harsh fingertips.

“You’re in no state to drive, yeah? I won’t even talk the whole way, just let me-”

He trails off. You’re tired to the bones. It would probably take more effort at this point to convince him not to come with you, so although you can’t work out his angle, you nod your head and start walking over to his car, only stopping when he bounds ahead of you to open the passenger door for you. You furrow your brow at him, but climb in nonetheless and the two of you are speeding off into the setting sun before you know it.

The quiet bothers you. He said he wouldn’t speak, and he was sticking to it, but you were desperate to fill the awful silence.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, hating the way your voice sounds with the lump still in your throat, “You hate me.”

Jamie laughed then, but it wasn’t the same sound that echoed through the corridors at Richmond from the dressing room. It was much harsher than that.

“Y’ mean, you hate me,” he argued, “That’s how we work, ain’t it? You hate me so I get under y’ skin for fun and then y’ hate me more.”

You stared at the side of his face, even though his gaze didn’t falter from the road ahead.

“You…don’t hate me?”

“Trust me, you’re fuckin’ annoying as shit sometimes. And I’ve tried. But no. Can’t seem to.”

Can’t seem to? That was such a weird way to put it. You shook your head as you returned your own eyes to the road.

“You’re such a dickhead to me, Jamie,” you murmured, hands rigid in your lap, “I know you used to be a dickhead to everyone including me, but now you’re nice to everyone except me. It’s shitty.”

“Yeah, cause you’re shitty!” he exclaimed, slapping a hand against the steering wheel in frustration, “I get that I used to be awful, fuckin’ hell, but it’s like y’ remind me everyday. Like I can’t escape it with you.”

“I was willing to give you a chance when you came back…”

“No, y’ fuckin’ weren’t. Nobody was. And it took ages, but I won ‘em all over except you.”

You stayed quiet for a few seconds. You hadn’t been ready to give him a chance at first, he was right, but it had been months since Jamie came back. You wondered if it had always been a chicken and egg situation - both of you rude to the other for no other reason than the other’s rudeness. Than the fear of trying kindness and having it rejected outright.

“I couldn’t be nice to you when you came back,” you eventually speak up, picking at your nails and staring down at them intently, “What if I was nice and you were still a prize prick? It was fucking scary. I don’t like getting hurt.”

He scoffed, and you felt some of your vulnerability coming back to bite you already.

“Y’ don’t like getting hurt? But you had no problem hurting me every fuckin’ day, huh?”

He was practically snarling by the end of your sentence. You felt sick. This is exactly what you’d been afraid of - show a little vulnerability at how you struggled with the new him, and have it thrown back in your face. The walls were rebuilding themselves as you spoke.

“Why the fuck would my shitty little comments hurt you, Jamie? Thought y’ didn’t give a single shit what I think of you.”

“Well, maybe I fuckin’ do!”

“Do what?” you said, volume rising along with his.

He groaned, a strangled sound, as he pulled the car over at the nearest kerb a little too quickly for your liking. You reached out to the door handle to steady yourself, glaring at him when you came to a stop and he turned the engine off.

“I’m not doin’ this now. I said I’d take you home without talkin’ so let’s just do that, yeah?” he said, seething. There was no way that was happening now.

“No. You tell me what you mean so we can finally settle this.”

Another strangled groan, this time accompanied by him bashing his head into the steering wheel and then leaving it there, muttering to himself. You continued to glare at him until he finally turned his head to look at you, temple still against his hands.

“Fine. Fuckin’ fine,” he said angrily, leaning back in his chair and making proper eye contact with you for the first time since you’d entered his car. You could feel your heart thrumming in your chest, in your ears, “You’ve always been so fuckin’ headstrong, and you don’t take shit, and you’re nice to everyone but me-”

“Yeah, because -”

“Just listen for a minute, would ya?” he scowled and you shut up despite yourself, “Look, I don’t need to tell ya that you’re fuckin’ fit. You just are. Always had a thing for you, back in the day, but it was jus’ physical, yeah? Cause you’d shout at me and look all hot doin’ it. Now I’ve been back for like, what, three months? An’ it’s like a full blown fuckin’ crush or something. I hate it. I see you being all kind and shit to someone and then I come along and you say somethin’ all snarky and I just-”

You were hanging on his every word. When he hesitated, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You just what?” you said softly, leaning closer to the center console without even meaning to. He sighs, but that same frustration seems to have dissipated during his speech, and now he can’t look at you again, instead fiddling with a loose thread on his shorts.

“I just go all weak. In me knees, and that. It’s so stupid.”

You know your eyes must be comically wide right now, breath coming out in silly little pants.

“You have a crush on me? You snap at me because…you like me?”

“God, don’t say it like that,” he moans, dramatically banging his head against the steering wheel again to hide his face, and his blush, you can safely assume, “How embarrassing is it to have a crush on a girl who hates my guts?”

“Ugh, are you really going to be so self-deprecating that you’re going make me say it?” you whined, watching when he peeks out from the steering wheel at you with one eye, “Fine. But if this is all some joke and you’re horrible after this I’m getting out of the car.”

He nods eagerly, sitting back up again. He’s such a puppy, you wonder how you’ve ever been anything but nice to him for a second.

“I used to have an awful thing for you,” you said quickly, closing your eyes when you see his whole face light up, “When you were a prick. You were awful and I still wanted to jump on you any given second. That really was embarrassing. So when you came back, I swore to myself I wouldn’t let myself like you because I knew then I’d end up…liking you. If you get what I mean.”

“You’re saying you snap at me because you like me too?”

“Liked, Jamie,” you corrected, wagging a stern finger, “And please keep in mind that I hadn’t been with anyone for a while and my judgement was poor.”

“Well yeah, if you liked me when I was terrible, like. But I don’t think your judgement would be that bad if y’ happened to like me now?”

It was the first time you’d ever heard his teasing, flirty tone turned on you. It was very difficult not to get flustered and though you tried, you could tell you were failing when you tucked your hair behind your ear.

“There’s a lot of bridges to cross before we get there,” you said, but there’s a smile hovering on your lips, “We need to learn how to be nice to each other without being scared we’ll end up ridiculed.”

He nodded again, dutifully. You get used to agreeing with him.

“How about we start by getting back to my house? This flood thing is real, y’know?”

“Oh shit!” he exclaimed, turning the engine back on suddenly, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I genuinely forgot.”

You laugh a little as he pulls back out onto the road and continues driving, gratified when he chuckles too and its closer to the warmth you usually hear in his laugh. It’s never been because of you before.

"You are classy by the way. And a classic. Some of the insults I've used for ya have made no fuckin' sense. And I'm sorry."

It meant more to hear that than you could possibly tell him now. Maybe some other time, when a few more things were mended, you could tell him that his apology meant everything to you.

"I'm sorry, too. Really sorry, actually. I think we've both...god we've been so unfair to each other."

"We have, yeah."

"I quite like your car really."

He just smiles at that, warmth flowing from it as he looks over at you from his spot in the driver's seat to make sure you've seen it.

Soon, you found the car enveloped in a far more comfortable silence than before for a while, only interrupted when Jamie pulls up to your house after a few directions from you to get the right one. You sit in the car for a few moments, both waiting for the other to speak, until you decided to just go for it.

“If we can fix this stupid kitchen, maybe…” you felt yourself scared to offer, still worried about being turned down or rejected or made fun of, but you pushed the anxiety down into the pit of your stomach and continued, “Maybe you can stay. For a cuppa. We could, y'know, actually talk to each other? See how long this truce lasts?”

“Mhm, okay,” he said, but when you sneak a glance at him, he’s grinning like a madman, “Okay. Guess I could stay for a bit.”

“Just the one cup though, yeah?” you confirm, but you’re grinning too, and you hope he’s noticed.

“One cup. Wouldn’t dream of two.”

(but he stays for four, including one with breakfast the next morning, and somehow, the two of you are pretty damn nice to each other the whole time)

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

Docm77 as well as MANY other have fallen face first into this media-related ragebait and I'm here to explain why you shouldn't be mad at Doc/be upset but not "wish ill things on your child" upset, which yes. I did see. Shame on you person. Shame.

Ahem.

So upon waking up in the UK/Europe, we didn't necessarily have the build up to the presidential election due to timezone conflictions, so for many people (myself include) 6am to 9am we woke up to Trumps victory speech on the trending tab. I'm not joking, that's how people going out and how I found out

There have been a mixed bag of reaction but Doc is getting hate for saying, and I quote "Lol... Really USA? This is what I wake up to?"

Alot of people say this was insensitive, and excuse my language and I don't mean to upset, it's because they're Americans and (again apologies) Americans have been socialised into to being quite emotional about politics and read into everything that happens regarding it. Which is something that the rest of the world kinda looks down on America for, because it makes you look like 'cultist' (this isn't my viewpoint however we do discuss this alot in certain class and this is how other people see you)

Doc's reaction is not trying being insensitive, because to literally anyone else it's a reaction of speechlessness and confusion. Which the majority of people saw it as.

Because we all woke up to that.

Doc isn't trying to be insensitive, but I do understand why people think he's being insensitive, his confusion and speechlessness is being written off as dismissive.

People are saying the word 'lol' is worth cursing at his family over

1. That's not tolerated here. Don't be sending threats or harassing him.

2. Lol, has cultural differences in meaning.

In the US countries, it means 'haha funny!' or it can be a dismissive reply (in text format)

But in other countries, lol, is also used as a 'your joking right?' or 'pretty funny joke'. An example being 'lol what?' (funny joke, but what does it mean)

Many people think the lol is dismissive but it's not. He, along with many other actually didn't believe Trump had won yet and learnt about it in the worst way possible

Secondily he made a comment about dealing with "another 4 years of insanity" which people also thought was rude.

But sadly, it's actually true to alot of people outside the US. We only see the "funny" or mildly annoying bits of your media (because of filters and blockers) and sadly, I'll admit we don't know the full picture other than the Americans insanity over politics

It's literally what your known for in the UK.

So the '4 years of insanity' is definitely an exaggeration but is definitely true in some way. We get the bud of all the "Americans drama" and it's mostly the insane stuff, heck that's how flordia man and ohio became memes. So it's not unrealistic for us to see the next year's as insanity because it is. Just very dramatised

Also quick point, people are saying that because of this he doesn't support the LGBTQIA+ and to that I say; Rendog + his entire fanbase respectfully

Now the big boy issue. Doc said he won't talk about politics and Palestine yet talked about politics now? Why?

Why didn't Doc talk about Palestine?

And for similar reasons as to why alot of other people didn't talk about it, including myself. Not out of fear or something. It's because of the scams.

Being "late" to new media is frustrating especially when it comes to supporting people, and genuinely by the time I heard about Palestine I saw the scams first.

Doc HAS a younger audience demographic, who are more likely to get scammed because they do look very realistic and they even have fake followers and everything.

Why not get one from a reliable source? Well what is a reliable source? Because if something goes wrong people will blame you because you endorsed them.

Why not go to charities? Sadly their are now currently many scummy charities that do take alot of the donation percentage. (including some gofundme pages)

So to address this, Doc just didn't address it. And YES he admittedly should have explained why, instead of leaving it up to people to infer because as we can see, some people took it the wrong way. And I can see how they took it the wrong way, he didn't communicate it very well.

But to me and many others, the intentions were clear and that's why their were no comments made. However I do believe he shouldn't have used the excuse about not wanting to talk about politics, because that does have consequences long-term. And that why I'm here today

And this brings me to my final point.

People are forcing opinions out of other people and when their opinions don't aline they get mad about it. So to avoid this people either refuse to comment or have their own methods of tackling it or simply blurt it out because of pressure.

A modern example of this would be Kim. K and her son (ik shocking). Her son talked about supporting Trump and she got mad about it, told him to take down the videos and allegedly made him sign a contract saying to never make a video about politics.

Kim. K is actively avoiding being pressured into speaking by not responding and keeping it in.

However, another example of this would be Vivziepop. Due to recent events regarding her shows being leaked and the recent elections that damaged the integrity of women's rights and healthcare, she broke down on twitter.

Letting some of her frustrations spill out. This was encouraged by people personal targeting her, and basically harassing her to the point of breaking down.

These same types of people are trying to do the same to people like Aismey, Doc and even Jimmy Solidaritygaming because of thier social media presence, and when they have a reaction but then change their opinion it's suddenly a "well you didn't say that before!"

So to be clear, the circumstances of Docm77 is brought upon by miscommunication and ragebaiting. Dont go and threaten his family, voice your concerns respectfully in this troubling time (even if you're frustrated, you should project that onto someone else)

IF YOU SEE ANYONE RAGEBAITING REPORT IT

And have a good night ya'll

[mikaila-orchard]

Anduin still gets more respect and dignity than Sylvanas ever did and I'm still mad about it.

Aight, the new WoW trailer stirred up some old animosity that I have to get out lest it fester.

The problem I've had with Anduin for the past few years is something that isn't even strictly his fault, and is just symptomatic of how shitty the writing staff is. In theory, Anduin is an interesting bit of flavor for the Alliance. Someone who was raised in a very turbulent time in the Alliance's history, gone through some shit when he was too early to handle it and is plagued with self doubt because of it. All of this complimented by Velen's vision of Anduin's future going down two very different roads.

Alas, the problem is in execution. Because what we are left with in practice is a character who goes through comparatively less than other legacy characters (Thrall being raised as a slave, Jaina losing her home and loved ones regularly and Sylvanas with fucking everything) but who, by the time Shadowlands rolls around, insists that he is the one suffering the most and everyone else needs to get over themselves. And that wouldn't be so bad (hell, in Shadows Rising, it's kinda treated as a genuine character flaw) but that's not the case because WoW treats Anduin like the moral barometer of the franchise for many years now.

There are multiple examples of this throughout, but the biggest culprit is all across BFA and Shadowlands, where Anduin is made to understand the hardships that Sylvanas and the Forsaken have suffered, most of it by the Alliance's hands, and just shuts it down with "Everyone suffers, stop hiding behind your trauma and rise above it," and because BFA is framing him as the hero and Sylvanas as the villain he gets away with it. In the fucking Sylvanas book, he has the gall to say Sylvanas had a better life than him because she knew her mother and calls her selfish for committing suicide. And of course the book frames Anduin as being in the right about all of this because they decided Sylvanas holding him captive was the time they would even allow to let her reach out to someone and hope they understand her. The deck was always stacked against Sylvanas and in Anduin's favor in terms of audience sympathy.

But then, what happens in Shadowlands? He gets dominated by Zovaal, stabs the Archon (doesn't even kill her), maybe kills a bunch of unnamed npcs off screen, and fights his friends. Not a single tally to add to his body count while he was a puppet. And when he is freed from Zovaal's control, he doesn't lose his support system, he doesn't lose the respect of his loved ones or his people, and he's not put under pressure to just be okay again.

AND YET!

He still goes on this self imposed exile of his, and has been on it for over half a decade at this point, because he is just too haunted by everything he's 'seen and done'. Things that we as the audience don't really see. So in practice, the justification for all this on screen angst is so painfully weak. And yes, there's no wrong way to respond to trauma and there never will be, and Anduin's trauma responses are far from unrealistic.

But compared to Sylvanas, Anduin is giving a great deal more respect and dignity by the narrative for, comparatively, much less. Sylvanas was enslaved and forced to murder her countrymen (onscreen too, we MADE HER DO THAT in warcraft 3) and when she was finally freed, she had no support system besides her rangers and Nathanos, she was feared by her former homeland who only accepted her help out of desperation and was hated and distrusted by enemies and allies alike way before she might have done anything to deserve it. The game even leans into the idea that the Sylvanas who suffered all this trauma isn't the real Sylvanas and we just needed to restore her soul to have the pure pious ranger general back (barf). And she still has to toil away in superhell because the writers were too chickenshit to fully backpedal on the deliberate character assassination the sexual predator on staff forced upon her.

"Oh, but M'Kay! That's the writers fault, not Anduin's! You can't blame him for all that."

Maybe not but a lot of the issue here comes from the fact that so long as the people who enabled this inequity of care remains on staff (IE fucking GOLDEN) this won't stop. So what choice do I have but to loathe the byproduct of this fuckery when it's being shoved in my face like this? What other way could I possibly interpret this disparity other than as misogyny?

[riririnnnn]

You know what can be the dopest thing right now?

Kiyora getting an offer from Re Al.

Many of you might think that I've officially lost my mind, but hear me out, okay?

While dwelling upon the current match and plausible possibilities of the match, Kiyora seems to have slipped past my eyes or more precisely, his assist to Kaiser seems to have slipped past my eyes—his pass was amazing.

Kaiser's goal in itself was a very amazing one, but the main force who made the goal happen was Kiyora, you know, and that's exactly the point I'm trying to make—Kaiser's goal wouldn't have been possible if it wasn't for Kiyora.

Considering the fact that Kiyora was still debating who to support—Kaiser or Isagi—I can safely say that he didn't know about Kaiser's impact magnus beforehand, and yet he was able to provide the exact kind of pass unlike Ness who knew and even practiced alongside Kaiser.

And this type of quick observation and accurate judgement is very cool, you know.

You see, curved shot isn't something Kaiser invented, it is an actual type of shot which I've majorly seen during free kicks or penalty kicks, so I was very impressed when Kiyora was able to look through things—that Kaiser didn't mis-kick but rather it being an attempt for a curved shot—and being able to make a pass where the ball comes to a still end.

Now why was I so impressed?

'cause a curved shot usually happens (at least, that's what I have seen) during free kicks or penalty kicks and what is the state of the ball during those times? Yes! The ball is stationary!

You getting me, right?

Because of the Luck puzzle piece, some of you might argue that it was just Kaiser being lucky that the ball came to a stop. However, personally, I think the Luck piece just represented Kiyora siding with him and that the ball stopping was very intentional.

Why?

Well:

Kiyora has been playing soccer since the age of two, so I don't think that anyone with that much of an experience will make a mundane mistake during such a pivotal point in a very important match.

I understand that under high pressure or during the heat of a moment, whoops-a-daisy do happen even to pros, but Kiyora's demeanour throughout everything was very calm. He seemed too assured for his pass to just be a mistake.

Of course, I also understand that him receiving an offer from Re Al sounds very far-fetched. I mean, Re Al is shown as this really strong and powerful and amazing team in the BLLK Universe, so someone getting an offer from them based on a single match's performance sounds unrealistic.

Besides, if he does get one, then people will hate on him while saying that he is riding off of Kaiser's goal, and that Kaneshiro-san gave him plot-est armour in existence just to wrap him up.

On the other hand, it'll be indeed really dope if he does go to Re Al with Kaiser—his assist to him has become my favourite assist in the whole series.

Most likely, he'll get an offer from Bastard München though.

What do you guys think?

[lara635kookie]

I didn't even watch "WISH" yet because in my country it will only be available at january, but people are saying it's a bad cliche so I probably won't watch at the cinema.

The thing is, even though I am a hopeless romantic, not everything has to have romance. There are princess who are perfectly fine without a prince, like Mirabel, Elsa, Merida, Moana and Raya(I do kinda like the idea of Raya with a girl, just not Namaari). But we were so robbed of seeing Asha and the star boy(he is literally a staR so I don't doubt Disney would call him StaN or something like that, so his name is Stan from now on, I am gonna call him like that, is easier than star boy). Asha and Stan had the potential to be the next Tianaveen and Rapunzel&Eugene (I don't know their ship name). The concept arts are the cutest thing I have ever seen. Also "At All Costs" (bop) would have been a love song between the two!!! Them singing it man. The pain I will feel when I don't see them passionately sing it, very "I see the light" coded, in the actual movie. Somehow, now is not feminist for a strong female character to have a male partner by her side. Like...This doesn't make sense! You can be a strong female character and have a man at the same time! Have y'all forgotten Mulan and Shang? Anna and Kristoff? Ariel and Eric? Jasmine and Aladdin? (There are more examples and I could go on all day, but you got what I meant already) I hate Disney for throwing good ideas at the trash and playing safe just for money(like Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk said "it's a metaphor for capitalism"). And as the guy looked blonde with blue/green eyes in the arts I have seen, and Asha is a black latina, they lost the opportunity of having a biracial couple ACTUALLY DONE RIGHT (Pocahontas and John Smith don't count, he is a collonizer with the most common name in the world, she deserves so much better). Like, if the thing is show how inclusive you are by having a black latina female protagonist for little girls to see and feel represented in a good way, you could have increased that feeling by making someone fall in love for her. Little girls would feel like they are beautiful and desired/desireable in a positive way and that they worthy of being loved and love and be with whoever they want to be with, even someone who has a different skin color.

I am also mad because we could have seen Disney's first evil villain COUPLE with King Magnifico and his wife, the queen(still don't know her name, sorry). Can't you guys imagine the HITS, THE FIRST PLACE OF BILLBOARD HOT 100 WORTHY songs, they would proportionate us? Even if only one song, it would be enough for me. But someone thought having a female villain would be anti-feminist and they discarded an original and authentic idea, which is what Disney built its empire on the first place. Come on Disney minorities don't want to be portrayed as those unrealistic superior beings, they want to be portrayed as real human beings with emotions, struggles, qualities and flaws. Having an iconic female villain like you guys always had(like Maleficent, Cruella De Vil, Ursula, Mother Gothel, Lady Tremaine, etc) and set her up with an iconic male villain(like Gaston, Doctor Facilier, Shan Yu, Jafar, Hans, etc) it would have been top notch, god tier. King Magnifico and the queen could have been like the Gomez and Morticia of evil. You could address so many topics by it. Like the kingdom being ruled by evil would have been a great social critic of some politicians out there, for example. And we could have had an iconic final boss battle between Asha and Stan VS Magnifico and the queen.

Anyway, what I mean by this is that if someone has fanarts or just ANY CONTENT, of Asha and Stan, tag me, reblog this or comment, I don't care, just warn me, because they are my new obsession. I will also write a fanfic about this movie with these ideas, but only after I have watched the movie so until them, please feed my hyperfixation in Stasha (Star boy/Stan×Asha), I'm begging y'all

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

[cj-the-random-artist]

Hiiii, I absolutely adore your art style and QPR Narilamb au! I don't think I've ever seen one before! I also love the way you characterize the well... characters!

Uhhhhh, I guess I should ask an actual question, tho right?

So now that the Lamb sees that people like the "everything he hates about himself" side through the Goat, will he loosen up a bit? Or will he double down?

Once again love love love your art and au!

Ooh another question, got any OCs?

Hello!! Thank you!! I'm glad you like how I characterize them, I've gotta admit it's all very self-indulgent so whenever someone says they like my characterizations my brain breaks for a hot second lmfao

As for the question..... I think Lambert more shuts down initially, and then eventually lightens up. Like I think Lambert kinda sees that the flock becomes fond of the Goat quite quickly and they kind of distance themself from their followers. Like they do all the stuff that they've been doing but they seem more disengaged, and they go out on crusades more and more often, stay out for longer, and more and more frequently come back having died or been seriously injured while they were gone. And Narinder probably picks this up pretty early but doesn't really know what to do to help until it gets worse. Eventually, they do snap back into being more present, which goes along with their whole arc of learning that like, being imperfect is normal, the high standards they have for themself are incredibly unrealistic, they're allowed to take breaks and be a little selfish sometimes, etc etc, and I think in part the Goat also helps them with this- when Lambert eventually warms up to them, of course- and so does Narinder. But the way I imagine this most likely going is "Lambert starts to tune out and become distant and needs support to tune back in" kinda vibes. Sidenote: I didn't think that was going to sound that heavy until I wrote it out. Uh... sorry bout that.

As for OCs... I do have OCs, but I haven't posted about them in a really long time. Most of my OCs are in some way attached to the same story, which is a longtime work in progress of mine that I do intend to turn into a large scale comic one day, but... it's a very big project. Like, unreasonably big. That said, their (not current) information is available on my artfight, which can be found here. Not all their info on their artfight profiles is accurate because I've recently done an ungodly amount of worldbuild overhauling, rewriting, and contemplating of "hmm maybe this wasn't a good idea....." and those also aren't my only OCs, but... that's the best answer I can give ya for that. They exist, but current versions of them are not anywhere on the internets and I don't intend for that to change for a while (not until the start of the comic is ready, actually)

Anyways. Thank you so much for the ask, it makes me so very happy that you enjoy my art and my AU, and I hope you have a lovely day!!

[karatekels]

Mediation - Chapter 7 - TIGmas Day #9

Welcome to the continuation of the transition from "I don't know karatekels, this may be a bit farfetched" to "oh, this is obviously just crack fiction to get two TIG characters to bone the same woman".

And YES, I've accepted that and I hope you all enjoy this very convenient, likely unrealistic plot. Or maybe I'm crazy and you think it works? Let me know!

Previous Parts: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

---

Mediation

Chapter 7: Reconciliation

---

Cash’s POV:

The uncomfortable silence brought on by your departure stretches on, neither man willing to be the first to break it. Terry’s body is still somewhat turned towards him, but he stubbornly refuses to look Cash in the eye.

Cash, meanwhile, is still reeling from the new information that has come to light in the past hour or so. Learning that Terry’s adamant refusal to hear him out over the years wasn’t because he hated Cash himself, but because the betrayal had shaken him to his core has Cash lamenting the other man’s stubbornness. All this time, Cash thought that Terry had been angry with him, but in reality he was mainly angry with himself, at the changes that the hurt Cash had caused had drawn out of him. Knowing that the younger man had resorted to excessive force – and to the point that cases had been dismissed because of his mishandling of suspects – after years of being a compassionate cop by his side was particularly disturbing. That wasn’t the Terry McCain he’d known, the one close enough to be a brother to him.

And then there was you.

Cash knows that you aren’t in love with him the way you are with Terry. He isn’t overly bothered by it; your relationship was still far too new for either of you to be in love with one another. But to hear from your own pretty mouth that you felt enough for him that you were unable to choose between him and Terry, that you needed them both in your life…

Well, that has him happier than he can remember being since before he went to prison.

Sure, it may have complicated things between the three of you even more than their already twisted dynamic, but for the first time in over half a decade, someone firmly wanted him in their life. Of course, the sex had been amazing, but there were plenty of other avenues he could go down to scratch that particular itch if he had to. Being genuinely cared for, despite all the things he’s done, was far more priceless to him. And you all but insisting that Terry had to make peace with him if he wanted you to remain in his life was just icing on the cake.

“So, is she right?” he asks, in a far better mood and more than willing to break the silence now that he’s had a moment to reflect on everything that today has given him.

“About what?” Terry asks stubbornly, still looking at the floor. Cash’s gaze softens as he looks at the pained expression visible in the younger man’s profile. He had been happy to show the new kid the ropes when he’d first joined the force as a rookie, but they’d connected as friends so quickly that Cash had assumed that the mentor/mentee dynamic had disappeared shortly into their time together as partners. Apparently, the same had not held true for Terry.

“Do you actually hate me, or do you just hate what happened, and how it went against the way you used to see me?” he presses, trying to be gentle. Trying to rile the man up was a viable strategy when he’d thought that Terry was angry, but the depth of his hurt required a different, more delicate approach.

“How many different ways can I say I don’t want to have this discussion?” Terry snaps, turning his body away from Cash. He tries to ease the tension by incorporating the man’s one known weak spot: you. He privately hopes that you won’t be mad at him for it, should you ever find out the specifics of this conversation.

“Look, I could be way off base – you’ve known Y/N much longer than I have – but she seems like the type to swallow that key over letting us free before we’ve done what she wants.”

“…No, you aren’t wrong about that,” Terry reluctantly admits after a moment of silence, chuckling to himself. Cash smiles but says nothing; if the past few years had taught him anything, it was the importance and value of patience.

“So, she knows what you want to tell me, huh?” Terry finally asks him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Cash stays still, not wanting to spook his friend into putting up his walls again.

“Yeah, she knows,” Cash says quietly, staring at his hands, twirling his ring around his finger. “Had to prove to her that I wasn’t lying about last night when she came in here guns a-blazing.”

“Oh. Oh.” Terry says, and Cash assumes he’s thinking back to last night, judging by the way the man’s dark brows furrow. “So she didn’t know about this until today? That’s probably why she…”

“Jumped into bed with you so willingly? Yeah, probably,” Cash jokes with a snort. Hoping that the other man isn’t too offended by his cavalier reference to the night before, he tries to soften the blow. “I shouldn’t have slept with her. It wasn’t right,” he adds with a frown.

He doesn’t regret the decision to have you – you both needed it, at least once – but he does wish it hadn’t caused Terry so much pain, that he hadn’t had to see it with his own eyes.

“When have you ever made a decision based on what was right?” Terry sneers, and Cash sighs, staring over at the other man until he looks him in the eye.

“Do you really discount every good decision I’ve ever made based on one mistake, Terry?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“One mistake? Please. You lied to me for a year. We were partners, we were best friends; I trusted you with my life, Cash, and I had to watch you throw yours away.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Cash snarls, standing and turning to look down at Terry. Much like the younger man, he didn’t want anyone’s pity either. “Do you think I don’t know that I fucked up my life for good, that I didn’t screw you over in the process? I know, Terry! I’ve had five years to sit with my regret; some days I can’t think of anything else.”

“So then why did you do it?!” Terry explodes, springing up off the couch and shoving Cash in the chest, nevermind that the cuffs made him follow right after as he stumbles back. “We were good, we were solid, we did the job right! We were on the same page about everything!”

“Look at how you ended up reacting, Terry! I had to keep it from you.”

“But why do it in the first place, Cash?” Terry presses, a clear note of vulnerability and desperation ringing in his voice.

“I needed the money,” he replies, bracing himself to tell the man the reason he’d done all this in the first place. Running his hand through his short grey hair, he idly wonders if it will be enough to make Terry reconsider his attitude towards him.

“And you thought going against everything you’ve ever stood for was worth making a few bucks?” Terry scoffs dismissively, trying to cross his arms across his chest defensively until the cuffs jingle, reminding him of their presence.

“I didn’t have much choice! I didn’t have time!”

“Why?! What wasn’t there time for?!”

“My Ma,” Cash breathes, his eyes closed.

He feels Terry still next to him. He can’t even hear the sound of the man’s breathing, and presumes he’s stopped.

 “I’d forgotten when she died,” Terry murmurs apologetically after a moment. “It was a beautiful service.”

“Yeah well, glad you got to see it,” Cash hisses, his heart filled with vitriol as he recalls memories of being denied day parole, both to visit his dying mother and to attend her funeral. Devlin still had enough sway with some of the people working in the prison to ensure his misery, even after his death.

“I’m sorry, Cash.”

There is a prolonged silence as they each take a moment for their grief.

“The doctors told me that there was a new experimental treatment for her type of lymphoma, but it was expensive. And it was taking her so fast…” Cash explains through gritted teeth, trying to keep his tears at bay. He hadn’t cried about his mother outside of a therapist’s office before, not once, not even when she’d died.

“You could’ve come to me!”

“And what could you have done, Ter? I wasn’t gonna put that on you.”

“You at least could have told me – I could’ve talked you out of being an idiot.”

“And that’s exactly why I didn’t. Look, I’m not proud of what I did. I regret it like you wouldn’t believe. It lost me my job, kept me from spending the last bit of time I had with Ma, from saying goodbye… it lost me you.”

Terry looks over to Cash’s face at this last confession, his eyes vulnerable and yet untrusting, and Cash forces himself to hold his gaze. Terry had to see that having to keep the truth from him, to lie and steal and go against everything that had brought them together had been torture for him as well.

“When everything went down the way it did… I assumed I had lost you long before,” Terry confesses in a broken voice, sitting down on the couch again and taking Cash with him. “I felt like I didn’t know who you were anymore, and I didn’t know how long that had been the case for.”

“For what it’s worth, I was very careful about what jobs I took on – nothing that would risk innocent civilians getting hurt. I know that doesn’t make it okay, but hopefully you see it as a little less evil.”

“Did… did you know about Devlin? How deep into it he was?” Terry asks, and Cash has no problem telling him the truth. It’s all he’s wanted to do for years, after all.

“I didn’t know much, just that he was willing to give me work in exchange for a cut. I knew he pinned some of his crimes on me to extend my sentence, but I didn’t find out about how deep it went until afterwards.”

“Why didn’t you try to fight those charges? The ones you knew were Devlin?” Terry asks, still frustrated and with his sense of abandonment on full display.

“Mostly because I didn’t think anyone would believe me, and I didn’t have the money for a good enough attorney to prove it.”

“Why else?” Terry presses, picking up on a second reason.

“I didn’t want Devlin or any of the other guys to take it out on you.”

Terry stiffens. “What?”

“He visited me in prison once, in ’93, a month before he was officially announced as the next Chief, to brag and gloat, mostly. Said he had to make sure his reputation stayed squeaky clean, and suggested some ways to make sure I kept my mouth shut.”

“Devlin was planning to kill me? Even before all that shit with DiMarco went down?”

“He was at least willing to threaten me with the possibility. Knowing what I know now, he probably would’ve done it. If you were getting a reputation as a violent cop, it would’ve been easy for him to make it look like a mob hit.”

Terry grimaces, privately processing this new bit of information, and Cash allows him a moment or two. He’s more grateful than ever that he hadn’t pushed Devlin to see whether or not he was bluffing; if he had, Terry would most assuredly be dead – maybe taking you out too.

“I don’t like who I became when you went away,” Terry admits with a frustrated sigh. “I was just so angry that you’d willingly turned against everything we stood for. I took it out on any lowlife fucker I came across, I had no mercy; I didn’t care. I couldn’t take it out on you, so I took it out on anyone I could before they were behind bars along with you.”

“Did you ever come close to giving me the chance to explain? I know you got my letters.”

“No,” Terry says, spitting the word out forcefully. “I couldn’t bring himself to see you behind bars, to see what you truly were, or what I thought you were at the time. Y/N was probably right – I wasn’t scared of facing what you’d done, I was scared of what I’d done.”

“What do you mean?” Cash asks, confused.

“I mean that you accepted that what you did was wrong and moved on. You got rehabilitated, you got therapy, you worked on yourself… I haven’t. I got so caught up in this weird vendetta against crime in this city that I just… I couldn’t bring myself to think about what I was doing, or why. I just got worse. Y/N helped keep me from really crossing a line, but only just.”

“Ah, our little beacon of morality on the path to reconciliation,” Cash says fondly. The weight that’s been lifted off of his shoulders – off of his soul – is immense, and he thinks he sees a similar change in Terry as well. Finally, everything was out in the open between them.

“She jumped at the chance to help me with the scrap metal take down the second I said it might give you reason to hear me out, you know,” he adds, hoping they can perhaps bond over the well-meaning complication that you presented.

“She was talking you up way before that,” Terry corrects him, giving an affectionate smile at the thought. Cash isn’t naïve enough to think that the smile is for him, but he’s hopeful that one day it might be.

“Wait, what?” he asks, having just processed what Terry had said.

“She’s been trying to get me to see reason since the day she met you, maybe even before that.”

“How? Why?”

“It’s just who she is. She sees something hurting someone she cares about and she tries her best to fix it, regardless of what anyone else has to say about it.” They both chuckle, thinking back to their memories with you and your tenacity as you tried to force them to confront their situation.

“Before we get off-topic… are we good?” Cash asks hesitantly. He tries not to get his hopes up; all he had wanted from Terry all this time was for him to listen, and now he had. Forgiveness was a separate matter altogether.

“No.”

The word rings out clearly, and this time the rejection hits Cash full on. But he braces himself, focusing on his breathing until the tightness in his chest abates somewhat. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.

“I mean… not yet.”

Cash forces his gaze over to the other man, wanting to confirm the meaning behind Terry’s addendum, and the man is giving him a soft smile.

“I – really?” he asks in disbelief, and Terry barks out a laugh.

“Alright, fine; we’re not good, and never will be,” Terry jokes, and Cash rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Piss off,” Cash snaps with a scowl that doesn’t reach his eyes. Inside, his heart feels like it could be coming back to life. “You just bounce back awfully quick for someone who’s held a grudge for the better part of a decade.”

Terry shrugs nonchalantly in response, the movement tugging at Cash’s wrist. You weren’t due to be back quite yet, but he’s looking forward to getting out of these cuffs.

“Ter, I… thanks,” Cash says sheepishly, uncomfortable with being vulnerable for so long. The two men awkwardly clap each other on the back with their free hands, and an awkward silence resumes once more.

“Y/N is probably going to take every second of the hour we agreed to,” Terry points out off-handedly, though a wicked grin is starting to steal across his face. “That’s not for another twenty minutes. Plenty of time to give her a nice surprise to come back to – as a thank you for all of her meddling. Whaddaya say?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cash says with enthusiasm. The two immediately set to work, and a warmth blooms through his chest as they work together again for the first time in ages, even just for something as juvenile as a prank.

“Speaking of Y/N… what are we going to do about her?” Terry asks as they continue setting up their prank. Cash sighs, pausing to run his hand through his hair. It wasn’t the ideal solution, but he doesn’t think there is one unless they can find a way to clone you.

“I’ll step aside,” he offers, and he means it sincerely even though it hurts. “She wants both of us in her life or neither of us, and the two of you have had more time to develop a relationship. She cares about you enough to push you to finally hear me out; it’s the least I can do for the two of you.”

“Cash…” Terry says, pausing a moment to keep his resolve. “I was an asshole. I’ve been an asshole for years. You deserve someone that gets you and is willing to fight for you, and… if something was meant to happen between the two of us, it probably would have by now,” he admits reluctantly.

“Ter, you just started tolerating being in the same room as me again less than ten minutes ago. I’m not doing anything that might jeopardize that.”

“It won’t,” Terry insists, but he hesitates at the look Cash gives him. “Even if it does, maybe it’s my turn to sacrifice. You’ve been through enough.”

The two men bicker back and forth as they continue their work, an eye on the clock telling them that you were due back within a few minutes now.

“She might not want either one of us,” Terry muses pensively as they crouch behind the kitchen counter, getting into position. “She’s stubborn, and probably not willing to choose if she’s scared the other one will walk away.”

“I think her killing us both because of this is a more likely option,” Cash retorts with a low chuckle that he immediately cuts off at the sound of a car door slamming shut outside. You have returned.

“So we let her decide who she wants, and the other will accept it?” Cash confirms, whispering now as they listen for your approach.

“I don’t think she’d let it happen any other way,” Terry hisses under his breath, right before you open the front door.

“Am I about to walk into a bloodbath?” you call from down the hall.

Maniacal grins steal across both of their faces.

Reader’s POV:

“How the fuck was I meant to react to this, you idiots?!” you snarl at both men sitting on the couch before you, and you can tell that they’re just barely keeping up their guilty routine, their shoulders shaking as they try not to burst into laughter.

You scowl at both of them, contemplating clunking their heads together.

The house had been ominously silent upon your return, and as soon as you’d rounded the corner, the pizza boxes that you were carrying dropped to the ground (though they thankfully remained closed).

The living room was a wreck.

The sofa and chairs in the living room had been overturned, the blinds were crooked, and various objects had been knocked over. Your heart had sunk down to the aching pit in your stomach – you didn’t see any blood, but there was no sight or sound coming from either man that you could detect. A surge of adrenaline accompanied the panic and dread growing inside you, and you’d screamed out for both men, frantically running deeper into the house to search for them.

Nothing else in the house had been disturbed, so you had sprinted back to the front door to throw your shoes back on to go look for them. How could you have been stupid enough to leave them alone? If either of them was seriously hurt, you’d never forgive yourself!

“Going somewhere?”

You’d frozen halfway through lacing up one boot at the sound of Terry’s voice, a sense of dread threatening to overwhelm you. If he was the one here and talking in Cash’s house, that meant…

“T-Terry?” you had called out in a weak voice, still unable to bring yourself to turn around, afraid of what you would see.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” came his answer in a soft purr, the darkly flirtatious tone startling you enough that you’d turned around to face him, seeing him leaning up against the wall in the hallway leading back to the living room and kitchen. Forcing your body to breathe somewhat regularly, you had tried to give him a closer look. He didn’t seem to show any signs of a struggle on his body, but he seemed far too relaxed, except for his eyes, which were almost feverishly bright as they’d stared over at you.

“Where… where’s Cash?” you asked in a high, squeaky pitch, uncertain if you even wanted the answer. Terry’s devious smile only confirmed your fears.

“Don’t worry, doll. I took care of him.”

You had stumbled back slightly at his words, not able to do more than gasp for breath, and Terry made no move to come after you.

There was a tense silence between the two of you, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself, with Terry, with any of this.

The silence was then broken by a disembodied yet oddly familiar snort.

“You can’t tell me she actually bought that.”

Terry’s shoulders sagged, the vicious expression dropping off of his face.

“Well now we’ll never know,” he’d huffed with a scowl, turning to speak to someone around the corner.

“I – what?” you had babbled, your heart stopping when Cash came into view, unharmed and still cuffed to the wrist that Terry had hidden from your view.

They’d both given you nearly identical amused looks that were quickly wiped off their faces at your screech of absolute fury. You’d charged at them, then, spending the next few minutes cursing them out and trying to swing at them, but they had been frustratingly agile in evading your movements, even joined together as they were.

Men were absolute monsters, you’d decided then, growling at them and shoving them back to the couch which had been returned to its proper state.

It seems that the distraught expression that had stolen across your face as you reflected on the past few minutes is too much for either man, both unable to keep their laughter under wraps any longer, going to pieces until you literally hiss at them, feeling so angry you could spit poison.

“You two are absolutely unbelievable,” you snarl, and both men have the grace to at least look mildly sheepish. “You almost gave me a heart attack! Why would you do something like this?!”

“We thought it would be funny,” Terry mumbles, averting your gaze and reaching his free hand up to nervously scratch the back of his head.

“What’s the big deal? I would’ve thought you’d be happy to see us working together!” Cash adds cheekily, utterly unabashed once more. You shoot him a nasty glare, but it only makes his smile grow.

“I left for one hour to give you the chance to grow the fuck up and actually listen to one another. Did you even bother to do that? Or did you just decide on this temporary truce so you could fuck with me?”

Your hands are on your hips as you sneer down at them, still absolutely furious. You’re vaguely aware that beneath the seemingly bottomless well of anger, you’re relieved to see that neither man is hurt.

“Oh please, the setup only took fifteen minutes,” Cash scoffs, and Terry visibly winces, likely anticipating an explosion from you.

“Cash, shut up,” Terry suggests firmly, though his eyes are locked on yours with a pleading expression. “We talked things out, Y/N, I swear,” he says softly. Something about him seems lighter somehow, you notice distantly, and you know that he’s telling the truth.

“So what, I’m supposed to believe that six years of grudges just disappeared within the span of an hour, and you’re both in cahoots again?” you ask skeptically, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Of course not,” Cash says with a roll of his eyes. “But we came to enough of an understanding to put our differences aside and get our revenge on you for being so damn pushy.”

“Excuse me?” you hiss venomously at the older man, but he merely smiles broadly at you, so you turn your gaze over to Terry. “Is that true, Terry?”

Terry clears his throat nervously, refusing to look at either you or Cash.

“We’re very grateful that you didn’t give up on either of us, Y/N,” he says carefully, clearly wary of setting you off further. “We just thought that this might help us breeze past the awkwardness, lighten the mood, show you that we can be in the same room without killing each other, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes at both men, still suspicious.

“So that’s it then? You’ve done it? Kissed and made up and all that?” you ask sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Before you can register the movement, both men have tugged you down so that they can plant kisses to your cheeks like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

“Now we have!” Cash informs you cheerily, nimbly dodging your slaps and laughing.

“Not me, you morons!” You exclaim, your face heated as your body responds to being sandwiched between both men. If they’re telling the truth and are trying to take steps to repair their friendship, you’re going to have to learn to not blush every time they touch you. Especially touching you together like that; it was enough to nearly make you moan.

“Well we sure as shit aren’t kissing each other,” jokes Terry, helping Cash secure your wrists when you show no sign of stopping your attack. You wrench yourself out of their grip, still flustered as you look at them from across the room, throwing yourself into an armchair with a huff.

“Well I’m glad you two are all chummy again; you’ll have each other at least, because I’m never talking to either of you again,” you snap.

“Not a chance,” Cash says dismissively, immediately calling your bluff. “There’s no way in hell you’ll stay away after putting all this work in.”

“Come back over here,” Terry adds, giving you a pleading expression.

“Why should I?” you grumble, angry that you’re the one on the receiving end of all of this nonsense.

“To take our cuffs off, for one.”

You don’t even blink, retrieving the key from your pocket and throwing it across the room to them. “Done.”

“Don’t be grumpy just because you weren’t part of the plan for once,” Cash says teasingly.

“That is not why I’m grumpy!” you protest, regretting the words as they leave your lips, watching the predatory look spread across the older man’s face. “I’m not grumpy!” you amend, glaring at Cash.

“Sweetheart –” Terry tries to interject, but Cash cuts him off.

“Going to miss your alone time with us?” he goads you, and Terry smacks him in the chest with his newly freed hand.

“Knock it off, Cash,” he warns the older man. “I’m not trading her out for you, so stop pissing her off.”

“You’re no fun,” Cash huffs, looking back at you to give you a wink.

Your brain doesn’t know what to make of any of this. The two of them were acting so… comfortable with one another, even after everything. If you could barely fathom a world in which they managed to make amends and both stay in your life, imagining a world where they were able to joke and flirt with you was an impossibility.

“I – I don’t understand what’s happening here,” you admit rather helplessly, looking from one man to the other.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? For us to all be together?” Cash asks innocently, pointedly ignoring Terry giving him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think that you’d get over things so quickly, joking about… you know,” you trail off, blushing furiously.

“I never said anything to suggest I wouldn’t bring this up at every opportunity,” Cash leers, and Terry chuckles, sending you for another loop.

“I believe I told you this morning I would be talking about it with you regardless of if we went anywhere,” Terry adds, and is this all part of their dumb prank too? Were they trying to drive you insane?

“Yeah but… together? In front of each other?” you challenge. “Terry?” you press the younger man, knowing that he had the deepest feelings of the three of you. He gives you a gentle smile in response.

“You’re stuck with both of us, Y/N,” he says simply, as though all of this could have a straightforward solution. “Just like you wanted.”

“And because you’re likely too stubborn or loyal or whatever you want to call it, you won’t want to choose between us,” Cash chimes in with a casual shrug. “At least not right away, which means we both get to bug you about this whenever we want.”

“Or, I could leave right now, and hate you both!” you return cheerfully, but they immediately see through the ruse, and you scowl.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Terry agrees condescendingly. “Whatever you say.”

“So what, you expect me to endure you both being annoying just for the privilege of your presence?”

“Yeah, pretty much!” Cash confirms, clapping his hands together loudly. “Glad we’ve worked all that out." You huff dismissively as they both give you wide, smug smiles.

“I give it two weeks before one of us backs out or maims the others.”

---

 Epilogue

---

Master List Here

Like my writing? Support it here!

[blueseachelle]

A Comforting Hand

Garreth Weasley x MC! Reader

Summary: After saving the Wizarding world from the danger of Ranrok, life seems to not get any better. Now, everyone has this image of her she has to maintain. Now alone because of the loss of Professor Fig and with issues she faces with her Slytherin friends, she feels broken. Well, thankfully a certain Gryffindor boy accidentally stumbled upon her broken self on a cold winter's night.

Shattered. That's how Y/n would describe herself so far. She lost so much in one year even though she helped so much. She's The Hero Of Hogwarts for Merlin's sake. Yet, she hated the title because of the pain that came with it. She didn't ask for her powers. She didn't ask to be tossed into a war between good and evil. With the struggle, she lost her father figure, Professor Fig, and her best friends, Sebastian and Ominis. It ate at her. Yet, she had to smile for the people and other students. Y/n couldn't even cry in her dorm room anymore. Since she shares it with other students, the façade had to be maintained at all times. No relaxing. That's why she usually doesn't stay there anymore. She can't sleep anyway because of the memories and nightmares that play on repeat. She usually wanders the halls or goes to the Room of Requirement and/or Professor Fig's old office. Tonight was different. Winter has finally shown itself. A gentle snow consistently came down at night now. Y/n felt numb. She tightened her scarf around her neck and covered her mouth and nose. The cold helped her feel something. She needed the grounding feeling it provided her. Y/n was sitting in the court yard for an hour or so. She just sat staring off into space. She heard the sound of crunching snow in the distance but chose to ignore it. The crunching got louder and louder until it was right next to her. She didn't look up. "Well, if it isn't The Hero of Hogwarts. Are you looking for Dittany Leaves too?" Y/n eyes just cast to the ground. She knew the familiar voice. It was Garreth Weasley. She didn't talk to him much but, he was nice from what she heard. She just shrugged and rasped out, "I guess so." Garreth looked at her with a concerned look. He brushed off the snow from the seat next to her and sat, "Hey, Y/n. You doing okay? You seem out of it." Y/n pulled down her scarf and just gave him her perfected fake smile, "All good! Need something, Garreth?" The redhead boy narrowed his green eyes at her, "Yes. I need you to be honest with me. Y/n, I'm asking friend to friend, are you doing okay?" Y/n knew he could see through her so her face dropped, "I would tell but, I don't want it circulated through every house." Garreth set a hand on her back, "Trust me, Y/n. I won't tell. I worry for your well-being. Ever since the end of our fifth year, I could tell you were off. I just could never catch you with a chance to talk. It's kind of hard to find you when you are always on the move and doing something. Everyone else might think you're okay but, I can see otherwise. Let me be here for you." The (H/c) colored girl looked up at him. Tears formed in her eyes. "I lost everything, Garreth. My Professor, my closest friends, everything. I never asked to be here and have this power. I hate being called the Hero of Hogwarts. All I associate it is with pain. I hurt, Garreth. I've been holding it in because it's expected of me. I'm tired. So very tired." The tears were unstoppable as they streaked down her cheeks. Then, she felt warm arms wrap around her and pull her closer to him, "Listen to me, Y/n. You are human. You deserve to have emotion. I'm sorry you have no one to talk to about this. I'm sorry everyone up holds this unrealistic vision of you. I'm sorry that everything was lost but, you aren't going to be alone anymore. I will be here, Okay? I want to be. Don't think I'm using you like others have. I want to help you. I ask nothing in return. Just let me be here for you." Y/n sobbed into his chest. He held her close, whispering that everything was okay and to let it all out.

"That's how you and daddy do together?!?"

A little girl looked up at her mother. Her (E/c) eyes sparkled with innocence. Y/n patted her bright red curly hair and smiled,

"That's right. We have been beside each other's side ever since."

"I hope my love rescues me like daddy saved you! Like a knight in shining armor."

Garreth chuckled from behind them. He walked behind his seated wife and hugged her. He rested his hands on her pregnant belly and kissed her. She giggled. Garreth rested his head on hers and looked down at his daughter who sat on the carpeted floor with coloring pages scattered about her,

"Yes, very much a knight in shining armor but don't be mistaken, I needed Mommy as much as she needed me. When you get as strong and independent as Mommy was, you'll understand. Sometimes the strongest people need help and that's okay. Okay, Millie?"

The girl nodded with a big smile,

"It's equal! Give and take! That's the best way. Never one-sided!"

Garreth smiled with Y/n. For a 2-year-old, they were raising her right. Garreth was thankful that she was as smart as her mother. He remembers the stories his mother told about him at that age. Yet, his little girl is already a smart cookie. He kissed his wife's cheek and sighed,

"I sure hope it's a boy. I'm feeling out numbered here."

Y/n giggled as she rested a hand on her stomach. She sighed,

"I love you, Garreth Weasley."

"I love you, Y/n Weasley."

[tvfangirladdict]

I finally watched the first 3 episodes of season 8, and it was so much better than I thought it'd be with all the bee promos. And I was so excited to get on here and share in the excitement. But I kept coming across so much arguing that it ruined my good mood.

I don't keep up with any of the promotional stuff the cast does, so I'm just finding out about the new magazines and interviews and stuff that some people seem to think points to Eddie coming out soon. And the reaction from a lot of people? Not loving it.

I realize there's Die-hards on either side, BT or Buddie, and that they can take things too far. They're so focused on their chosen ship, and so dedicated to validating it and themselves, that they can become mean and unreasonable. They're stubborn, you won't change their minds, and they will do anything to defend their ship even if it means misinterpreting reality and twisting it to support their needs.

But that some of them have somehow tuned into the same bigoted people we were fighting before BT, even using their same lines to deny any chance of Eddie being queer just makes me so angry.

It continues to boggle my mind how people conveniently forget that just because someone uses one label in one part of life to identify themselves, that they can't change that label in the future. Just because someone labels themselves as straight, doesn't mean they can't still come out later with a different sexuality. Like, we see it all the time?????? For years we said that Buck and Eddie were portrayed with queer hints, and they said we were crazy, just seeing what we wanted to see. 'Why do you have to make everything gay?' they'd say.

And then Buck kissed a guy. A guy who everyone believed to also be straight up until that point.

And then those people blamed us. Said we forced the producers and writers' hands into 'making Buck gay'.....Oooor maybe we just saw the truth and forced them to admit it.

Still, they want to argue, he was never gay, he'd only dated women, Oliver described his character as heterosexual, etc etc..... And? I'm fairly certain adults have been coming out of the closet later in life for like, ever?

Are we conveniently forgetting Michael? You know, Athena's first husband? The man she had two children with? The one that came out as gay and left her for a man?

But because it happened in season 7 instead of season 1, with Buck instead of Michael, people are claiming it's wrong and impossible and unrealistic?????

Like, the closet is the closet for a reason, no one is supposed to know????

I expected this from the biphobic and homophobic crowd right away. I'm from the suburbs of Ohio with rural parents who hate having gay shit "shoved down their throats" and being "forced to accept people just cause they're gay". You know, the 'it's not wrong, I just don't want to have to see it' crowd. I saw those kind of reactions coming from a mile away.

But never in a million years did I think I'd see people who ship two men together, fight so hard to deny a different characters queerness??? Where did all of this hate for Eddie come from? Like, before BT, we were all on the same side. At least I thought so? Which in my mind meant we were accepting of gay and bi men finding happiness and love?

But then the idea that Eddie might have a gay revelation too, and therefore become a threat to your new ship, meant you're willing to oppress a character that's now been here for like 7 years? That you were rooting for at one point?

Don't get me wrong, I was literally screaming and crying for joy during BTs first kiss. That was groundbreaking and so important, beyond just 911.

Don't I think they'll last? No. Do I still believe Buddie is endgame? Yes. But that doesn't mean I don't understand how important this relationship is to the world and television and Buck's character.

So I never had any hate for BT shippers. It was new and exciting and you want to hold onto it, I get it. But you can't just turn around and become the same people that called you crazy for seeing the signs in Buck, now that we're seeing more of it in Eddie.

'Eddie's only dated women, Ryan said Eddie's straight.' So what? We've literally watched two, male, main characters come out later in life, why can't Eddie?

Maybe he will, maybe he won't. These aren't real people, they're characters under the thumb of producers and broadcast networks and people so far up the food chain they probably don't even watch the show, so at the end of the day, they'll make Eddie who they want to benefit themselves, not to stay true to Eddie's character. But why attack us for hoping Eddie gets the same chance as Buck?

You don't ship Buddie, fine. You want BT to be endgame, and Eddie could mess that up for yall and you're afraid, I get it. Just say that. But don't come and try and gaslight us into thinking we're all just seeing shit again with Eddie the way they said we were with Buck.

This isn't for the multishippers, or the BT shippers who are more open minded. I understand there's some Buddie shippers who are pulling the same shit on the opposite end of the shipping pool and that's not okay either.

Basically, I just hate seeing all this hate for Eddie. People have always been more aligned with Buck than Eddie, even before BT. And that's always sucked because I think I identify more with Eddie. But since BT, it's gotten worse. Now that there's another option for Buck in a gay relationship, it's like some people can finally admit they only ever liked Eddie for the chance at BiBuck and I hate that. Eddie coming out would be so important for so many queer people. From the Latino community, to those with Catholic or other deep religious roots, to single dads and more.

We're not crazy for wanting to see Eddie come out, okay?