#and he's so confident about it like if we're going all the way it is just a CALLOUT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedroscurls · 14 hours ago

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training partners (pt. 10)

summary: with your trainer's help this last week, you slowly find your way back to yourself again... and you finally have the courage to tell hugh more details about your relationship with jack and it only makes him angrier. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: angst - mentions of toxic relationship, verbal / physical abuse (not with hugh!). implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 2.4k a/n: anyway, we're getting into the reader's backstory with jack, so it's going to be a bit dark... and consider this the first argument between reader and hugh... gonna be a tough next couple of chapters, but trust me when i say there will be a happy ending at the end of all of this! as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

You’d taken today off to drop your trainer off at the airport. This last week had gone too fast and while it was emotionally and mentally exhausting, it was just what you needed to remind yourself just how far you’d come. There’s still something lingering in the pit of your stomach, the anxiety that you’ll need to have a conversation with Hugh about everything that’s happened with you and Jack. He knows bits and pieces that you’ve shared before, but he doesn’t know the full picture.

“You gonna be okay?” she asks.

“I think so,” you nod. “I can’t let Jack run my life anymore.”

Your trainer pulls you into a hug, holding you tight. “You’re a good person,” she whispers. “And you never should have gone through what you did. He should have never put you through that.”

You can feel tears stinging your eyes as you wrap your arms around her as well. She had been a godsend and so important in your journey in finding yourself again. She empowered you, motivated you, and helped you see just how worthy you are.

When she pulls away, she smiles in your direction. “Hugh loves you,” she points out. “Allow yourself to be loved because you’re worthy of it. You’re enough.”

You nod, wiping any fallen tears from your cheeks. “I just don’t want to disappoint him… What if he realizes that I’m not what he thought I’d be, that maybe all the pain I’m still working through isn’t worth it?”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “You don’t see the way he looks at you, do you?”

You share your head.

“Well, that man looks at you like you can do no wrong. Like you’re the only person that matters. Trust me, you are worth it.”

“Part of me is also nervous… To talk to Hugh and tell him everything. He knows bits and pieces, but…”

“He’ll understand,” she replies.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

You sigh and then pull her in for another hug. “Thank you for coming here, for being there for me. Again.”

She lets out a quiet laugh and gives you a tight squeeze before she pulls away. “If Hugh wants to invite me back, let me know. I’d be happy to visit again,” she winks.

“I’ll let him know. Get home safe.”

“Remember how far you’ve come, okay?” she says. “And if Jack crosses any lines, it might be time to get the authorities involved.”

You nod in agreement. “I know… I just don’t want it to get to that point.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t.”

—

Later that night, you’re sitting out on the balcony of the hotel room with a notebook on your lap. You had tried to write some talking points to go over when Hugh gets home. You know he’s going to be tired, but you know that if you don’t have this conversation with him, you may never will.

You know he’s on his way back to the hotel and your heart races faster and faster. You can feel the anxiety course through your veins and even with the notes you had written down, you still don’t feel all that confident. It’s not the fact that you have to tell Hugh what happened, but it’s the fact that you’d have to relive everything that Jack had put you through.

When you hear the hotel room door open, you stand up and turn to look over your shoulder and make eye contact with Hugh. He looks tired, but at the sight of you, his eyes light up and a broad smile lines his lips. This must be what your trainer was referring to… about the way he looks at you. It eases your nerves, calms you down and keeps you grounded because with Hugh, you have always felt safe.

He steps out into the balcony with you and pulls you into his arms, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Hi, baby. Missed you on set today.”

You smile to yourself and shut your notebook, setting it on the chair you were sitting on and away from his line of view. “I missed you too.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hands playing with the hair at his nape. “How was filming?”

“It was good. Movie’s coming along.” Hugh holds you closer to him, eyes falling shut as he holds you in his arms. This was what he was looking forward to all day. Being with you. He knows that this last week had helped a great deal, having your personal trainer here had helped immensely. You weren’t so much on edge anymore and it felt like things were going back to normal. Before Jack entered the picture. “And how was your day? You get home safe after dropping her off?”

“Oh yeah,” you nod. “It was nice having her here. Thank you for doing that, baby. You really didn’t need to and–”

“I know,” he says quietly. “But I wanted to. I knew she would help… in ways that I couldn’t.”

“I love you,” you smile. “I’m really lucky.”

“I love you too, baby.” He pecks your lips and then slowly pulls away. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and maybe we can order in for dinner?”

“Wait, Hugh…”

“Yeah?”

“After your shower, can we talk?”

Hugh’s brow furrows, biting the inside of his cheek as his hands move to rest on your hips. “What about?”

“Just…” you bite your lower lip. “It’s nothing bad. I just–”

Hugh tilts his head to the side. He can sense your worry, your anxiety, so he just nods and leans in to peck your lips lightly. “Okay, baby. We’ll talk after my shower.” As he turns to walk back into the room, you reach out for him and pull him back into a tight hug. Your face buries into his chest, arms tightening around his frame as you hold onto him for a few seconds longer.

“You sure you’re okay?” he whispers.

“I will be.”

—

Hugh’s shower doesn’t last that long. He tries not to overthink about what you wanted to talk about, but he can’t help the tug he feels in the pit of his stomach. Now he’s worried, he’s concerned. He quickly changes into a pair of black sweatpants and a Global Citizen t-shirt. He dries his damp hair with a towel and steps back out into the room, seeing you still outside on the balcony. You’re writing in your notebook again and he knows that you only write when you have something on your mind, something that you can’t shake.

Quietly, he steps out with you and smiles in your direction. Hugh watches you close your notebook, setting it on the small table. He doesn’t let you get up, instead, he scoops you into his arms and then sits in the same chair with you on his lap.

“Okay, let’s talk, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek as he drapes an arm over your legs. Hugh tries not to make it seem like he’s nervous and he isn’t even sure if you take notice because he can see that your mind has drifted, and can feel the tension in your shoulder blades.

“Jack–”

“What?”

You take a deep breath and move an arm around his shoulders. “I need to tell you about– about Jack.”

“Baby, you don’t have to–”

“I need to, Hugh.”

He can see the tears in your eyes and a piece of his heart breaks at the sight. Hugh cups your cheek and gently brushes his thumb across your skin, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’m here. I’m listening.”

You nod and bite your lower lip. “So, we were together for three years…”

“That I knew.”

“The– The abuse, the manipulation, everything happened so fast. I didn’t even realize what was happening until I realized it was too late.”

Hugh tightens his jaw. He feels anger bubbling within him, but he opts to remain quiet, to keep a neutral look on his face. He knows that you need this, that you need to tell him and he can’t react because he fears that if he does, you’re going to pull away and he knows how important this is that you’re telling him.

“I had gotten used to his insults… so much so that I started to believe him.” you’re about to get off his lap, about to pull away from him, but he keeps a firm hold on you. When you look into his eyes, all you can see is the concern in his features and the subtle desire to take your pain away.

“Oh baby…” Hugh whispers quietly.

“I’m weak and I’m not brave,” you continue. “And that’s because of Jack. I should have left at the first sign of his verbal abuse, but I always–” you can feel your breath catch in your throat. “I always justified his actions. Always felt like it was my fault, that he was acting the way he was and saying the things he’d say because of me. Because I was making things difficult for him.”

Hugh tightens his jaw when you look away from him, the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach.

“And I believed him. I thought– I thought I could give all of my love to him and he’d see how much I cared for him, how much I was willing to do anything for him. Because I did,” you say with a disappointed tone. “I did love him and when he broke up with me – he broke up with me –” you shake your head. “It was my fault. It was always my fault. Mine.”

“Baby, no…” Hugh shakes his head and cups your cheek, his gaze locked onto yours.

“I couldn’t even break up with him, Hugh. All of the nasty things he’s said to me and I couldn’t–” you shake your head and stand up from his lap before he can pull you back. “I was heartbroken when Jack broke up with me because he made me believe that no one would ever love me… that I wasn’t worthy of love and I fucking believed him.”

Hugh’s foot taps against the floor incessantly. He wants to reach out for you, but he always wants to find Jack and cause him just the same amount of pain – if not more. But then, he hears the words leave your lips and he jumps up from his chair.

“He hit me once.”

“What?”

“Hugh…”

“No no, he what?”

You bite your lower lip and stare up at him. You can see the anger clear in his features and you gently reach out for him, but he just shakes his head. He’s fuming, hands shaking at his sides at your admission. You know this was going to happen, had even expected this reaction, but seeing it firsthand is entirely different. You don’t know how you can even calm him down.

“I got angry because he had made me make him dinner after a long fucking day at work and–” you sigh. “After that, I learned how to fight because I knew that if he put his hands on me again, I’d fight back and–”

“Wait, he hit you? Put his hands on you?”

“Hugh…”

“No, baby.” Tears are now pooling at his eyes. “He doesn’t get to do that, do you hear me? He has no fucking right–”

“Hugh!” you raise your voice, staring up at him. “I’m not telling you this to make you angry. I’m telling you this so you can understand why he had so much control over me, why I reacted the way I did when I saw him that one night at dinner, why it’s so fucking hard for me to see how worthy I am of this, of you.”

Hugh shakes his head. He’s trying – truly, he’s trying so fucking hard to understand (and there’s a big part of him that does), but all he can see is this man putting his hands on you, putting thoughts and words into your mind that aren’t true.

“Give me his number. The number he called you from a couple of weeks ago,” Hugh says.

“No.”

“Baby, he can’t just get away with thinking that what he did to you was okay. He can’t get away with still making you feel the way that you do.”

“What are you going to do? Go and beat him up?” you ask, shaking your head. “Hugh, you’d get arrested! It’d be all over the media and–”

“I don’t care!” Hugh yells – it’s the first time that he’s ever raised his voice at you and when he sees you take a step back, it brings him back to reality. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just– I can’t fathom this man walking around thinking like he did no wrong, baby.”

“Nothing you do will help him see that, Hugh.”

“No? Well he hasn’t dealt with someone like me and–”

“Just stop!”

Hugh furrows a brow. “Baby–”

“No, Hugh…” you cross your arms over your chest, wanting so badly to just get away from this all, away from Jack, away from Hugh. “I don’t need you to save me… I don’t need you to go back to my past and make things better. I just need you to understand the shit I went through is what made me who I am today. And I’m still healing… I’m still working on it, and I just–” your breath catches in your throat once more. “You’ve been so patient with me, so understanding that I figured I’d at least tell you everything because… because I will have moments where it’ll be hard for me to snap out of it.”

“I know, and I appreciate you telling me all of this, baby–” Hugh sighs. “But I can’t just sit here and not do anything about it.”

“You know what,” you tell him, opening the sliding door to walk back into the hotel room. “I’m gonna go for a walk. I can’t be here right now. This wasn’t how I thought this conversation would go.”

“Baby, no–” Hugh walks after you, watching you pull on a jacket and slip on your shoes as you grab your bag. “Please, just stay. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you tell him quietly. “I just need some space right now.”

“I love you,” Hugh whispers.

“I know,” you reply, grabbing the hotel key card and setting it in your bag. “I love you too, Hugh, but I just need to be alone right now. We both need to calm down before we say something we’re both going to regret.”

You don’t give him a chance to respond because just as his mouth opens to say something, you’re already out the door.

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

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#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fanfic #real person fiction #rpf #real person fanfiction #hugh jackman angst #hugh jackman x fem!reader #hugh jackman x f!reader #hugh jackman x reader #story: training partners #hugh jackman x female reader

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marsdql · 2 days ago

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𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘜𝘴 ✄

Synopsis: You never thought a quiet new kid, who seemed so distant and out of place, could have such an impact on you, but somehow, his presence turned everything upside down.

genre/warnings: fluff to angst, Sunghoon is really shy, stalking, miscommunication, isolation, social anxiety, self doubt, rejection, drama | Wc: 5.1k

𝒎𝒂𝒓'𝒔 note: Everything that has been going on with me and my crush, who I called Thickie, served as the basis for this. It was really embarrassing, and I still find it hard to move on from it. Everything is still in progress, so I'll turn this into a series if anything more occurs. Legit every detail in here is from my true experience so enjoy! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

You put on a white shirt with a black skirt and mary janes. Your hair had gotten a lot longer in the summer, your bangs are finally starting to blend in with the rest of your hair length, making you feel more confident. Most people dislike you after an incident that happened in middle school, you were secretly dating the boy everyone liked and when they found out, they all ghosted you. Though you didn't care and knew that their hatred was pure jealousy. Even after everyone left you, everything was getting better, as you finally became best friends with your “friend crushes”, Rei and Tzuyu.

Because you didn't want the summer to end, you and your best friends stayed up all night yelling at each other to go to bed, saying "goodnight" several times, and then messaging again a few seconds later. It was your first day of school. Knowing that you would only be attending school today and departing on a three-day trip to Toronto the following day, however, made you glad.

You walk to school and find Rei outside the school, waving to you with a big smile greeting you.

"Hey!" Rei grins, pulling you into a hug. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "Maybe like an hour? You and Tzuyu kept sending 'one more message,' and I couldn't just leave you hanging."

Rei laughs, linking her arm with yours as you both start walking toward the school doors. "Right? I was wide awake until I wasn't. But at least we're suffering together."

As you make your way through the school hallway, you catch glimpses of your classmates, most of whom glance away when they see you. But the familiar sight doesn't bother you as much as it once did. With Rei and Tzuyu by your side, you feel more grounded, more confident.

"So, are you ready for the first day? You know, before you escape to Toronto?" Rei asks, nudging you playfully.

"Absolutely. Today’s just a warm-up before the trip," you reply, your excitement about the getaway shining through.

Rei's eyes sparkle, but she suddenly stops mid-step and lowers her voice. "Oh, did you hear about the new guy?"

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Nope. What's the scoop?"

She leans in, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. "Apparently, Sohee saw him earlier, and she said he's exactly our type."

You feel a blush creep up on your cheeks, but you laugh it off. "Oh, really? Does he know my type that well?" Sohee was one of your old best friends, you and him were in a trio with another girl from 3rd grade until 8th grade when another girl joined the group and ruined everything. Although, you were never mad at Sohee for leaving you, knowing he was a really shy boy who followed whoever he was with, the second he got gaslighted by them.

Rei smirks. "Let's just say he has the 'mysterious and smart' vibe. Sohee practically dragged me over to the library just to sneak a peek."

Your eyes widen in amusement. "And you went along with it?"

"Of course! I’m a great friend," Rei jokes, tugging you gently in the direction of the library. "Come on, let’s go check him out. You know you’re curious."

You laugh and shake your head, but you can’t help but let Rei lead you there, the anticipation bubbling up as you both head toward the library.

As you and Rei reach the library, she glances around, scanning for the guy she’s been talking about. Finally, she spots him across the room, and at first, her face lights up with excitement, but it quickly fades as she takes a closer look.

“Really?” she mutters, wrinkling her nose slightly. “I thought he’d look… I don’t know, better? My old crush was way cuter.” She shrugs, clearly unimpressed.

You glance over at him, and while he’s definitely cute—with that relaxed, friendly vibe—you don’t feel the spark that Rei probably thought you would. You chuckle, nodding along. “Yeah, he’s alright,” you say with a smile.

The rest of the school day drifts by, and soon you’re heading home to get ready for your weekend trip to Toronto. The city is as vibrant as you’d imagined, with lights and people everywhere. You spend your time trying new foods, wandering through markets, and snapping photos of everything from the towering CN Tower to the small, hidden bookstore you find tucked away in a quiet alley. The trip feels like a whirlwind, and by the time you get back, you’re bursting with stories to tell Rei and Tzuyu.

The day after you return, you walk into school excited to catch up with your friends. Between classes, you tell Rei and Tzuyu all about Toronto—the food, the shops, the endless things to see—and they laugh as you share your favorite moments. The day flies by, filled with laughter and classes, and finally, the last bell rings.

As usual, you, Rei, and Tzuyu gather your things and start walking to the bus stop. Since the bus doesn’t come directly to school, you have to walk a few blocks to the station—a small routine you’re all used to by now.

You’re halfway there, laughing at something Tzuyu said, when you notice someone familiar standing at the bus stop ahead. It’s him—the guy from the library, earbuds in, looking just as relaxed as before.

“Wait, he’s here?” you ask, stopping in surprise as you look from Rei to Tzuyu.

Rei raises an eyebrow, giving you a knowing smile. “Yeah, he takes the same bus as us. He’s been taking it since the day you left for Toronto.”

You shake your head, laughing a little. “What a coincidence.”

Since then, you've been seeing him at the bus stop every day after school and at the library at lunch. You've been feeling a little something for him, even if you wouldn't admit it. He lets himself be the last person on the bus while you watch him wait for everyone else to board. It warmed your heart to watch him use his phone on the bus and then get up swiftly when he saw an older woman.

One problem, though, was that you didn't know his name, grade, identity, or anything else. You only knew that you followed him everywhere and that you had unintentionally managed to learn his whole routine. – Period 01: PE / Period 02: Local 218 / Period 03: Portable Class / Period 04: Local 214

You’re sitting in the back of French class, pretending to take notes but actually scribbling on a small piece of paper. Hi, you write, your pen hesitating as your heart races. I think you’re really cool, but i dont have the courage to ask for your socials :)

You look down at the note, wondering if you’re really about to do this. You've seen him on the bus almost every day, yet you don’t know his name or anything about him. But he’s got this quiet vibe, something that just makes you want to reach out.

Before you can change your mind, you fold up the note and slide it into your pocket.

You’re standing by the bus stop, heart pounding, clutching the tiny note in your hand. Just before the bus arrives, you check your reflection in your phone screen, quickly fluffing your hair and taking a shaky breath.

When the bus pulls up, it’s packed, and as you step on, you spot him—standing near the door, one hand holding the railing, looking a bit squished by the crowd. You can barely breathe, but this is your chance.

With the bus jolting along, you inch your way closer to him, your heart thudding louder with each step. Just as the bus nears your stop, you reach out, tap his shoulder gently, and he turns, startled, his eyes widening in surprise.

You don’t say a word. You just hand him the folded piece of paper. He takes it, still looking confused, and before he can react, you dart off the bus, practically running all the way home, feeling like you’re in a scene from a movie.

Back home, you collapse onto your bed, covering your face with your hands, replaying the moment in your mind. You can’t believe you actually did it!

It was clear that he was timid because you never saw him with friends or spoke with anyone. That's the main reason you couldn't find his socials, he was never with anyone for you to go and stalk their following to see if he has them as a mutual. Until one day, you saw him leave his physical education class one day with a classmate. You had never seen this man smile until that moment. Finally, some information that might be useful to you: he was with a boy who is two years older than you and whom you have seen around since starting high school, meaning that he could be in the yearbook of the previous years.

You sigh, glancing at Rei as you place the yearbook on the lunch table. “Rei, you don’t understand—I’ve searched everywhere for this! I’ve asked everyone in our grade for a yearbook. And now… finally, here it is!”

Rei grins, leaning closer as you take a huge bite of your sandwich, flipping through the pages, fingers smudging a bit from the crumbs. “Okay, let’s find him,” you say with a determined look, your eyes scanning the faces. You’re on a mission. The guy you like—the quiet, mysterious one you barely ever see talking to anyone—had left gym class one day with another boy. You never saw him smile until that moment. And that moment set you on a quest.

“Wait!” You stop, finger hovering over a face in the yearbook. You lean in closer. It’s him. The boy who was with the guy you like. “Jake… that’s his name! Rei, that’s him!”

Rei’s eyes widen as she stares at the picture. “So what now?” she whispers, excitement in her voice.

“Now, we find his Instagram.” You both huddle around your phone, searching Jake’s name. A few scrolls later, you find it, click on his profile, and go straight to his following list, fingers crossed, heart racing.

And then—there he is! The guy you’ve been trying to find for weeks, maybe months, is right there, grinning in his profile photo, holding a peace sign and doing aegyo. You and Rei scream, your excitement echoing across the cafeteria. Everyone’s staring, but you don’t care. After all this time, you’ve found him, you check his name, Park Sunghoon.

“Finally!” Rei laughs, clutching her stomach as she recovers. “He’s so cute! Look at how he's pouting in his picture awwwhhh!!!!!”

You nod, barely able to contain yourself. He’s always been so reserved and alone, never hanging out with anyone—until that day with Jake. And now you’ve got a way to find out more. This journey, all this searching, led you right to him. You can't believe you wrote that letter talking about how you're too shy to ask for his socials and there you are, finding it a week after handing him that letter.

You and Rei are on cloud nine. You both run to the school agora, barely containing yourselves, and collapse into seats, still grinning and squealing over every little detail.

Rei, not ready to stop, grins and pulls out her phone. “Let’s see if he has a TikTok!” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

A few moments later, she gasps, grabbing your arm. “Oh. My. God.”

“What?” you whisper, leaning in as she clicks on his profile. And right there, at the top of his page, there’s a slideshow video, captioned “Top 1 ways to confess without making things awkward”—in Vietnamese(you both had to translate). You squint, heart pounding, as the first slide comes up.

It’s your letter. The one you slipped on the bus.“Oh my god,” you breathe, covering your mouth as you stare at your handwriting on his screen. There’s a photo of the tiny, folded paper you handed him, with his comment right above it. It’s almost surreal. “He kept it…”

Rei is shaking your arm, eyes wide, practically bursting with excitement. “This is insane! Look at what he wrote!”

You both scream, clutching each other as the full realization hits you. You’re laughing, squealing, and just completely overwhelmed by the moment. You’ve never felt so giddy, your heart racing as everyone in the agora turns to stare. But right now, you couldn’t care less. After all the mystery and excitement, it’s as if the universe gave you the ultimate reward: he noticed, he remembered, and he thought it was amazing.

After all the excitement, you decide to follow him on Instagram. You’re still riding that high from the video he made, and the confidence surge pushes you to hit Follow. Heart pounding, you quickly put your phone down, trying not to overthink it.

Over the next few days, it feels like you’re seeing him everywhere. You’re with your friend Tzuyu in the hallway, talking and laughing, and suddenly—you spot him across the hall. You glance away quickly, but somehow, you keep bumping into him between classes, catching each other’s eye at lunch, or passing by him after gym. It’s almost like the universe is playing matchmaker, making your paths cross just enough to keep you on edge.

After school one day, you’re finally relaxing at home, replaying everything in your mind, when you get a notification. Your heart skips a beat as you see his name on your screen: Park Sunghoon sent you a message.

You open it, holding your breath as you read:

Good evening. I’m sorry to bother you, but are you the girl who gave me a letter?

The formal tone makes you smile. It’s a simple message, polite and careful, but it feels like a small victory. You can hardly believe this is real—he remembers, and he wants to talk.

You stare at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard, your heart racing as you think of what to say. The moment you’ve been dreaming of is finally here.

You stare at the message, heart pounding, before finally typing, "Yes, I’m sorry if I bothered you with that."

A moment later, he replies: "No, it’s okay. But I have a question…"

Your heart nearly stops. "Do you like me a little bit?" he asks.

Panic sets in. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how often you’ve been bumping into him, following him on social media, and it feels like your crush is written all over you. But the fear of rejection kicks in, and you decide to play it safe.

“Oh, no! I just wanted to be friends,” you type, trying to sound casual.

After a pause, he replies, "Oh, okay, I’m sorry hahaha. I just wasn’t sure because… I’m not really looking to like anyone right now."

Relief washes over you. You’re grateful you didn’t confess outright—dodging that bullet just saved you from heartbreak. The tension fades, and you decide to keep the conversation going with some small talk, asking him how he’s finding things at your school since he’s new.

He replies with a few polite answers, mentioning how everything is still unfamiliar, but he’s trying to get used to it. He seems a little shy, but you’re both warming up to the conversation, and it’s nice to chat without feeling nervous.

Finally, you end with, “Well, I hope everything goes well for you here!”

He likes your message, and it feels like the perfect note to end on. You close the chat, feeling both relieved and excited—no awkward confessions, no heartbreak, just a friendly connection. It’s enough for now.

It’s been a while since you last messaged Sunghoon. You’ve seen him around here and there, but lately, he’s been a little less present in your day-to-day life, and you can’t help but feel that familiar flutter every time your paths cross. You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately, and the anxiety has been building up. You couldn’t take it anymore.

It’s 11 PM, and you’re lying in bed, staring at your phone, when you finally decide to send him a message:

“Hey, I have a question. Why did you follow me if you had a feeling I was the letter girl?”

You’re nervous, fingers hovering over the send button. You’re hoping for an answer, but you also don’t know if you’re ready for whatever might come next. You wait, your heart racing.

A few moments pass before he replies:

“Well, I saw you were following my friend Jake, and I guess I figured you might be the one who gave me the letter. I wasn’t sure, but I thought maybe it was worth a shot.”

You freeze for a second, remembering that yes, you did follow Jake after you found his account, thinking it might give you a better chance to get noticed by Sunghoon. You hadn’t mentioned that to him, but now it all makes sense. But before you can reply, your phone buzzes again.

“I’m sorry, but I think we should go back to being strangers again. It’s not your fault. I just, I’m really shy, and I’ve had people do this to me before back in my old country, and I just can’t handle it. You’ll find people who are better for you than I am, ive met alot of people at our school and I know there's better people. I hope we can unfollow each other and act like none of this happened.”

The message hits you like a punch in the gut. Your heart sinks, and you feel the sting of rejection, though he’s not exactly saying no. It’s more like he’s pushing you away for his own reasons—his own fears and insecurities.

Your mind races, unsure of how to respond, before you even go to unfollow as he said, he had already removed you. Part of you wants to reassure him, to tell him that it’s okay, that you understand. But another part of you feels hurt, confused, and unsure what to say next.

You hesitate, staring at his message for a while, before you try to gather your thoughts. But all you can think is that he’s shutting himself off, just like you feared. The shy, reserved guy who never really let anyone in—he’s doing it again. And you’re left wondering if it’s really about you… or if it’s about him. You sent him a few paragraphs back, making sure he understands that you're not upset (when you clearly were) and that you understand, you wished him a good year and that you hope he isn't mad at you for trying to become friends. You couldn't sleep that night, you weren't upset at what he did but rather at yourself, embarrassed how hard you were trying and how stupid you looked following and stalking him everywhere.

The next day, you’re in complete shock. You woke up still feeling the sting of his messages, the rejection lingering in your chest. It feels like a weight that won’t lift, and the emotions hit you all at once. Embarrassment, confusion, sadness, and even a sense of guilt for not understanding him better—it’s a whirlwind inside you. You can’t stop thinking about him and what he said. You wanted things to go differently. You never meant to make him feel uncomfortable.

By lunch, you're sitting with Rei, and she can see it on your face. She gives you a concerned look as you sit down, trying to keep it together.

“What happened?” she asks gently, sensing something’s off.

Without thinking, you just let it out, the floodgates opening. “I messaged him last night. I asked why he followed me when he already knew I was the letter girl, and... he just kind of shut me down. He said we should be strangers again and that he’s too shy and I’ll find better people than him. He made it sound like it was my fault, like I was doing something wrong.”

Rei’s eyes widen, and she immediately reaches over, pulling you into a hug. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That’s a lot to take in.”

You break down, tears filling your eyes as you cry into her shoulder. “I just… I don’t want to make him feel bad. I didn’t mean to push him. He’s so shy, and I don’t know how to help him without making him feel even worse.”

Rei rubs your back soothingly. “Hey, listen, it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just being honest, and sometimes people are just too caught up in their own stuff to see things clearly. You didn’t know he felt that way. It’s not about you.”

You nod, but the guilt still eats at you. You can’t help but feel like maybe you pushed too hard or misread the situation, and now everything feels so awkward. You don’t want to make things worse for him, but you also don’t know how to fix it. He’s clearly struggling with his own fears and shyness, and that makes you feel bad for him, even if it hurts you too.

“I feel so embarrassed, Rei. I just… I thought I could talk to him. I thought maybe we could be friends, but now it’s like he’s pushing me away. I just wanted to know him better…” You sniffle, wiping your tears as if you were crying over someone you were in an actual relationship.

Rei looks at you with a reassuring smile, though it’s clear she feels for you too. “I get it. But you know what? You were brave enough to put yourself out there, and that’s something to be proud of. He’s just got his own stuff going on. It might take time, but if he sees that you’re not going anywhere, maybe he’ll come around. But for now, don’t blame yourself. You did nothing wrong.”

You take a deep breath, nodding through your tears. “I guess... I just feel so bad for him. He’s probably struggling with so much, and I didn’t even know.”

Rei squeezes your hand. “Yeah, but he’s lucky to have someone like you who cares. You just have to give him time. Don’t give up on yourself or on him yet.”

You wipe away the last of your tears, feeling a little better after talking it out. *“Thanks, Rei. I needed that.”*

She grins and pats your back. “Always. And remember, you’ve got this. Whatever happens, don’t let this bring you down.”

You manage a small smile, knowing that it’s not the end. You don’t know what’s going to happen with Sunghoon, but for now, you’ll give him space and try not to overthink it. At least for today, you’re not alone in this.

The excitement you once felt is slowly turning into confusion. You had imagined that things would continue like a scene from a movie—something sweet, maybe a little awkward, but ultimately fun. But the way everything’s been unfolding lately doesn’t match the fantasy you’d built in your head.

You’ve realized that you haven’t seen Sunghoon like you used to. It started with small signs at first. He’d arrive late to the bus station, and you'd notice that the usual place you’d see him was empty. Then it got worse—he stopped coming altogether. You couldn’t help but notice his absence, a dull ache that replaced the excitement you once had when your paths crossed.

Things only got stranger from there. You’d see him around school, but it was like he was avoiding you. You’d catch glimpses of him, but he’d always take a longer route to class or find ways to avoid being near you. It was like he was deliberately keeping his distance.

And then one day, you saw him in the hall. He was walking toward you, and your heart leapt. You waited for the familiar glance, a smile, or even the awkward moment of eye contact you’d grown used to. But when your eyes met, it wasn’t what you expected. The second he realized it was you, his gaze quickly dropped to his phone. He didn’t even acknowledge you.

Confused, you looked back as he passed, and when you did, his head jerked up from his phone, as though he was trying to act like nothing had happened. The moment was awkward, uncomfortable, and it felt like everything you had hoped for was slipping away.

It’s hard to describe the feeling. Part of you wanted to scream, demand answers, but the other part of you felt embarrassed, unsure of how to act. Was he avoiding you? Did he regret ever following you back and having that conversation? You couldn’t understand why he was shutting you out so suddenly, especially because you both never spoke, only those small messages, he was doing too much.

Your mind raced as you tried to piece it together. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that everything had shifted. He’d been polite, distant, and you could feel the walls going up between you two, even though you hadn’t done anything to push him away. All the movie moments—the ones that had once made you feel like something magical was happening—had turned into something awkward, cold, and uncertain.

You wanted to believe this was just a misunderstanding, but deep down, you couldn’t help but feel like you were losing him. And no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that maybe he just needed space, a small part of you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

The air is crisp with the Halloween season, and the school is buzzing with excitement as the annual Halloweenogrammes are being sold—a fundraiser where you can send a small bag of candy to someone with a little handwritten note. It feels like a sweet gesture, one that lets you send good vibes without too much fanfare. You can’t help but think of Sunghoon. He’s still on your mind, still lingering in the back of your thoughts, despite everything that’s happened.

You buy one for him, feeling a little hesitant but deciding it’s worth it. You want him to know that it’s okay to be himself, no matter how shy or reserved he might be. You’ve seen how he apologizes for being quiet, how he pulls away because he’s not sure what to do with attention. So, you write the message:

"You should never apologize for being yourself."

You add the little note at the end: "From a stranger." You don’t want to make things awkward or give him any false hope, but you want him to know that someone cares, even if you're supposed to be strangers now.

You wait all week, anticipation building, as the day to distribute the Halloweenogrammes finally arrives. Your heart skips a beat when you hear his name called. You hold your breath, waiting for him to do something, anything. You imagine he’ll smile, or maybe at least acknowledge it. But he doesn’t. The bag of candy sits in his hands as he leaves school, and you get no message, no acknowledgement, not even a glance in your direction. The silence stings more than anything. You were hoping for something, a tiny moment, just to show that it wasn’t all for nothing.

As the days pass, you can’t help but feel the weight of everything. You start to wonder if you misread the situation completely. It feels like he's slipped even further away, and that distance between you is growing more impossible to bridge.

So, you decide to send him one last message. You need closure, or at least an explanation, so you text him:

"Hey, I’ve been noticing you’ve been hiding more, and I feel like I’m making you uncomfortable. The bus situation and the way you’ve been avoiding me, I can’t help but feel like I’m the problem. I just wanted to let you know that I won’t bother you anymore, I won’t go near you again."

Your heart races as you send it, hoping that this will give you some answers, or at least some peace of mind.

A few minutes pass, and then your phone buzzes. His message comes through, and you hold your breath as you open it:

"It's not like I'm taking another bus because it's faster and closer :)"

You blink, rereading his message, confused and unsure what to make of it. He doesn’t mention anything about what you said. No apology, no explanation, just a comment about the bus. And then he adds:

"Don’t think about it too much."

Your mind is spinning. Why now? Why had he suddenly started taking a different bus when it wasn’t necessary? Why hadn’t he just done that before, when things were simpler? Why, when everything between you two was happening, did he choose this route?

You know the answer, but it doesn’t make sense. He never gave you a reason to stop. It’s not like he suddenly found a quicker way home—he could have taken the same bus before. You knew the stop he would get off at, it was a popular stop which had its location written on other buses. So why, now, when everything with you was starting to build up, did he suddenly choose to go a different way?

It doesn’t make sense. And yet, in some painful way, it feels like the final piece to the puzzle. Everything between you and him—the shy smiles, the awkward moments, the fleeting hope that something could happen—had finally come to an end. He was telling you, in his own quiet way, that he couldn’t handle this anymore, that he couldn’t keep up the connection, not even on a simple bus ride.

His message, though polite, felt like the closing of a door. It wasn’t harsh or cruel, but it wasn’t warm either. It was just… a goodbye without the words.

You close your phone, feeling the weight of everything settle in your chest. It’s over now, and you’re left with the quiet, final reality of it all. The movie moments you imagined for so long were never going to happen. And the silence, the distance, the unanswered questions—they’ll be the things you carry with you from here on out.

💌 Comments and reblogs are apreciated! 💌

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chaifootsteps · 2 days ago

Note

does the 'we're only halfway through' squad realize that half of a show is more than enough time to expect actual character development to happen? because it hasn't and I suspect it won't, because Viv is terrible at actually making character changes stick

Blitzo - he's fared the best of everyone but it's still not much to look at - he's still an impulsive jerk who's mean to Moxxie. He's decided to stop butting in on M&M not because he respects either of their boundaries more now but because he's pining for Stolas for no adequately explained reason. His relationship with Loona hasn't changed, he's still a bit overbearing and overprotective. He's made up with Fizz but it doesn't really feel like he's changed meaningfully to become a person who wouldn't make the same mistake again because the first mistake was just an accident he couldn't have foreseen. Regressed in some ways because Stolas has totally wrecked his confidence and made him behave out of character by making Loona, his beloved daughter, burn taxidermy owls and neglected to pay his employees i.e. hurt the people who should matter to pine over his abuser.

On his end he's treated rephrensibly by the people who are supposed to love him - Stolas obviously, but also treated poorly by Fizz, M&M and Loona as not one of them think how Stolas treated him is messed up. IMP in particular are actively aware of Stolas being the meal ticket and assume it's fine to pimp out their boss since he's not complaining about it?

Moxxie - learns he needs to be confident in his own skills. Repeatedly. Occasionally calls Blitzo by first name but still uses 'sir' often, so he hasn't really changed there. No relationship to speak of with Loona. Mostly happy together with Millie

Millie - her only plots are helping the men get their shit together. Stopped calling Loona hellhound for no explained reason

Loona - made a friend in Tex, kind of. No change in most of her relationships with the cast because she barely has one

Via - repeating the same 'why does dad keep neglecting me' arc until she cuts him off, at which point he'll probably win her back in five minutes (then go right back to ignoring her)

Stolas - developed to learn the deal was wrong but not really since he's ending it principally because Blitzo wouldn't date him at the same time as Stolas was sexually extorting him. Still treats Blitzo like an object whose feelings inconvenience him. Still neglects his daughter. Learnt to stand up to Stella out of nowhere, so there's that I guess. Regressed harder than anyone else in terms of development since he's incapable of ever admitting when he's done wrong - it's not cheating since he says so, and gives lip service to the idea he's hurt Blitzo before being Shocked and Appalled whenever Blitzo confirms outright 'you hurt me'. Still talks down to imps. Has yet to acknowledge any of the members of IMP by name or show gratitude for them saving his life. A waste of flesh and screentime

Fizz - changed from a chaotic sassy king to a scared abused woobie. Managed to get free of Mammon in the space of one episode. Made up with Blitzo. Feels bad about not being equal to Ozzie but we're going to sweep that under the rug since classism storylines are a problem for making stol1tz happen

Striker - went from a legitimately scary antagonist who had a point, tempted Blitzo with great chemistry to a laughing stock who not only always loses but is called a supremacist despite only having ever pointed out the rich have all the power and mistreat the poor (a thing the show has proven him right about time and again). Goes from smooth seductor to joke with a hygiene problem

like, we can admit this is a tiny amount of development for two whole seasons and 50% of the entire show, right?

You can really tell the people in this fandom who actually watch other forms of media from the ones who don't, and by that I mean "haters expecting everything to be revealed in episode one." Shows don't reveal or even necessarily plan everything from day one, but I can't think of another cartoon that wobbles around as much as HB does.

#Anonymous #viv stuff #helluva boss critical #actual blog post

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ganggangscenarios · 22 hours ago

Text

Platinum Heart (Diamond heart pt.2)

Part 1

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: You get the opportunity to meet Jungkook's friends.

Genre: Romance, comedy, smut, angst

Warnings: Body image. Negative language. Smut

You carefully slide into Jungkook's car, setting your handbag on the floor before fastening your seatbelt. It was Friday evening, and after a long week of work, you were about to embark on a weekend trip with your incredibly handsome boyfriend. All week, he'd been sending you links to cozy cafes and hiking trails near the cabin where you'd be staying. You couldn't help feeling a bit nervous; it was a group trip, and this would be the first time you'd meet his close friends and their partners.

Though your confidence had grown lately-thanks to both your hard work and Jungkook's unwavering support-you still had your insecurities. You couldn't shake the worry of being judged for wearing a T-shirt and shorts to the pool. You'd just reached a place of comfort being in your underwear around Jungkook; the thought of wearing a swimsuit in front of new faces was a little overwhelming.

"I missed you today," Jungkook says, leaning over to steal a quick kiss.

You laugh and roll your eyes. "You saw me this morning!"

He pouts, then kisses you again before putting the car in drive. Soon enough, you're both on the open road, heading toward the countryside for your weekend escape. You gaze out the window, taking in the surroundings as the sun dips below the horizon.

Every now and then, Jungkook glances over at you with a soft smile. He'd been so happy these past few months, feeling like this was the best start to a relationship he'd ever had.

You were a strong advocate for open communication, always encouraging him to share his feelings, and he loved learning more about you-what made you laugh, what moved you to tears, what brought you comfort. He also loved the way you had become more confident with him, especially in intimate moments. Since your first time together, you'd let down your guard and started to believe him when he said he loved your body. It was apparent in the way you'd sometimes take charge, a confidence that made his heart race. The memory of your last night together lingered in his mind, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, anticipation building for when you'd finally lock the door to your cabin room.

Suddenly, the soft music filling the car was interrupted by the ring of Jungkook's phone.

He quickly answered, and a deep voice echoed through the speakers.

"Where are you?" the voice asked.

You glanced at the screen and saw the name

'Taehyung'—a name you'd heard often but had yet to put a face to. At least now, you could put a voice to it.

"We're about 30 minutes away," Jungkook replied. "Going to stop at a rest area real quick. I kinda kidnapped her right after work, so l'm treating her to some top-tier rest stop food. I think a corndog sounds good." He smiled at you while he spoke.

Grinning, you placed your hand on his thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. Jungkook raised an eyebrow, pretending to pull over, which made you laugh.

“I hope the only corndog you’re giving her is the kind that’s battered, dipped in potato, and deep-fried,” Taehyung joked through the speaker. “We don’t want her meeting everyone for the first time looking exhausted.”

“Don’t worry! He’s not getting near me with his corndog until I get the food I was promised!” you shot back, making Taehyung laugh.

“Well, Jimin and Cleo are already at the cabin, and we’re about the same distance away as you,” Taehyung replied. “Let’s meet at the rest stop and drive in together.”

Jungkook agreed, hanging up swiftly.

Before you knew it, you were pulling into the rest stop parking lot. You watched out the window as families exited their cars and headed inside. Noticing an empty spot, you pointed it out, and Jungkook backed in smoothly, turning off the engine. You had to admit, there was something irresistibly attractive about watching him drive.You grab his hand before he has the chance to get out of the car. He’s about to speak when you press your lips to his. You caress his cheek and let your other hand rest at the back of his neck, as your fingers place with his hair. He deepens the kiss, slowly slipping his tongue into your welcoming mouth. You glide your tongue along his for a short while before pulling away.

“I—I thought you didn’t want my ‘corndog’ until you’d eaten. But that kiss… makes it hard for me to let you leave this car.” Jungkook licks his lips, his hand casually drifting to your thigh, barely covered by the hem of your skirt. The fabric had ridden up when you leaned over to kiss him earlier, your sudden move catching him off guard.

You almost suggest that he park somewhere more secluded so you could playfully test just how hard it would be for him to let you out of the car. But before you can say anything, the sound of a loud bang on the windshield startles both of you.

You both look up and see a very handsome man standing there, a wide grin on his face.

“Taehyung!” Jungkook exclaims, his surprise evident as he unbuckles his seatbelt and throws open the door. You watch as the two men embrace, their muffled voices almost lost behind the thick glass of the windshield. A moment later, you hear Jungkook say your name, and both men’s eyes turn to you.

You quickly grab your purse, sliding your phone inside and throwing a glance at Jungkook before exiting the car. Taehyung’s warm, bear-like hug almost knocks the air from your lungs, but you welcome it with a smile.

“It’s so great to finally meet the woman who’s making my bro so happy!” He pulls away, beaming.

“I’m Taehyung,” he adds, flashing you a boyish grin.

You smile brightly in return and introduce yourself. As you do, you notice Jungkook out of the corner of your eye. His posture has changed, the easygoing demeanor that usually defined him now gone. His shoulders are tense, his jaw tight. It’s subtle, but it’s there—a furrowed brow that mirrors the one he gets whenever you greet Namjoon a little too warmly at the gym.

A wave of unease settles in your chest. He’s usually so relaxed, but the presence of his friend, who’s conventionally handsome and kind, has thrown him off. And you can’t help but feel a little guilty for not noticing sooner.

You step away from Taehyung’s hug and walk over to Jungkook, gently grabbing his hand as the three of you make your way towards the building.

“Where’s Sohyun?” Jungkook asks, his eyes scanning the area as if expecting her to pop out from behind a tree or car.

Taehyung’s expression falters, and you instantly recognize it. It’s the same look of hurt and betrayal you’ve worn too many times to count—something familiar, something you know all too well. The kind of expression you never want to wear again.

“Uh… she’s not coming,” Taehyung answers, his voice tight, his words curt.

Jungkook seems ready to probe further, but you gently squeeze his hand, giving him a subtle shake of your head. He hesitates, his brows furrowing, but after a moment, he nods, clearly not wanting to push.

“No worries. I guess it’s just gonna be us three guys and you two girls,” Jungkook says, attempting to lighten the mood.

But Taehyung doesn’t seem so sure. He hesitates again, like he’s unsure how to say what’s on his mind.

“N-no, still three girls,” he stammers, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I invited someone else. I tried calling you about it, but I needed to pick you up and felt awkward texting about it…” He trails off, looking almost embarrassed.

Jungkook, clearly confused, lets go of your hand and places his hands firmly on his hips, his posture shifting into a fatherly stance. His eyes narrow in that way you’ve seen him do a thousand times, the same way he waits for you to explain why you left a pile of dirty laundry in the middle of the living room.

You look back and forth between them, wondering what this all means. Before anyone can say anything more, a voice calls out from across the parking lot.

“Taehyung! I told you to wait for me!”

You all turn to see a striking woman with shoulder-length brown hair striding toward you, wearing a fitted graphic t-shirt and shorts that show off toned, sun-kissed legs. Taehyung immediately shifts on his feet, turning slightly toward Jungkook, the unease visible in his posture.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, but Jungkook is too stunned to answer. His mouth falls open, and for a split second, you think he might say something, but the words don’t come. His eyes are locked on the woman, as she approaches.

“Taehyung! I told you to wait for me!” The woman exclaims, practically throwing herself into his arms as she wraps hers around his waist.

Jungkook’s face hardens as he takes in the sight. He stands frozen, unable to process what’s happening. That woman—his ex—Jisoo, was now in Taehyung’s arms. The woman who had shattered his heart before you came along, the one who’d made him swear off relationships for two years. And now, Taehyung—his closest friend—was with her.

You can see the shock, the betrayal, the pain flash across his face, but before you can react, Jisoo notices you.

“Jungkook,” she says, her voice laced with something both familiar and unsettling. You can’t help but notice the way her eyes skim over him—lazily, like she’s assessing what she’s missed. When her gaze finally lands on you, she smiles, though it’s more than just polite. It’s something else, something that feels… off.

You watch as Jisoo’s eyes flick over you—your dress, your posture, the hand Jungkook is holding tightly around your waist. Then, she smiles, almost smugly. “It’s been a while. You look good,” she says to Jungkook, her voice dripping with something you can’t quite put your finger on. Lust? Curiosity? Or maybe something darker?

Jungkook stands silently, pulling you closer to him, his arm instinctively tightening around your waist. You glance up at him. His jaw is clenched, his expression a mixture of frustration and quiet anger. But when he meets your eyes, his expression softens—just for a moment.

He doesn’t need to think about her anymore. Not when he has you. He hasn’t thought about her in so long, not since the day he realized that you were the one who helped him move on, who helped him heal.

He leans down, about to press a quick kiss to your lips, but before he can, Jisoo interrupts them, holding out her hand.

“I’m Jisoo. Nice to meet you,” she says, her tone feigning politeness, but there’s an edge to it. Her fingers hover just above yours, waiting for you to reciprocate.

You glance down at her hand before quickly shaking it, the discomfort in your chest growing. “Nice to meet you,” you reply, trying your best to keep your tone neutral.

You can feel Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightening as he pulls you closer. You glance up at him and, with a soft, reassuring smile, lean your head against his shoulder.

“Where’s that corndog I’ve heard so much about?” you ask, trying to redirect the conversation, your voice light as you move forward with him, away from the awkward tension.

Behind you, you hear the faint sound of raised voices. You don’t turn around, but the conversation between Taehyung and Jisoo seems to be escalating, and you can’t help but wonder what’s really going on between them.

Jungkook told you to pick a table, just the two of you, as he headed toward the brightly colored counter to order your deep-fried snacks. He was insistent on sitting alone, away from your weekend companions. You didn’t ask why, not yet, but you would. The unease in your chest had only grown since you first set foot in the food court, and you had a sinking feeling it was going to get worse before it got better.

Your eyes scanned the bustling food court as you waited for Jungkook to return. Your mind wandered for a moment, but when you looked back toward the table, you caught the unmistakable gaze of Jisoo across the way. She was looking directly at you, her hand casually gesturing for you to come over. You hesitated but felt a strange pull. You dropped your bag onto the seat and, against your better judgment, walked over to her.

“What’s up?” You asked, folding your arms, trying to keep a cool composure.

Jisoo’s smile was wide, but something about it made your stomach twist. The first time she smiled at you, it had felt almost… too perfect. Now, it just made you feel uneasy.

"Taehyung went to get his food," she began, her voice sweet but somehow too syrupy, as if it was trying to mask something. "I thought I’d pop by the convenience store for a quick salad. I figured you’d want to come with me." She paused, giving you a look that felt more pointed than friendly. "Jungkook’s your personal trainer, right? Tae mentioned it to me. He’s usually so strict with his diet. One year, he wouldn’t even eat his own birthday cake. I lost so much weight that year. He was—" She cuts herself off, her eyes scanning you briefly. "But I guess he’s changed."

Jungkook was the one who had encouraged you to be more comfortable with food, more relaxed, to enjoy life without the guilt you’d carried for years. But now, you felt the weight of Jisoo's words sink in, like they were slipping under your skin, poking at a vulnerability you thought was buried.

Her eyes raked up your body slowly, lingering on your midsection. It felt invasive, uncomfortable. You wanted to cover up, but you couldn't, and before you knew it, the pencil skirt you had worn proudly this morning—feeling good, feeling confident—now felt tight, unflattering, wrong. You looked down. The lumps and bumps that you usually tried to ignore now felt all too obvious. Confidence was a fragile thing. It took so long to build, and it only took one look, one comment to knock it down.

Jisoo didn’t stop there. "When we were together, we used to be known as that gym couple," she said, almost as if she were reminiscing. "Always in matching sets." Her eyes gleamed as she glanced at you. "But it’s nice to see that he has other clothes now."

You could feel your pulse quicken, your fingers tightening around your arms as you tried to hold on to what little composure you had left.

She smiled, clearly satisfied with the impact of her words.

"Oh!" She gasped, feigning surprise. "He didn’t tell you?"

No, he hadn’t. He hadn’t told you anything, not about her, not about their past, not about what they’d shared. He’d never mentioned that they had been together, that she was his ex-girlfriend. You knew there was history between them, but the look on his face when he saw her earlier… it suddenly made so much sense. He hadn’t told you. And now, Jisoo’s presence here was more than just awkward—it was a reminder that Jungkook could still be pulled back into her orbit. What if she was the one who got away?

"We’re so... different now," she continued, her eyes gliding over you one more time, as if you were some kind of puzzle. "So I’m sure he’s different with you." She then glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of Jungkook returning to the table.

"Kooky’s back at your table now," she said, her tone far too sweet. "Enjoy your fried goods!"

You didn’t trust her smile as you turned back toward your table. The sinking feeling in your stomach wouldn’t go away. You had to force yourself to sit down, grab your bag, and keep your hands from trembling.

Jungkook smiled at you, his hands holding up the corndog like some sort of peace offering, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes. You didn’t feel like smiling back.

“When were you gonna tell me that Jisoo is your ex-girlfriend?” you asked, your voice low, brow furrowed, lips turned down in quiet frustration.

Jungkook froze. The corndog slipped from his fingers, landing softly on the table. He had planned to tell you, maybe in the car or later that night when you were alone. He just hadn’t expected things to go like this. His mind raced, and for a brief moment, he wished he’d prepared for this conversation.

“Who told you?” he asked, his tone tentative, but there was something about it that didn’t sit right.

You couldn’t believe your ears. He was asking you who told you? After all of her comments, after that whole conversation you just had, he was asking that?

“She did,” you replied curtly, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, a defensive posture that you couldn’t shake.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face, clearly frustrated with himself. He hadn’t expected Jisoo to spring this on you like she did. The fact that she was here, and the way she’d slipped back into his life so easily—it made him feel small, like he had allowed something to linger that shouldn’t have. But it was never supposed to be this way. She wasn’t supposed to make you feel small.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, though his voice still had that edge of frustration. “I honestly didn’t know she was coming, and I should’ve told you earlier. I just... I didn’t think it’d be like this. I’ll explain everything about her tonight, I promise. But please, just eat something. You’ve had a long day.”

He reached out, taking your hand across the table, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of your palm, trying to soothe you.

Your eyes lingered over the spread of food—saucy rice cakes, crispy golden corndogs, the fishcake soup—but you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a bite. Jisoo’s words played over and over in your head, and the last thing you felt like doing was eating.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you said, offering him a tight, forced smile. “You eat.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes softening with concern. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He’d seen that look on your face before, and it made his stomach twist. It was the same expression you had when that woman at work had made a comment about your body a few weeks ago—about how she would never eat again and how lucky you were to have a personal trainer boyfriend. That night, Jungkook had reminded you how beautiful you were, inside and out. And it had helped, for a moment. But now, this? It felt like everything was slipping again.

“What the hell did she say to you?” His voice hardened with anger, the protective instinct flaring up in him.

You shook your head, pulling away slightly. The conversation was too much, too soon. You had your walls up, and you weren’t ready to address what had just happened. You communicated, then shut down, and Jungkook had learned to give you the space you needed.

“Babe, please,” he whispered, squeezing your hand. “I want to fix this. Please, let me make it better.”

You looked down at your hands, your chest tight with a mix of hurt and confusion.

“Then take me home,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s eyes widened. This wasn’t how the weekend was supposed to go. You were meant to meet his friends, enjoy the weekend, and for the first time in a while, he had planned to tell you that he loved you. This wasn’t how it was meant to happen.

“If that’s what you want...” he said, his voice heavy with disappointment.

You watched him scramble to find his car keys, his eyes darting across the table.

“They’re in your pocket,” you said, smirking lightly despite everything.

Jungkook paused, then laughed softly, shaking his head at himself. Jisoo, watching from across the food court, looked on with a bemused expression as the tension between you two melted for just a second. But as soon as you both started laughing, she scoffed, hiding it behind a fake cough.

“Something was in my throat,” she said, her smile more knowing than ever.

Jungkook slid into the seat beside you, lifting you effortlessly into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, his lips close to your ear. You rested your head against his shoulder, the chaos of the world outside temporarily quieting as you found comfort in his presence.

You walk to the car, hand in hand, with a takeout box swinging from Jungkook’s free hand. He’d managed to talk you into staying, promising to make it up to you. Before you get in, you pull him into a tight hug, feeling the warmth of his lips brush the top of your forehead.

“I’m sorry for overreacting,” you murmur softly into his ear.

He shakes his head, his heart swelling with gratitude. He knew you were the kind of partner who understood, who could have reacted so much worse, and he still would’ve understood.

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you. I should’ve been more open. If it had been up to me, I would’ve driven you home right then—if it meant we’d be okay. I still would. I just want us to be more than okay. I…” He pauses, almost slipping into something more, but he stops himself. Not here, not now. He wanted to tell you perfectly, when the time was right.

“I love spending time with you,” he continues, his voice soft but steady. “And I want to share you with the people I care about.”

He hopes you don’t notice how fast his heart is racing.

You tilt your head up at him, lips puckered slightly. Without a word, he leans down, and you both melt into a deep kiss, the kind that feels like the world stops spinning just for the two of you.

======

Before long, you pull up to a stunning house, its warm lights glowing from within. The lake is dark, the water shimmering silver beneath the moon’s glow. Gravel crunches underfoot as you step out of the car, breathing in the cool, fresh air. You close your eyes for a moment to take it all in, feeling the weight of the weekend ahead. You’re going to make the most of this. You’re the baddest bitch. Nicki Minaj said it best:

"I'm a bad bitch, fuck the bitch. Bitch get slick, I'ma cut the b-"

Your thoughts are interrupted by a shriek, and your eyes snap open to see Jisoo bouncing excitedly.

“It’s bringing back so many memories!” she exclaims. “We used to come here all the time! Right, guys?” She looks to Taehyung and Jungkook for confirmation.

The air shifts. You freeze, a knot forming in your stomach. This is the place he used to bring her—his ex. The realization hits you like a cold wave. You’re about to sleep in the same bed where they once did.

“No, we didn’t,” Jungkook interjects quickly, his tone sharper than usual. “You spent one afternoon here. Once. And you weren’t even allowed inside.”

Jisoo’s face falls, and she quickly glances over at you, suddenly aware of the tension in the air.

“Let’s go inside, babe,” Taehyung says, gently guiding her toward the door, his hand resting on her lower back.

You stand there for a moment, trying to shake off the discomfort, but before you can move, Jungkook grabs your hand, pulling you gently to the side.

You look up at him, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.

“She’s never been inside,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “We never shared a bed here. You’re the first woman I’ve brought here… and you’ll be the last. This place means something different now.”

You feel your heart soften at his words. It’s clear he’s trying to reassure you, trying to make sure you know that this weekend is about you and not his past. You give him a small, affectionate smile and nod, your tension easing a little as you follow him inside.

The house is more breathtaking than you imagined. It’s cozy yet luxurious, warm and inviting with just the right amount of opulence.

“Hi! I’ve heard so much about you!” A man with blonde hair and an easy smile steps in front of you as you slip off your shoes.

“You must be Jimin!” you say, recognizing him instantly.

Jungkook chuckles, kicking off his shoes and pulling Jimin into a bear hug. You can’t help but laugh at the playful exchange between the two men.

“And I’m Cleo!” A gorgeous woman steps out from the kitchen, her smile as bright as the sun. She’s warm and welcoming, giving you a tight hug before you can even introduce yourself.

This is such a contrast to the awkward energy you felt with Jisoo and Taehyung. Cleo's kindness immediately puts you at ease.

She leads you to your room, where Jungkook has already set down your bags. The men are getting things ready outside by the fire pit.

“Jungkook never stops talking about you,” Cleo says as she arranges a few things in the room, clearly excited. “Whenever we call, he spends the first half of the conversation gushing about you. He’s a total softie, by the way. And, I’ve heard all about your French toast. We bought everything he said you’d need! Would you mind making it for breakfast tomorrow?”

You smile at her easy warmth and kindness. She shows you the bathroom and where to find extra toiletries before excusing herself to leave you to get settled.

Once you’re alone, you strip down and hop into the shower, the warm water helping to ease the tension still lingering in your muscles from the car ride and the awkward moments with Jisoo.

When you step out, wrapped in a towel, you find that Jungkook has already brought your bags inside. He’s sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up immediately when he hears the bathroom door open. His eyes soften as they meet yours.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were going to shower?" he teases, his voice low and playful. "I would've joined you."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. You bend down to grab some clothes from your bag and quickly pull on a hoodie and a pair of shorts, tucking the latter under your towel.

Jungkook watches you, a suggestive grin spreading across his face, but his gaze is also filled with something else—concern, maybe, or uncertainty.

“What?” you laugh, walking over to the bed, trying to play it off.

He sits up and swings his legs over to sit on the edge, his hands finding your waist. He pulls you close, his head resting gently on your stomach as you run your fingers through his hair.

His voice is quieter now, almost like he’s unsure how to tread. "I don't think anyone would mind if we just stayed in tonight. We’ve got some… making up to do. You know, for the whole 'ex-girlfriend' situation."

His hands slip down to your thighs, his touch gentle but possessive, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. There’s an unspoken question hanging in the air—are you okay?

You give him a soft smile, your fingers continuing to play with his hair as you whisper, “I’m good. I’m here with you. That’s all that matters.”

He exhales, a weight seemingly lifting from his shoulders as he leans into you, his expression softening. It’s clear now: he's more concerned about you than about anything else. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

He moves his hands to your rump, slightly squeezing as he continues up your back. His fingertips graze your skin as they make the journey to the middle of your back. He feels no resistance, no extra material in the way.

“No bra, huh? It’s like you knew this would happen.” His brows wiggle enthusiastically.

You throw your head back in laughter.

“You just saw me get out of the shower, I didn’t have time to put on a bra!”

His heart warms at seeing you laugh. He only wants to see you happy, he wants nothing more to be the cause of some of that happiness.

Suddenly, you feel his hand part your thighs, knuckles skimming along the seam of your shorts, the seam that covered your centre. He doesn’t break eye contact as his fingertips feel for your clit under the thin fabric. You bite your lip as you look down at him.

“No panties either? You naughty girl.”

He rubs with more pressure, earning a moan from you. You roll your eyes and push him back, his back lands on the bed. Before he could ask what you were doing, you crawled on the bed and straddled him. He shifted to sit up against the headboard, he brought his hands to rest on your ass.

You kiss him slowly, tongue teasing his. Arms wrapping around his neck. One thing about your boyfriend was that he was vocal. He would whimper, moan, breathe heavily. It was like music to your ears.

He moans into your mouth, deepening the kiss. He was going to make it up to you, show you that you’re the only one he cares about here. He slides one hand under your hoodie, caressing your breast, thumb toying with your now pebbled nipple. You were always to aware of yourself in all situations, especially physical ones. You were worried that you might crush him if you put all of weight on him. To which he told you how ridiculous that claim was. So when it came to making out like this, in this position, you hovered over him, making the space between your crotches so noticeable. Jungkook pushes you down with the hand that now moved to your waist. You feel his hardness under you. You shiver at the feeling. Pulling away, you take a look at him. Wow. This gorgeous man was really yours. He looks at you, his lids half open, lips shining with saliva. He leans into pepper kisses all over your neck. Hands pulling up the edge of your hoodie, he puts his head under it to kiss your breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth. The sounds in the room were borderline pornographic. You moan, pulling at his hair, causing him to nibble. Fuck, you were so soaked right now. You could feel your shorts become damp with arousal.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks, kissing your chest, voice muffled by your shirt.

You grind down on his hardened length. He pulls his head out from under your hoodie, hand going straight for your centre. He groans as he feels the soaked material.

“Please.” He begs. He felt like he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he didn’t get inside you immediately.

---

Just as you were about to speak, a sharp knock echoed against the door.

“Hey, guys, the campfire’s ready. We’re grilling some meat too!” A deep voice rang out from the other side. You recognized it instantly—it was Taehyung, the same voice that had cut through the tension at the rest stop earlier.

Jungkook doesn’t stop touching you, starting to kiss your neck once more.

“W-we’ll b-be out in a minute.” You basically moan out.

Your boyfriend puts his lips to your ear..His shaky breathes, makes goosebumps appear on your sweaty skin.

“Now he knows what you sound like when you’re about to get fucked good. He might try and take you away from me.” He nips at your earlobe.

Taehyung knocks again.

“Jungkook, bro. I was hoping that we could talk before dinner. You know, clear the air.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. This was a slippery slope, was he really that hungry for you or was he trying to avoid the situation at hand. With Taehyung and… Jisoo.

“We should go down.” You whisper, kissing his cheek.

He whines, not wanting to let go of you.

“How can I with this?” He gestures to his eye-catching erection.

You get off him and off the bed.

“Think of Jisoo and Taehyung.” You quip, heading to the bathroom to change your ruined shorts.

Jungkook’s mouth drops open and the blood starts to return to his head. He runs his hands through his hair and gets off the bed and opens the door to Taehyung.

He yells that he was going down, to which you yelled out an ‘okay’ from behind the bathroom door.

---

Jungkook tried to act casual, his footsteps light as he walked down the hallway, avoiding Taehyung's gaze.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.

"Dude." Taehyung stopped abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence. Jungkook froze, not wanting to face this conversation, but knowing he had no choice.

Taehyung turned to him, a mix of frustration and apology in his eyes. “You mean, about how you're dating my ex-girlfriend? Or how you brought her to a trip where you knew my current girlfriend would be? Or maybe how I thought you were my friend?" Taehyung let out a heavy sigh, his face a picture of regret.

Jungkook shifted uncomfortably. The words hit harder than he expected, and the guilt started to creep in. But Taehyung wasn’t done.

"I’m such an asshole," Taehyung muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I should’ve told you sooner. I shouldn’t have brought her. But Sohyun cheated on me... I was lonely, and Jisoo reached out, and... it just kinda happened. I’m really sorry, man.”

Jungkook paused, the weight of his friend’s vulnerability sinking in. He hadn’t realized just how hurt Taehyung had been until now. He could feel the tension loosening between them, a quiet understanding forming.

“I get it,” Jungkook said quietly, his voice more sincere than before. Seeing Jisoo again had stirred up some unwanted feelings in him, but the one thing he was sure of was that he had you now—and that was enough to move past the past. He didn’t want to lose his friend over something like this. "Just... as long as you're happy, man. That’s all that matters.”

He pulled Taehyung into a brief hug, the tension dissipating like a long-awaited breath.

You stepped out of the room just in time to catch the two friends in a rare moment of understanding. The tension between them had eased, and for the first time in a while, you saw them act like the friends they once were.

The campfire crackled in the distance, the laughter and warmth drawing you in. You saw Jimin and Cleo sitting close by, Cleo perched comfortably in his lap as she flipped the sizzling pieces of meat on the grill. Jisoo was absorbed in taking pictures of the moon, her camera clicking away. You smiled softly, imagining you’d be doing the same thing soon.

Suddenly, Taehyung appeared by her side, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. The sight of them felt unexpectedly sweet, and for a moment, you forgot about the tension with Jisoo.

You made your way over to Jimin and Jungkook, who was already settling in beside you. Without missing a beat, Jungkook grabbed a bottle of Soju, spinning it expertly in his hands before pouring six shots of the clear liquid.

Everyone gathered around the table, and with a shared look, you all raised your glasses. The burn of Soju slid down your throat, smoother than expected but still with that familiar heat. You winced slightly but grinned as you set the glass down.

The table was littered with empty bottles, the air buzzing with the energy of the group. The men—Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin—decided to put on a hilarious impromptu performance of Beyoncé’s *Halo*, using empty bottles as microphones. You couldn't help but laugh at their antics, your stomach tight with the joy of the moment.

Cleo clung to you, her voice low and soft as she hummed along, her presence soothing. She’d been so kind to you all evening, stepping in whenever Jisoo tried to poke at your insecurities. And Jisoo *did* try a lot—her words were sharp, but Cleo's attention was always just a little bit more piercing. You couldn’t help but feel grateful for her friendship.

Jungkook, ever the protective boyfriend, kept you under his arm all night. He’d feed you whenever you seemed to pause, leaning in to whisper that you needed fuel for later. His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear, and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks. The others noticed, too, and you instinctively buried your face into his shoulder, embarrassed and strangely comforted by his possessiveness.

Jisoo, meanwhile, had tried her best to make Jungkook jealous, but it hadn’t worked. She’d kissed Taehyung passionately in front of everyone, all the while peeking at Jungkook to see if he was watching. But he wasn’t.

The evening carried on in high spirits. But just as you thought things couldn’t get any better, a loud splash interrupted the laughter. You walked away from the table, drawn by the noise. As you rounded the corner, you saw a pile of discarded clothes near the lake. The group had jumped in, all of them splashing around in the cool water.

Jungkook emerged from the lake, dripping wet and looking impossibly attractive. His hair clung to his forehead, and his broad shoulders glistened in the firelight. You couldn’t help but smile, but at the same time, a voice in your head hesitated.

You’d been working hard on your fitness, especially since you’d met Jungkook, but compared to the others—Cleo, with her confidence, and Jisoo, who exuded a certain effortless beauty—you felt self-conscious. You weren’t ready to strip down and join them in the water. Not yet.

Jungkook’s voice broke through your thoughts as he called your name, waving excitedly before Jimin jumped onto his back, both of them tumbling into the water.

You laughed, shaking off your insecurities, and moved to sit on a nearby sunbed. The sight of the group—so carefree, so full of life—felt freeing, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the evening without overthinking.

It didn’t take long before the group emerged from the lake, their laughter ringing out as they ran back to their clothes. Jisoo, spotting something, let out a loud gasp.

“Kooky! We’re matching!” she pointed out, her eyes wide in mock surprise as she realized both she and Jungkook were wearing matching Calvin Klein underwear.

Jungkook shot her a quick look, rolling his eyes at her antics. Without missing a beat, he sprinted toward you, dripping wet, and you instinctively tried to push him away, not wanting to get soaked.

"Not for long," he said with a mischievous grin, pulling you closer. “These are coming off when we get upstairs.”

You giggled, your heart racing as you looked him over. The sight of him—wet, muscular, and teasing you—was almost too much. He really was a dream, too good to be true.

Jisoo glanced over her shoulder, ensuring that you were well out of view, before she lowered her voice and turned her attention fully to Jungkook. Her usually calm demeanor shifted, and there was a hint of seriousness in her eyes.

“Is this some sort of charity thing? Or do you feel bad for her? Dating a client, really Kook? Or wait… I think I know. It’s a tactic, you’re trying to keep a client by fucking her? Trying to do one of those ‘before and after’ pics right? How do you even do it? Even with your eyes closed-“

Jungkook stops her venomous words.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jungkook’s voice was low, each word dripping with contempt. “Stop trying to worm your way back into my life. And leave my girlfriend the hell out of this. You’ve done enough damage already.”

He took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides, the anger in his chest almost too much to contain. “I should’ve walked away the second I saw you. But no, I brought you here because I wanted her to see who I used to be. To understand the people who were in my life. Then I realized... I shouldn’t even have to explain myself. You’re not part of that anymore.”

Jisoo opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, his voice harder this time, like shards of glass. “You always cared about how you looked, didn’t you? About how you made me feel when I was with you. You didn’t give a damn about me. About what I needed. But I’m not the same guy I was back then. I’ve moved on... And somehow, I ended up with someone who sees me for who I am, not some image, some damn trophy. Someone who actually cares about me.”

Jungkook’s chest heaved with the weight of it all, the anger mixing with the pain he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before. He jabbed a finger in her direction, voice breaking through the air like a warning. “I’m with someone who is beautiful inside and out. Someone you’ll never be. Not in a million years.”

Jisoo wasn’t going to back down, though. That damn stubbornness in her wouldn’t let her. She took a step forward, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous, almost predatory.

“Don’t you miss us?” she asked softly, the words thick with nostalgia and something darker. She moved closer, her fingertips grazing the waistband of his boxers with a familiarity that sent a jolt through his body. “Don’t you ever think about how we used to be? About the way we felt when it was just us?”

Before Jungkook could shove her away, your voice sliced through the air, cutting off the moment entirely.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Jungkook watched you from across the room, his chest tightening as you distanced yourself from him—again. His eyes flickered between you and Jisoo, who stood too close, too perfect, like she always had. He hated the way it made you pull away, the way your shoulders seemed to fold in on themselves, as if you could disappear entirely.

Jisoo was everything you weren’t. Confident, poised, effortlessly beautiful. The kind of woman Jungkook used to be drawn to. And here you were, standing in the shadows, trying to shrink into yourself. He could see it in the way your eyes darted around the room, never meeting his, never fully present. You didn’t think you belonged here. Didn’t think you belonged in his life.

He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand how you looked at yourself like that.

Jisoo’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and taunting, and the pain in your eyes deepened. He knew exactly what was happening—Jisoo’s presence was triggering the worst of your insecurities, dredging up every fear you ever had. That voice in your head telling you that you weren’t good enough, that he deserved someone better. That you didn’t fit.

Jungkook’s heart pounded, his chest a heavy weight as he watched you take a step back, retreating even further into yourself. He hated seeing you like this. He couldn’t let you keep thinking you weren’t enough, not when he was standing right here, trying to make you understand how wrong you were.

“Hey.” He moved toward you quickly, his voice soft but urgent. His fingers found your arm, pulling you gently but firmly back toward him. You flinched, like you were afraid he might let go at any moment.

He didn’t. He wasn’t going to.

“You know she’s just trying to get to me, right?” he said, his voice low, filled with a quiet frustration that he could never fully express. He could feel your eyes on him now, but you weren’t really seeing him. You weren’t with him. “She doesn’t have any power over me anymore. I’m with you. Not her. And I’m not going anywhere. You’re everything to me.”

Your gaze flickered to his, but there was still so much doubt in your eyes, so much uncertainty. You were still hearing Jisoo’s voice in your head, still thinking that somehow you didn’t belong here.

“You’re too good for me,” you whispered, your voice small, fragile. The words cut through him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. “I’m not... I’m not like her. I’m not—”

Your words trailed off, and Jungkook could see the weight behind them. He could hear everything you couldn’t say—the fears, the worries, the thoughts that told you you didn’t deserve him. That you couldn’t ever measure up to Jisoo, or to the women he could have.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this, but each time it felt like a punch to the gut. He hated it. Hated that you couldn’t see yourself the way he saw you.

He stepped closer, cupping your face gently with both hands, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His heart was racing, but he pushed through it, fighting back the flood of emotions that threatened to choke him.

“You’re not just someone,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, every word deliberate, every word soaked with the weight of everything he felt for you. “You’re my someone. And I don’t give a damn about anyone else. I never did.”

You didn’t look away, but your expression was still clouded with doubt, like you didn’t believe him. The truth was right there, staring you in the face, but you couldn’t take it in, couldn’t let yourself believe it.

“I don’t deserve you,” you said quietly, the words breaking in your throat. “You’re... you’re Jungkook. You could have anyone. Anyone but me.”

Jungkook felt his chest tighten, the ache in his heart growing as he heard the words that had haunted you for so long. How could you still think this way? He wanted to scream, to shake you, to make you see just how wrong you were. But instead, he leaned in closer, his thumb gently brushing away the tear that had fallen from your eye.

“You’re not just anyone,” he said, the words steady, unwavering, even as his hands trembled slightly. “You’re the one I want. You’re everything I need.”

The way you looked at him, still unsure, still struggling to accept his words—it broke him. He wasn’t sure what else to say, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let you go on thinking you weren’t enough. You were more than enough. You were everything he needed.

Without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you tightly in the warmth of his embrace. He buried his face in your hair, his chest rising and falling in time with your breaths.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and full of sincerity. “Always. You’re safe with me.”

You let out a shaky breath and clung to him like you were finally letting yourself believe it, like you were finally allowing yourself to be loved. The tension in your body eased, just slightly, and Jungkook held you even tighter, his heart beating in rhythm with yours.

He didn’t care about Jisoo. He didn’t care about anyone but you. And if he had to spend the rest of his life showing you just how much you mattered, he would.

You needed space. You mutter a quiet reply when jungkook asks you if you were okay. You head up to the bedroom, locking yourself in. Jungkook was feeling a mix of emotions.

Jungkook stood there for what felt like an eternity, his forehead still pressed to the cool surface of the bedroom door, the silence around him growing louder with each passing second. He wanted to say something—anything—to bridge the distance between you, to take away the hurt he could hear in your silence. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

The sound of footsteps broke his thoughts, and he instinctively straightened up, wiping his hands over his face in frustration. He knew who it was before he even turned around.

Jimin.

His best friend had a way of knowing exactly when things weren’t right. Maybe it was because he’d seen Jungkook go through the motions more times than he cared to count. They’d been through a lot together—highs, lows, heartbreaks—and Jimin had always been there to help Jungkook find his footing again. This time, however, felt different. Jimin had to know something was off, and he wasn’t the type to stay silent when he could see someone struggling.

"She’s still in there, huh?" Jimin’s voice was gentle, but Jungkook could hear the knowing tone. He didn’t have to answer—Jimin could read him like a book.

Jungkook let out a long, tired breath, his voice low. “Yeah. I just... I don’t know what to do, man. I feel like I fucked up. She’s just so... I don’t even know what she’s thinking right now.”

Jimin stepped closer, leaning against the kitchen counter as he folded his arms. He studied Jungkook for a moment, his eyes soft but thoughtful. “I think you’re both overthinking this,” he said finally, the words calm but with the weight of experience behind them.

Jungkook looked up at him, the frustration still clear in his eyes. “Overthinking it? She’s in there, and I’m out here, stuck trying to figure out how to make things right, and all you’ve got is ‘overthinking’?”

Jimin smirked, but it wasn’t the teasing smile he usually wore. It was something softer, more understanding. He was being serious.

"Jungkook, calm down." Jimin’s voice was steady, but there was a certain compassion in his tone that Jungkook could feel even through his own agitation. “Look, I know you want to fix things right now. I know you hate that she’s upset. But you need to remember something."

Jungkook shifted, his gaze drifting back to the bedroom door as if he could somehow see through it to you on the other side. He didn’t know what was more difficult—the waiting or the feeling that he wasn’t sure how to make it all better.

Jimin continued, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s not always about fixing everything in the moment. Sometimes, she needs time to process what happened. What you need to do is give her that space—because you pushing and pushing won’t change anything.”

Jungkook shook his head, his frustration boiling over. “I don’t want her to think I’m just leaving her to deal with this alone. She’s my responsibility, Jimin. I want to fix it now, before it gets worse.”

Jimin raised a hand, cutting him off, and stepped forward, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “I get that. But here’s the thing. You’re both carrying something. She’s carrying her own set of fears and insecurities—things you might not even fully understand. And you—you’re carrying your own fear that you’ll lose her. The pressure to make everything right is weighing on both of you. But the only way you’re going to get through this is if you’re patient. With her, and with yourself."

Jungkook looked at him, feeling a mixture of gratitude and frustration. "It’s just... Jisoo. She keeps getting in the way. I can’t stand seeing her upset when she thinks I’m just some kind of rebound, that I’m only here because I don’t care enough to be with someone like her.”

Jimin’s expression softened. “I know that’s hard to watch. But let’s be real. Jisoo doesn’t define your relationship with her. You know that better than anyone. If she’s in your past, then she’s in your past. What you and she have—what you and your girl have—that’s different. Don’t let anyone, even someone as complicated as Jisoo, mess with what you have now.”

Jungkook let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I want her to believe me, man. I want her to see that she’s not some... replacement. That she’s everything to me.” He paused, his voice softening. “I’m just not sure how to make her feel like she’s enough.”

Jimin nodded thoughtfully, his gaze steady on his friend. “The fact that you’re worried about it—that shows you care. You’re already doing the hardest part, Jungkook. You’ve been loving her the best way you know how, and that’s more than what most people do. But she has to believe it in her own time, on her own terms. You can’t force that. What you can do is be there. Be the kind of man she can trust to stand by her side, no matter what. Show her with your actions.”

Jungkook took in the words, letting them sink in. He’d always been quick to act, to fix things, to find a solution. But Jimin was right. This wasn’t something that could be solved with one grand gesture. It was a matter of trust—and sometimes trust took time to build.

“Yeah...” Jungkook muttered, looking down at the floor. “I just wish I could make her feel like she’s worth it. I hate seeing her think she’s not.”

Jimin clapped him on the back, the gesture light but reassuring. “She will. You just have to be patient. And don’t get so caught up in trying to fix everything all at once. You’re not perfect, and neither is she. But that’s why you guys work. Because, at the end of the day, you’ve got each other. And that’s enough.”

Jungkook let out a slow breath, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Maybe Jimin was right. Maybe this wasn’t something that could be fixed tonight. Maybe it wasn’t even something that could be fixed with words. But he could give her space. He could give her time.

And when she was ready, he’d be there.

“I’m gonna go give her some time,” Jungkook said quietly, his voice softer now, more certain. “But I’m not giving up on her. On us.”

Jimin grinned, his usual playful smirk returning. “That’s what I like to hear. Now go. Let her know you’re there for her, but don’t push. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

With one last reassuring clap on the back, Jimin turned and walked back toward the living room, leaving Jungkook to face the reality of what was to come. But this time, Jungkook felt something he hadn’t felt in a while: hope.

The sounds of laughter and quiet conversation had gradually faded as the night wore on. One by one, the group had trickled off to their rooms, leaving Jungkook alone in the living room. The weight of the night pressed down on him like a heavy fog, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, something undone.

Jisoo’s sudden appearance had wrecked the calm he’d tried to create between you and him. And now, with everyone else gone, he was left with nothing but the soft hum of the house and his own swirling thoughts. The feeling of helplessness—of wanting to fix things, but not knowing how—gnawed at him.

He sat down on the couch, his muscles sore from the tension that had been building all night. He tugged his t-shirt over his head, letting the fabric fall into his lap as he leaned back into the cushions. The cool air of the house brushed over his skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat rising in his chest. The way you had retreated into yourself earlier, the walls you’d put up—he hated it.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought. Tonight was supposed to be about you. About letting you meet the people who meant the most to him, letting you know just how serious he was.

But somehow, it had all gone sideways. And now, he was left here, alone, with nothing but his own self-doubt to keep him company.

Jungkook stayed up for hours, his mind turning over the events of the evening—how Jisoo’s presence had made you pull away, how he hadn’t been able to say what he needed to say. The words were there, right on the tip of his tongue, but they felt useless now, like they wouldn’t be enough to make you see that you were everything to him.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with him, and his body gave in to sleep despite the whirlwind of thoughts that kept him wide awake.

The sound of footsteps broke the stillness in the room, pulling Jungkook from a restless sleep. His eyelids fluttered open, his vision blurry for a moment. He blinked, disoriented, and then he saw you sitting on the edge of the couch, your legs tucked under you, watching him with a quiet intensity. The faint glow of the nightlight illuminated your face, and despite the heaviness in the air, there was something about you that felt... softer.

Jungkook's heart thudded in his chest as he rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. His throat felt dry, and the words he had been dying to say all night were still heavy on his tongue. But now that you were here—so close, and yet so far—it felt like he was back to square one. Vulnerable, unsure.

“Hey,” you said quietly, your voice carrying a gentleness he hadn’t expected. Your eyes were slightly red, but there was no anger in them—just that quiet sadness that had settled over you earlier.

Jungkook sat up slowly, clearing his throat, unsure of what to say. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction you were expecting, or if you'd even want to hear what he had to say. He was terrified that, in trying to fix things, he might only make it worse.

"Hey," he replied hoarsely, the words coming out shakier than he wanted. His voice still carried the weight of everything he'd been holding back, and for a second, he wished he could just take all of it and say it at once, get it out. But that was never easy for him.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself, but his thoughts were a mess. "I... I don’t know where to start," he muttered. "I’m sorry for earlier. I never meant to make you feel that way." His voice wavered, and he looked down at his hands for a moment, afraid to meet your eyes. "I should’ve... done better. I should've been there for you in a way that actually made you feel like you belong, not like you were just... some outsider."

You shifted on the couch, your hands curling into your lap. You looked away briefly, as if gathering your own thoughts, before turning back to him with a quiet, but steady gaze.

"I just... I don’t know how to be what you need sometimes," you admitted softly, your voice shaking a little as you spoke. "I feel like I’m too much, or just not enough. Like, when I see someone like Jisoo... I think, how could someone like you really want someone like me?" Your words cracked with vulnerability, and it made Jungkook’s chest tighten painfully.

The truth of your insecurities hit him like a physical blow. He wanted to say something—anything—to make it better. To erase the doubt in your voice. But the words stuck in his throat. He was scared. Scared of saying the wrong thing, scared that maybe he wasn’t enough for you either, and that you might never truly believe how much you meant to him.

He swallowed hard and reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed his fingers along your arm, trying to comfort you, even as he struggled with his own fears.

“No,” Jungkook whispered, shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought completely. “That’s... that’s not it at all. You’re everything to me.” His voice faltered, and his heart raced in his chest. He hesitated for a moment, the words almost too heavy to say, but they were there—just waiting to be spoken. “I... I don’t care about anyone else. I don’t care about Jisoo. She’s my past. You’re... you’re my present. You’re who I want, who I’ve always wanted.”

He looked down at his lap, unsure of how you were processing what he was saying. The fear of rejection still lingered in the pit of his stomach. What if you didn’t feel the same? What if, in trying to be honest, he only pushed you further away?

You were quiet for a long moment, and Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to look at you. His heart pounded as the seconds stretched into what felt like forever.

But then, you spoke.

"I just don’t get it. I don’t know why you’d want someone like me, when you could have someone like—" You paused, your voice catching. "Someone like her."

Jungkook’s pulse quickened. He didn’t want you to keep questioning it, to keep doubting what they had. He needed you to see the truth.

He reached for you, his hands gently cupping your face, bringing your eyes back to his. This time, there was no hesitation. He had to say it, even if his voice was thick with fear. “You don’t get it because you don’t see how incredible you are. How beautiful, and kind, and strong you are. You’re not too much—you’re more than enough. You’re everything to me. I’m not with you out of convenience or because I don’t have better options. I’m with you because I love you.”

His heart raced as he let the words linger between you, almost as if the weight of them was too much to carry. He held his breath, terrified of what you might say next. He waited, his hands trembling, as the silence stretched out.

You blinked, staring at him as if processing his words, the emotions swirling in your eyes. He couldn’t read your face, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

But then you whispered, your voice barely audible, “I love you too.”

Jungkook’s chest surged with relief, a weight lifting from him as he heard those words, but it was still soft, fragile. There was more to say, more to understand, but right now, in this moment, it was enough.

And for the first time in a long time, Jungkook felt like he wasn’t just waiting for the storm to pass—he was finally standing on solid ground. With you.

Finally! Hope you guys like it. If you don't, please keep it to yourself, no mean comments please :)

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts angst

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shaunashipman · 1 day ago

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I know we're all upset right now, but just to correct the record Oliver did say nice things about Tommy and Buck's relationship in these interviews. He confirmed that the relationship would always be meaningful to Buck and that Tommy was just scared and that's why they broke up.

I do think Oliver is in a weird position of knowing the relationship wasn't going to last. Tim confirmed it was all his idea to have then break up. And at this point Oliver knows no Buck relationship is for the long haul.

Oliver was biphobic, but I didn't think he knows or is sensitive as to why. And I think he should have done more to stand up for Lou. But I think his perspective is very different from ours (and Lou's) because he knew it was always going to end one way or another.

Idk I just think we can be critical of him and his actions while still understanding that at the end of the day he's just a dude doing a job the best he can.

he knew his co-star in the storyline was being sent death threats for months and said nothing, did nothing. the same as he did when megan and annelise were being attacked. he said he knew the actresses playing his LI's had been attacked but didn't know "if it was deserved" as if being hired for a job makes you deserving of being attacked. not only did he not speak up in defence of lou or any of them, but he continues to play ball with the very ppl who are doing the attacking, bolstering their confidence that what they're doing is show approved.

of course he said nice things about bucktommy, the relationship ending was the story of the ep and it didn't end in a way that made the whole relationship bad—just tommy.

did he say anything nice about lou? did he acknowledge that despite him apparently knowing the relationship wasn't gonna last, lou was completely blindsided?

yes oliver was biphobic. of course he didn't mean to be biphobic. so many ppl don't mean to be racist, or sexist, ableist. that doesn't absolve them of anything. and if he actually cared about doing the bisexual storyline justice, he would have done the bare minimum research to know what he said was extremely biphobic. and his half-assed "i'm sorry you were offended" apology doesn't really ring true when buck has broken up with 4 women over the course of the series and not once did oliver suggest he should sleep around to deal with it. but now suddenly that he's bisexual, he should, as were oliver's exact words "go guy, guy, girl, girl, guy, guy". like that is the most basic bisexual stereotype, if he didn't realize that was biphobic, what the fuck business does he have playing a bisexual character?

he's not doing the job the best he can. if he was, he would have some modicum of care for buck's journey, which is like the most basic thing to ask of an actor playing a long-term role. and was it all tim's idea to have them break up? or did oliver's texts asking to have buck fuck around have anything to do with it? we'll never know cause oliver's a coward who is going to stay silent until this blows over and then only interact with the ppl who don't care to know the answers to any of this, cause they got what they wanted.

#cleo gets mail #anonymous #am i being too harsh? yeah probably my temper's up #but is anything i'm saying actually wrong? no

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munsonsmixtapes · 2 days ago

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Hi! I have a request for you

🦇, ⛸️

I've been rollerblading for 12 years so, despite not being a professional ice skater, I know my way around the rink.

I'd like some friends to lovers where we take eddie ice skating but he's like Bambi on ice and we have to keep him from falling all the time. When I skate I feel free so I also imagine eddie seeing us in that moment where there are no worries and we're relaxed

Thanks, I hope it's good enough 🙏🏻🙏🏻

The rink was super crowded when you and Eddie showed up and he hated how nervous he was. He told you that he had never been ice skating before so he was expecting to be bad even though you encouraged him, telling him that maybe he actually could be good at it.

But as soon as he stepped on the ice, all of that hope you built up quickly faded as he took a tumble right there. You were quick to help him up, taking his hands in yours and he admired how soft they were. God, he always loved holding yours hands.

And you kept hold of his as you led him around the rink, your movements nothing but smooth while his were short and slow as he dragged the skates along the ice. You thought it was adorable how he resembled Bambi, his feet moving this way and that as he kept calling your name to get you to help him.

You told him that you could do something else since he seemed so miserable, but assured you that he was fine. But really, he was miserable, but you seemed happy and he loved you so he was going do what he could to keep that pretty smile on your face.

"See, you got it," you encouraged as he stook a longer stride, moving his skates along the ice and you could seeing him getting more confident with it as he moved with you.

"Yeah, look at me," he said as he puffed out his chest. He was getting cocky and just when he was about to try a spin, he slipped, falling to the ice and taking you with him.

All you could do was laugh as you fell on top of him, finding the whole thing hilarious. And Eddie let you laugh at him because he just loved hearing it as it had always sounded like music to his ears.

But the laughter soon died out and you were just staring at each other, your lips parting as your gaze quickly looked at his pretty pink ones.

"You're so cute," you complimented as you took the chance, leaning down and pressing your lips to his. He gasped into your mouth but quickly melted into you, his hands moving up to grab onto your arms.

It was everything either of you had ever dreamed of since you has secretly been thinking about kissing each other for years now. His were chapped but still soft and they tasted like the hot chocolate you had gotten from the concession stand outside the rink. It was all perfect.

But then you realized what you were doing all too soon as you pulled away, covering your kiss bitten lips with your hand and Eddie felt his stomach plummet as he watched you look down at him in horror.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, biting down on your bottom lip, making Eddie want to kiss you all over again. What were you sorry for, anyway? You had given the man the best kiss he ever had and you were apologizing? Clearly he was missing something.

"I'm not," he says as he stands up, moving closer to you slowly before taking you into his arms with a cheesy grin. "I mean, shit, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he breathes and your eyes go wide as his confession.

"You have?" You ask and feel your cheeks flush.

"I have," he confirms with a nod and your face breaks out in a grin that matches his as you pull him in for another kiss before leading him off the rink to somewhere more private.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff

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kickthecan-revolution · 3 days ago

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So there's going to be a lot of rambly posts from me. Feel free to skip.

One other insight I have today is how big of a difference between self-flagellation and humility. A massive Grand Canyon of difference. Humility makes it easier to read and listen to hard truths and there's a kind of liberation within it that isn't about the sender of the message, but the message itself and how it resonates. I've always treated Tumblr like a journal, people reading it isn't something I initially think about, though I like validation just like anyone else. I guess that's why there's always so many typos in what I write, I do it quickly, spilling whatever I am thinking or feeling into the entry, rarely even going back and reading it again. But the people do matter, you all are a big part of my offline thought and I take what you say seriously.

One thing I'm reading on repeat today is the danger of separation. I see the "if you voted for Trump, remove yourself from my life". The 4B movement. To me, these are both symptoms of panic where the easiest and safest thing to do is make the world smaller and more secure. I had a moment like that yesterday, the contractor who is helping me with Alki told my sister what an impassioned Trump supporter he is and how thankful he is that he won. I instantly wanted to fire him, I didn't want him anywhere near my house. And then quickly after that, I thought about how kind he is in so many ways, how much he loves my sister and how complicated his life is - he's shy, not confident with others and would likely not rate super high on the IQ scale. He's a lot of things but I felt repulsed to let him into my house, and then I was grossed out by my reaction.

So really, how much of my rage is grounded in empathy and what parts aren't. What am I really afraid of? Yes, I'm afraid of a cancer reoccurrence and not being able to get health care and there's no way I will never not be able to afford insurance. I own two homes - my fear isn't grounded in reality. I'm not as vulnerable. I'm scared of evil and a lot of the evil in Conservative Christianity, in white men and women freaks me out, so I know I am reacting to that being in control of a lot. Trying to be honest about all of this is the only path out of it.

I also live in a State where gay marriage was just embedded into our State constitution and we voted for Harris but we're just fine with imprisoned people working for nothing and we didn't pass minimum wage. And now Gavin Newsom is picking a fight with Trump when our state wants to penalize shoplifters more who are literally stealing to survive from companies that primarily care about shareholder value, mine included. So what is liberalism anyway? What is a "Blue" state? If you really read, a lot of Trump supporters voted because they can't afford groceries. And why wouldn't you blame people in charge for that. I door dash a lot of food and eat it over a couple of days, I waste less that way but I'm cooking more and bought some stuff to make a bolognese sauce. The ground beef was THIRTY DOLLARS for 1.5lbs. I can afford it - what about people who can't? Does anyone understand a tariff? I'd venture a guess that just as many Harris supporters don't understand how it works and how we'll pay for it as Trump supporters.

I feel pretty powerful in my hatred. It keeps me safe. It also keeps me pretty deluded. This is a lot to unpack and the loss is big enough where these insights won't be fleeting.

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loyaltomiyagido · 40 minutes ago

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@ofloyaltokarate

I was shocked when Jasmine fell for Hawk, but now Yas and Demetri... Things are getting crazy at that school. It's like we're living in an alternate universe. {I joked before flashing Miguel a smile. I knew he was going through a rough time, so I was just trying to keep the conversation lighthearted between us. The main reason why I didn't go into details about just how bad things were at school currently. Miguel didn't need to be burdened with any of that now} Oh, you'd think they would have gotten over all of it by now. Especially given how stupid and petty that whole thing was. I mean, they're rivalry is really lame when you think about it. {My head shaking lightly as I recalled the stuff my dad told me. As far as I was concerned, they both needed to grow up} Hopefully they both grow up eventually and can find a way to see eye to eye with each other. Something tells me if they'd both grow up and stop acting like a couple of juvenile morons, they'd probably be good friends. {I said with a slight shrug as I remained cuddled up beside Miguel as he rested here in the hospital bed} All that to say, Mr. Lawrence is the reason why my dad didn't want me to date you, just like I know Mr. Lawrence didn't want you to date me either. It's all based on their lame childhood rivalry. Anyway, once my dad gets a chance to know you, I'm confident that he'll see what a great guy you are, and he'll be thanking you for dating his daughter. {I said optimistically as I flashed Miguel a smile. Wanting him to know that I believed in him. I knew Miguel was a catch. I had let stupidity and immaturity cost me him once, and I wasn't going to make the same mistake again. I loved Miguel, and I didn't care if people approved of us as a couple or not. It wasn't about them. It was about us}

@ofloyaltokarate

And If I asked you nicely not to press you mom for information, would you listen to me? {I tilted my head slightly to the side so I could see him better; all the while a soft smile traced the corners of my lips} I'll even say please, if that helps to convince you. {I added playfully; even going as far as teasingly batting my lashes in his direction, since I know that sort of trick works on some guys. At least that's what Jasmine and Moon told me. Given their endless list of male suitors, I figured they might know a thing or two about what does and doesn't work on guys} And yeah, I pretty much do. I blame it on the Miyagi-do training instilled in my mind. You know the part of always having a plan to counter the previous plan, in case the previous plan doesn't go like I hoped. {I said through a soft laugh. Figuring that was a pretty wordy explanation to simply say, I always have a back up idea in mind, in case the original idea doesn't go like I planned} Either way, if she says no, it's okay. I can always schedule that particular date for another day and time. That's not a huge problem. Besides, I think once your mom joins us for my parents' anniversary party, and she sees you're in more than capable hands with me, and I won't let anything happen to you, she'll agree to me taking you on this date. And like I said, if she doesn't, I have plenty of other date ideas of my sleeve, so I'm convinced there's a few ideas on there that she'd definitely agree to. {I said optimistically. I knew my big surprise might take /a lot/ of convincing, but at the same point, I knew there was a chance. Bottom line though, whatever Miguel's mom decides is best for him, then I will agree with her, because at the end of the day, we both just wanted to protect him} As long as we're together, I'll be content with whatever we do. {I eventually said as the smile remained contentedly fixed on my lips}

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magentagalaxies · 9 months ago

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#i should've just gatekept scott thompson from my college bc the way my college is treating me right now is bullshit #like i don't even want to do the scott event anymore bc of how they're treating me but i kind of have to #and i know i should be grateful they're even letting me be one of the interviewers but i hate being a student so much #i hate how nobody respects my opinion or input or experience even tho i'm literally the reason scott's even doing this event #(and ESPECIALLY the reason he's willing to do it for free!!)#and it especially stings bc scott has never made me feel like my insights were worth less because i'm a student #like he's always been one of the few people who consistently treat me like we're equals even tho he doesn't have to #and the way my college is treating me. it's like they don't trust me to not be an annoying little kid #like they're just assuming scott doesn't respect me so they don't have to respect me either #i mean on the plus side i'm supposed to have another phone call with scott either today or tomorrow so i can probably explain the situation #like i don't want to make him feel negatively about my college i want him to have a good time #but this treatment is genuinely fucking with my self confidence #and also maybe i can harness scott's power to hear ''don't talk about this thing'' and immediately make the interview all about this thing #(except in this case it would be him treating me like an equal instead of a random student)#and there's a bunch of bullshit currently going on with the class i have right after the event #so even tho originally i was like ''awesome i have the perfect schedule to bring scott to all of my classes!!''#i might just ask scott if he wants to skip class together and hang out. like i never promised that class anything #the only thing i *have* to do is the interview. the class we'd be skipping is already being like #''oh are you sure scott wants to visit the class i don't want to take him away from a better use of his time''#and scott was genuinely excited to see what my classes were like!! even if y'all didn't treat him like a big celebrity!!#but y'know what i'm sure scott does have a better use of his time. and i do too.#i'm gonna do the interview event bc i have to (we're in too deep at this point)#and i might ask scott if he wants to talk to that freshman film class about the buddy cole doc #bc 1. they offered to pay scott for that (they can't legally pay me but that's why i made the joke about money laundering)#2. since it's about the doc it's the one class where i get to be treated like an actual person #but other than that. damn it i was excited to share this part of my life with scott but fuck that this part of my life sucks #i'm gonna have a good time with scott in boston and my college is only going to be as much a part of is as they have to be #because we ARE friends (scott said so!) and i AM a brilliant filmmaker (bruce said so!) and i DO have potential (bellini said so!)#even tho it is hard to internalize those things after how much yesterday fucked me up. but that's ok scott will call again soon

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gayofthefae · 2 years ago

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Byler getting Dustin’d truther actually

#because listen I would LOVE to see that #think his season 1 mike/lucas fight callback #*callout #plus he's the guy who figures shit out #and he's so confident about it like if we're going all the way it is just a CALLOUT #obviously it should be handled with more care and even he would know that but pretending this is a sitcom with one dimensional characters #dustin henderson #100%#byler #stranger things

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the-busy-ghost · 7 months ago

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Warning- this is a very petty post, but I think I'm entitled to at least one petty, pissed-off reaction every time I finish a classic novel that hit harder than I expected so take this as my quota for the year.

Also spoiler warning for a book that came out over a century ago but still, I didn't know the plot going in so don't want to ruin it for anyone else, if you haven't read it shut your eyes. (Also Local Tumblr User Going Wild Over Book Published a Hundred Years Ago That Everybody Else Already Read should probably be categorised as akey part of indigenous tumblr culture at this point).

Anyway I just finished the War of the Worlds and in between studying I've thinking about Themes and Motifs as you do, and idly looking for further analysis. I then accidentally ran into an article called 'A Quiet Place II Succeeds Where the War of the Worlds Failed' and:

Now I haven't seen any of the Quiet Place films, this is not a rant against them and of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But re: the ending of The War of the Worlds, I have to ask, did this guy somehow miss, uh, the entire point of the book or am I just utterly insane?

#You're right it's not very satisfying for humanity that the invaders are foiled by a bacteria and not human action! Maybe that's the point!#Maybe it's supposed to be FRIGHTENING and make you ask questions about what humans will do under extreme stress #Not be a morally uplifting tale about Humanity Heroically Defeating the Martians in a Glorious Hollywood Ending #Maybe it's MEANT to be unsatisfying because this is not a straightforward fairytale #I mean I've only read it once and don't know much about Wells' work so I might have misunderstood the point of the book too #But at places it is a very pessimistic view of the human condition and that's partly WHY IT'S SO POWERFUL #That doesn't mean there aren't moments of individual acts of heroism (the Thunderchild for example)#But the question is not just 'how will humanity beat the Martians and prove that we're still the masters of the universe'#Rather 'a) why is humanity so confident that it's ultimately in control of its own destiny #And b) here's lots of scenes of societal collapse and of people pushed to the brink and what would YOU do in those circumstances?#Would YOU feel remorse about silencing the curate even if it did lead to his death?#What if it rather than a foolish adult it had been a small child?#And even if they were weak did they DESERVE it? Yes it might have been necessary but should it be policy going forward?#Would you also be attracted briefly by the certainties that the artilleryman's (rather fascist) plan seems to offer so humanity survives?#But what sort of humanity would that be if it DID survive and is it worth it? The narrator feels he needs to justify the curate's death #The artilleryman would have probably never have thought it was anything OTHER than justifiable or indeed laudable #Under strain and stress would you start to turn against even your loved ones and become brutal?#Is that the only hope for human survival beyond complete surrender? And was the destruction of London maybe even 'cleansing'#In the eugenics sense or in the sense of a natural horror of dirt and germs?#And the vast exodus of six million people fleeing headlong in panic - we might not have seen that exact phenomenon #But didn't the twentieth century subsequently go on to show us unprecedented scale of slaughter and refugee movements and communal strife?#At the end of the day what really separates humanity from other animals? And what separates us from the Martians?#It's not an uncontroversial book- it was written over a hundred years ago for goodness sake and there are questions worth asking #about the way imperialism and arguments about eugenics and population control and all sorts of other dodgy areas operated on Wells' mind #But dear God I really don't think the problem with the book is that 'Humanity didn't save the day!'#Unsatisfying ending? Yes. A FAILURE? No not in my opinion- looks like it was exactly what Wells set out to do #Humanity didn't win the war of the worlds they had a narrow escape and though it might not be martians next time #Why wouldn't disaster return in the future? Sure we've studied their flying machines and even preserved a martian in a jar #But for all our science what have we ACTUALLY learned that will enable us to avert future human catastrophes? Ethically or socially?#Alright rant over- as usual my opinion is not universal nor necessarily well-informed this take just really got my goat

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lostandbackagain · 2 years ago

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I'm so invested in the folcharts as a couple when resa's talking then mo immediately lies to and excludes her for no reason. she's the only reason your dumb ass is even alive and you haven't treated her like an adult and your partner in months fuck is wrong with you

and then he tells her he doesn't care if she goes back home without him lmfao men ain't shit

#inkdeath is so hard to read because I HATE watching resa become isolated #she doesnt want to ruin her marriage by confronting mo that she knows he's lying and murdering people #(babygirl YOU would not be the one ruining your marriage if he freaked out over that conversation but ppl dont make sense)#she cant confide in meggie bc she doesnt want meggie to know mo's out endangering himself and staining his soul red #plus she knows damn well meggie takes mo's side on EVERYTHING mo can do no wrong when asked to choose between her parents #again. no matter how deranged mo is acting #cant talk to roxane bc she feels insensitive bc at least she still has a husband even tho he sucks rn #the prince is busy and doing the same thing as mo #from her perspective inkdeath is lowkey the yellow wallpaper miss girl's just going fucking insane #and the two people she should trust the most are telling/would tell her she's absolutely right to think she's crazy #actually the more i think about this the more feral i get i want to talk about how mortola's always calling resa #a mute little bird or w/e #and not just in reference to actually being mute but in being stripped of her autonomy bc birds cant sign #birds that cant sing have no way of communicating with other birds heyre trapped in isolation #and her own fucking HUSBAND treats her like that! like she's inherently incapable of taking care of herself #or speaking for herself and her children and her marriage #and he finally vaguely concedes to let her at least take the kids out of Rape Is Legal World without a fight #but he's like 'we're over if you do lol'#i sound very mean to mo all the time i think but im SO fascinated by him #i love the negative character development that cant be completely attributed to the bluejay songs #but fuck he needs to get on his knees in front of resa and beg her forgiveness idcidc he didnt do one thing to deserve her in inkdeath #sorry this is incoherent it's 4am im in migraine hell #collapsed earlier today although i think that was less the migraine and more the lights were flickering #cant sleep havent eaten extremely nauseous but yk #inkheart derangement syndrome attacks me at all hours of the day #if you see me elaborate on these tags later in a better post without mentioning that im stealing from myself do NOT call me out #inkheart #says kenna #'i want this baby to grow up with a father' - 'and i want to kill people so looks like it's a tie' afhlfsjkkfds MORTIMER

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 14 days ago

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58 / 2.2k / shapeshifter familiars 141 tormenting witch reader for Halloween c:

...

You hum a song to yourself as you pull herbs from your garden and pile them into the crook of your arm. The sun sets rosy this evening; the sky is clear and the moon will be new.

You turn to go in, brushing off your black skirts with your free hand. But a familiar face darken your doorway. Nobody was there a moment ago. Your serene face falls into a sour frown.

"Soap."

Soap gives you a cocky grin. He hasn't lost that insufferable arrogance. "Evenin', witch."

You approach him with your herbs in tow. "What sad state of affairs brings you to my doorstep?"

"Aw, no warm welcome for your favorite scoundrel?"

"I favor you more as a crow."

"Handsome in all my forms, then."

You stop in front of him. It's clear you're going to have to wait for him to move or else squeeze past him. You plant your feet and wait, squaring your sight with his. "Where are the other two?"

Soap plucks one of the flowering herbs with his fingers to inspect it, then twirls it between his fingers. "About somewhere, likely causing the usual mayhem. They'll be right on my heels."

Your frown deepens. This is the fourth impossible quest you've sent them on. And they keep coming back. "Did you fetch what I asked?"

Soap raises an eyebrow as he moves closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours. He raises the plucked flower to his lips. There's an edge of challenge in his voice as he answers. "We did indeed." He gently sets the flower back on top of the pile. The he pulls out a small vial and dangles it in front of you. "And a little extra somethin' for you."

You reach for the vial only for him to pull it back.

Soap's smirk widens. "Pay up first."

Cold irritation spikes through you. You know just how he'd prefer to be paid. You shoulder past him and into your cottage with a scowl.

Soap, of course, follows you in, saunters through your front door, and kicks it shut behind him. He's not the least bit deterred by your annoyance. In fact, he quite likes it. He runs his fingers along the various bottles and implements on the shelves with idle interest. "Oh, come now. You ought to be glad we're back."

You cast your herbs into a basket near the sink. Then you stand at your scrying table, flensing knife in hand, and carve a niche into your palm. The pain is nothing. Not even when you squeeze your hand into a fist to force more blood out. It drips into the wooden bowl underneath.

Payment is payment.

Soap's breath hitches. He's watching you with keen interest. He likes watching you work, your precise, calculated movements and your confident touch with the knife.

The sight of your fresh blood only makes his smirk wider. He takes a step closer behind you to get a better view. "There are easier ways to pay your dues," he says. His hands come around to rest on the countertop on either side of you. "More pleasurable ways. Other, ah, fluids with which to slake thirst."

"Keep your distance, shapeshifter," you tell him. "Or you get nothing."

Soap rests his chin on your shoulder. The touch is far too familiar. His fingers twitch with anticipation, as if the blood on your hand tempts him forward. He's always been a touch perverse, anyway, about you wounding yourself to feed him. This is all your fault isn't it? Sending them quest after impossible quest. They only demand payment because you insist upon such extremes, naively thinking it will kill them.

"You think you have enough blood for all of us? There's an easier way. Just think," Soap murmurs in your ear. "My lips on your neck. My fingers inside you."

His words sends heat unbidden into your core. Unnaturally so. Immediately, your eyes flash, and an unseen force pushes him away from you.

Soap stumbles backwards from you, his body slamming into the nearby shelf. His shoulders heave, and he breathes heavier. Still smirking, but also looking a little more interested.

You see it in his eyes, what he doesn't say or acknowledge: he likes when you push back. He craves it. He likes to see you assert yourself.

"No need to be so inhospitable." That insufferable grin, cocky and smug again. "Just thought you might want to save your bleeding for more important things."

You ignore this. He takes a seat in your chair, and you resume your work. Another cut. Something brushes at your ankles--something purring and black.

"Gaz."

He purrs, deceptively soft and sweet as he twines around your feet. More blood from your palm hits the bowl. Gaz's nose twitches. He turns his intense cat-gaze upward to watch you from the ground. You ignore it.

Gaz is a more patient man than Soap. He knows exactly what effect Soap's words had on you. He can smell your response on the air, and it entices him. But he knows not to press.

Still, after a stretch of silence watching your blood pool, Gaz grates out a low meow as a bid for your attention. Then he jumps up onto the counter and pushes his kitty face into the blood bowl.

Soap clicks his tongue. "Jealous."

You push Gaz away just as his whiskers start to tremble. "Stop that."

Gaz gives a dissatisfied meow. He sits back on his haunches. With a glare, he licks one of his paws in distaste for your scolding.

You deposit him on the floor. Then you get back to work. Quickly, as you hear the distant call of a screech owl. Gaz saunters away with a languid stretch of his back legs.

The owl's cry echoes again. Louder now. And in reply, a dog outside your window howls.

Your heart thumps. Faster, you bid yourself. You dig your fingertips into the gash in your palm just to draw out thicker clots. Faster. No, there's no time. Casting the flensing knife aside with a clatter, you take the bowl in your uninjured hand and turn, hurrying to stand in the doorway. Two of them inside is enough. You don't want any more in your home. No more. It's all you can do to protect your home from what you brought upon yourself.

The dog howls again. Right outside. Then there's the sound of animal shifting to man, and an enormous shadow darkens your doorway before you can reach it. Ghost. He fills the door frame, towering over you and blocking your path. He's so tall and broad that, deliberate or not, every move feels like a challenge to your authority over him. He's on your side, you remind yourself. His size makes him a formidable ally. And a devastating foe, when he wants to be. He's looking at you like he's contemplating being just that.

He doesn't need to announce why he's here, and he doesn't need to say anything else. He's come for payment just as Soap and Gaz have. He'll take it from you one way or another.

Ghost's expression remains inscrutable. But he burns with an emotion you sense and he carefully hides.

"What's the hurry?" The words are low and gravelly.

You stare up at him as you force your nerves to steady. "Must you transgress into my home?"

Ghost's broad shoulders bunch beneath his tattered cloak. His dark eyes take in the scene before him, the way Gaz and Soap make themselves too comfortable in your home. Then they flicker down to the blood. He doesn't have much patience for these games of push and pull. "You expect us to drink from a bowl? Like swine at a trough?"

You cock your head. "Shall I fetch you all soup spoons?"

Ghost's scowl deepens. "Smartass witch. Be grateful we've been lenient with you."

"Have you?"

It's either amusement or contempt that flashes across Ghost's face. You're not sure which. "Do you need me to demonstrate what it means to not be lenient?" He shifts his weight, his shadow stretching and darkening the room around him. "With your insults and feeble scraps?"

"Payment is payment. Whether or not the blood comes in a bowl shouldn't matter. The source is the same."

He doesn't appreciate mind games. And he definitely doesn't appreciate when you, his witch, are the one playing them. You shouldn't play with him when he's already on edge. "Spoken like a woman who's never known how to starve." He strides closer. The sound of the floor shifts under his weight. He only stops when he's close enough to make you feel like the walls are closing in on you. He reaches forward, and with his forefinger, wipes one of the droplets from the rim of the bowl. He brings it to his lips and licks it off his finger. "The blood doesn't matter."

"The blood doesn't matter?" you echo, doubtful. "That doesn’t seem to be the case."

Ghost's eyes flicker with something. Hunger. "No," he murmurs. "You could fill the bowl with anyone's blood. It's you that makes the difference. You spill it. You offer it. That vulnerability is… personal. Better than blood. Fresh. Warm. A piece of you."

He runs his finger along the edge of the bowl and leaves a wet streak along the rim. He's watching you watch him. "You and your foolish demands. Your workarounds. Blood in a bowl isn't real vulnerability."

He takes a step closer and towers over you. "You think we don't notice how you go out of your way to make it as impersonal as possible? You're meant to give us something we want for our services. You'd be better off bleeding someone else dry and offering that up." He leans in closer and runs his gaze over you with a subtle tilt of his head. "But you would never try that, would you?"

"I told you I won't hurt other people for you. The contract is with me and me only."

Foolish promises. "That doesn't mean you get to cheat us."

You offer the bowl with more force. "Drink."

His annoyance flares. Your stubbornness, your arrogance--qualities that both make you a desirable object of focus and chip away at the shapeshifters' patience.

But they’ll be able to teach you a lesson for it sooner or later.

Ghost reaches forward, grabs your wrist, and raises the bowl to his lips. He looks you dead in the eye as he drinks.

Soap is at his side instantly. His pale eyes fix on the bowl.

You hear Gaz shift from feline to human behind you. He draws up until you feel his body heat.

"Now isn't that much nicer?" Gaz says, his voice just as cocky and insufferable as ever. "Nothing wrong with making it personal once in a while. No need to be so stingy."

You watch Ghost, eyes still locked on you, as he swipes his sleeve across his mouth and hands Soap the bowl without looking.

Soap gulps down two mouthfuls with an orgasmic growl.

Gaz chuckles as he brings it to his lips, drinking until it's empty. Then he lets the wooden bowl clatter to the floor. His mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk.

You pull your wrist free from Ghost’s grasp. "You got what you needed. Give me what you brought me and get out."

"Oh, don't be like that," Soap purrs as he prowls towards you. "You enjoy our company."

"Such poor manners," Gaz says mildly. "Seems we've still got to teach you what your responsibilities are. Price won't like hearing that."

You slow, lowering the bloodied bowl into your washbasin. "Price won't come. It's not time yet."

Ghost scoffs. "Price will do whatever he damn well pleases." He prowls closer as well, the predatory sound in his voice more obvious now, like a beast preparing to sink his teeth in. "And he won't like hearing how his second-favorite witch is a lousy hostess."

"He's not coming," you snap. A tinge of fear crawls up your spine.

"Price comes when he wants," Ghost snarls. "You should remember that before you act so foolish."

You hear the screech owl again. Closer this time. The bowl clangs against the bottom of the basin and dread churns deep in your gut.

"Do you hear that?" Gaz asks softly.

"You drank all the blood," you mutter. "You didn't leave any for him. This is your fault."

Soap smiles, but he’s not meeting your eyes. "We left him plenty."

You're helpless to do anything but watch as the sound of beating wings turns to boots falling on the undergrowth outside your open door.

He stands tall, his form blocking the moonlight and shadowing the already dim room. His dark eyes land on you, and he takes in your blood-stained hand and bloodied bowl with a hard frown. What a mess you've made.

"Witch."

He crosses the room to you and takes your jaw in his rough hand. His gaze drives ice into the blood still roaring hot through your veins.

"We're going to have a chat."

...

more Soap / more Gaz / more Ghost / more Price / masterlist

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 7 months ago

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the pro

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby.

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored.

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days.

Art Donaldson.

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage.

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks.

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine.

“We’ll start with the basics.”

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go.

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.”

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him.

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you.

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace.

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.”

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days.

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches.

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?”

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?”

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit.

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.”

“Lily?”

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.”

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.”

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?”

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?”

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.”

“...He seems to be pretty busy.”

“He is.”

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?”

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound.

“It shows, you know,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.”

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm.

“Just good?” He plies.

“The best. A real pro.”

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little.

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat.

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?”

“She’s killing it.”

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it.

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.”

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds.

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.”

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.”

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.”

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him.

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw.

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap.

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies.

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud.

It spurs you to lunge a little too far.

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side.

“What hurts?”

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left.

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.”

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle.

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand.

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?”

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort.

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.”

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips.

“Of course.”

“How’s the ankle?”

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again.

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks.

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.”

“Good enough to walk on?”

Hardly.

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again?

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up.

I invited Art.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all.

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days.

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely.

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room.

“Almost ready in here?” He asks.

“All set!”

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile.

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds.

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests.

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself.

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves.

“Wanted to come say hi.”

“Well. Hi.”

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet.

“Thanks for the invite.”

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours.

“He isn’t taking care of you.”

“My ankle is fine.”

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down.

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—”

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh.

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip.

“Condom?” He asks.

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.”

“Sssh.”

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip.

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—”

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.”

“Art—”

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?”

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm.

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties.

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from your still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room.

“Can I see you?”

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him.

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies.

“Where?”

“I’ll send an address.”

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk.

“...You regret it?” He asks.

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do.

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck.

“Is this Lily?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.”

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.”

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully.

“Art?”

“Yeah?”

“Why am I here?”

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer.

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.”

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.”

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up.

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

part ii: what we're willing to accept

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