#i don't ever HATE my job but today is one of those days where it's close

[rithmeres]

genuinely these panels are going to make me ugly cry

[hairmetal666]

The note shows up in Eddie's mailbox cubby on Valentine's Day.

It's nothing fancy, loopy cursive handwriting on lined paper:

"I know this is probably silly but I can't go another day without saying it, and today seems appropriate for this kind of confession. Seeing you in the morning is the best part of my day. You're so gorgeous it leaves me breathless. I hope you don't mind if I don't leave my name. Just wanted you to know that you're beautiful."

His eyes fill with tears that he blinks back, a goofy smile stretching his mouth wide.

"You good there, Munson?" Robin Buckley asks.

"Oh, yup, yeah, all good." He laughs. "Just got one of those 'you're my favorite teacher Mr. Munson!' notes."

He squeezes the letter to his chest before slipping it in his pocket.

---

The worst thing about Eddie's new job is that someway, somehow, Steve-fucking-Harrington works here too. PE teacher, JV basketball coach, of-fucking-course. Once a douchebag jock, always a douchebag jock. What makes it all worse is that he's still the prettiest guy Eddie's ever seen.

---

The first week of March, there's a commotion in the hallway that has him rushing out of his room, ready to breakup a fight. He finds Harrington already there, holding Dustin Henderson and Will Byers by their shoulders. Troy Walsh and James Dante stand across from them, wearing matching snarls.

Of course Harrington is picking on little nerd kids; he knew it. But before he steps forwards to break it up, Steve speaks, voice low and angry. "You want to tell me what happened here, Troy?"

"Byers tripped. He really should watch where he's going," Troy says. James laughs.

Steve's glare goes even more icy, more disdainful (it's so fucking hot, Eddie hates it). "You want to take that again? And try being honest this time, or you're suspend from the team."

Troy splutters for long enough that Eddie finally notices Will's stricken face, the sketchpad and snapped colored pencils littering the linoleum.

"I saw you take those things from Will, and unfortunately, I'll have to call your parents and you will be responsible for purchasing a new sketchbook and pencils. You're also benched for the next four games."

The boys shout, but when Steve raises a hand they quiet immediately. "You want to complain more, or do you want it to be five games?"

"No, sir," they answer before scampering off.

Harrington faces Dustin and Will. "You boys okay?" he asks them.

"We're good, Mr. H," Dustin answers.

"Glad to hear it." Steve begins collecting Will's ruined belongings, stops to study one of the drawings.

"This is really good, Will."

Will flushes. "Thanks. It's my character for dnd,"

"Dnd? That's that game that El and Max are always talking about? With the character sheets and the dice?"

"Yeah!" says Dustin. "You know it?"

Steve's smile is a little bashful, and it tugs at Eddie's heart in a way he has to ignore. "Not much. Just from what the girls have said. You want to tell me about it?"

"Really?" Their eyes light up.

"Really. You can stop by the gym during lunch. Only if you want to, though."

"Cool," says Dustin.

He pats them both on the shoulder, and they hurry away, leaving Steve and Eddie suddenly alone.

Eddie should head back to his class, hasn't been needed in this situation at all, really, but before he can disappear, Steve spots him and his eyes widen.

"You need something, Munson?" Steve's cheeks go a faint pink.

He shakes his head, feels wrong-footed. "Uh, that was really cool what you did just there."

"They're really good kids," Steve says. "I know them a little. Used to babysit El Hopper." He slides his hands into the pockets of his khakis and, seriously, fuck Harrington for looking like that in a pair of Dockers.

"Babysitter, Harrington? Never thought I'd see the day. Or that you'd be the one defending a bunch of nerds," Eddie says. He means it teasing, but Steve's face warps into a frown.

"Y--yeah, I guess. I mean. I'm trying not to be that guy anymore, and Robin's really helped--"

"Shit, man, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant, at all--"

"--I feel terrible about all that shit I pulled back in school. That King Steve stuff? I was awful and you didn't deserve--"

"Steve!" Eddie cuts him off. "I forgive you. For everything." He looks down at his shoes. "For all I didn't want to believe it, you really have changed."

They're both pink faced now, avoiding each other's eyes. "Thanks," Steve says. "I should get going, but--for the future-- I really wouldn't mind--um--trying to be friends."

The grin that passes across Eddie's face is huge. "Yeah, Harrington, I'd like that."

Eddie has to run to make it to his classroom on time. He passes Dustin and Will and the rest of their gaggle of friends, rushing them along, but forgets all about it as he steps in front of his third period juniors.

---

He and Steve are...friendly now. They chat, they joke, they share smiles that have Eddie's heart beating too fast even though it's not like that. Turns out Steve is kind and funny (a little bit of a bitch too, but in a way that ties Eddie's stomach in knots), and a hell of a teacher.

---

His freshman are in small groups, peer-reviewing an essays, when Max Mayfield catches his eye. She's one of his favorite students and absolute trouble.

"What's up, Mayfield." He asks.

"Are you friends with Mr. Harrington?" She asks.

He chuckles. "Sure, Max, we're friendly enough. Why?"

She narrows her eyes, like she knows he's not being totally honest. "Oh, nothing. He just talks about you all the time."

He's blushing horribly and Max, and all of her friends, smirk up at him. "He does?" He chokes out.

"Mmhmm," Lucas Sinclair says. "Says he thinks you're really cool."

"Definitely one of the best teachers here," Mike Wheeler adds.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Okay, very funny, guys. How're your essays going?"

They answer, but before Eddie goes to help another group, Will says, "he really does like you, Mr. Munson. A lot."

El nods earnestly up at him. "It is true," she says. "I know him."

"Thanks, kids. I'll keep that in mind." He gives them a smile, tries not to let their words get to him. When he reaches the next group, though, he notices his hands are shaking.

---

Gifts start turning up in Eddie's cubby. It starts with a bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from his favorite bakery. There's a small note that says "from your secret admirer," on the packaging. Every two weeks or so, something new shows up in his little mailbox; a woven friendship bracelet, a yellow rose, Hershey kisses, a delicately painted dnd figure that gives Eddie a small crisis because it's his own bard character, an Iron Maiden cassette, a bag of dice that almost brings him to genuine tears.

Eventually, he gets another note. This one is typed and reads: "I would love to have coffee with you 11am this Saturday at the Cafe on Main Street."

---

He walks into the cafe at 10:50am, wearing his favorite pair of ripped black jeans and a burgundy button-down, his hair pulled into a loose bun. He doesn't recognize anyone there.

Eddie gets in line, studies the menu, and the little bell above the door rings. He whips towards the sound to find none other than Steve Harrington in little wire rim glasses, a butter colored sweater, and jeans the man must have painted on, Jesus Christ. Honestly, the whole thing is enough to give Eddie a coronary (and to, embarrassingly, chub up in his own tight jeans).

"Steve?" He asks. He's overwhelmed with the (stupid, stupid) hope that it's been Harrington all along. "What are you doing here?"

"Henderson asked me to meet him. He around?"

"Uh, no?" Eddie feels heat creeping up his throat.

Steve shakes his head, as though he expected as much. "You alone? We could grab drink."

"I can't believe this." Eddie hides his face in his hands, knows it's gone horrifyingly crimson.

"What's wrong?"

"My secret admirer told me to be here now, so we could meet," Eddie's misery slices through his words. "I'm such an idiot."

"I--your--what?" Steve stammers.

He gathers himself enough to look Steve in his hazel eyes and ask, "I'm assuming it wasn't you leaving notes and gifts for me at work?"

And he expects Steve to say no. To laugh and ask why he'd ever do something like that, but instead, instead he flushes a deep red. "O-only one note."

"What?"

"I, uh," Steve clears his throat. "I left you a note. On Valentine's Day. I--we weren't friends yet, and I wanted you to know how much I liked you. It's --uh--it's pretty silly, huh? Robin's--"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts. He's going to tell Steve that he reads the note often enough that he has parts memorized; that it's the kindest thing anyone has done for him, but what he says instead is, "Dustin Henderson told you to meet him here at 11?"

"Yeah. Said he had something to show me."

Eddie remembers running into Will and Dustin and their friends that day in the hall, the weird conversation in class, the dice and the miniature. Something must click for Steve at the same time because his mouth drops, blush getting somehow deeper.

"Oh my god. Henderson! I'm gonna kill him. They figured out I had a crush on you."

"They WHAT?" Eddie says, loud enough that several looks are aimed their way.

"I'm so, so sorry, Eddie. Holy shit, this is so humiliating. You have to believe me, I had no idea they were doing this. God, I'm really starting to think it is possible to die from embarrassment."

"You have a crush on me," Eddie says instead of any of the dozens of helpful things he could say.

"Um. Yes?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and asks, "You wanna have coffee with me?"

"I'd really like that." Steve's return smile is so beautiful, it makes Eddie weak.

---

Eddie Munson is making out with Steve Harrington in the backseat of Steve's BMW. He and Steve spent the day together. They've kissed for so long that the sun has set, both of their lips are swollen, their skin red from stubble, and Eddie is nowhere near ready for the night to end.

Steve breaks away, gently pulling their mouths apart, but arms still tight around Eddie. "Hey, what kind of gifts were they giving you anyway? The kids?"

"Oh," Eddie blushes. "Uh, cookies, a dnd mini, lots of candy, a set of dice."

"Oh my god," Steve says, he pulls a little more away. "Oh my god, I'm going to kill her, Jesus Christ."

"Who are are you killing, sweetheart?"

Steve groans. "Robin. She was helping them. We found a set of dice at this little bookstore and she told me to get them for you, and--" he breaks off with a helpless, frustrated noise.

Eddie doesn't mean to, but he starts to giggle.

"It's not funny!" Steve says.

That only makes Eddie laugh harder. "Your best friend," he squeaks. "And a group of literal children set us up. That's hilarious, Harrington."

Steve's mouth drops and for a second Eddie thinks he'll be upset, but then he's giggling too, his whole face crumpling into it.

Steve pulls Eddie close once the laughter subsides, his eyes trained on Eddie's lips.

"We could pretend we didn't get together," Eddie manages to say.

"What, like, make them think they failed?"

"Yeah. We could tell them I got stood up, but you and I hung out. Had a bro day."

Steve giggles again, and it's the best sound Eddie's ever heard. "I'm absolutely on board with this plan, but you should definitely kiss me some more."

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, his voice low. "And what'll I get out of it?"

"Why don't you get over here and see."

As if Eddie could turn down an invite that enticing. He slides a hand behind Steve's head, drawing him in, and they're kissing like they never stopped. It only been a few hours, but Eddie knows--without a doubt--he's already head over heels.

[payasita]

Good job getting ADHD medication! I’m so proud of you :D

thanks so so much im very happy and so hopeful for the first time maybe ever but also it TOOK ME LIKE. A YEAR. A YEAR.

like yall for real?? for real. for real i have been diagnosed since i was like six. (funny story my teacher thought i was on the spectrum so my parents get me tested with the nodes and shit and according to mom, who loves this story, my neurologist did all that and talked to me and then just turned to my mom and went "she's not autistic. she just hates the other kids" but they DID find an adhd diagnosis in there so net win for all of us)

diagnosed since i was SIX. on stimulants until i turned 8, and you know why i got off em? my pediatrician retired. we could not find another who would take our low-income insurance. so i just had to rawdog The Rest Of My Fucking Life. diagnosed when i was six. legally neurodivergent for 20 slutty slutty angry years.

and it still took me like. a few months to get a psych appointment. a few weeks to reaffirm my diagnosis as an adult. a few more weeks for another appointment for meds. he doesnt Want to do meds first, because i must have been doing fine without them if its been two decades, right? i got a job and a car and everything. well gee fuckin shittickers Dr. Brain Guy, just WHAT was my alternative? would you prefer i be maladapted to the point of incapacitation; is that what it takes for someone to be considered? i cheated my way through school. every day after work i sit for an hour in my car because i dont have the executive function to stand up and walk the ten steps to my house. garbage just appears around me. i have three empty bags of hot chip and two cans of sprite on my desk as we speak, neither from today. at that point i hadnt had a debit card for six months because that would have required me to Drive To The Bank, a location that was new to me in this area, so i just did everything on credit. is this all normal? is this fine? am i GOOD, actually, Dr. WeirdBrain?

so we cordially agree that yes i should probably be medicated. i want to do a stimulant. he does not want to put me on a stimulant. "stimulants can mess with your heart," he says, "and you're young, you don't want heart problems." i say ok because i dont want to make him think im just looking for narcotics. even though i am. because they WORK. i agree to try some kind of antidepressant.

the antidepressant gives me tachycardia. i go to the emergency room after reading a heartbeat of, oh, 140 bpm, which is about like double what it normally is and juuuust below the You Are Having A Heart Attack threshold. i get to the ER and the doctor there is very obviously convinced i'm a local addict having some sort of episode. it is the most ironic experience i've had all year and i feel an abrupt and all consuming kinship with those birds in australia that will swoop you and peck at your face for seemingly no good reason.

so yeah, we narrow it down to the antidepressant. as it turns out, these particular meds are known to, semi-commonly, Mess With Your Heart. i have my next appointment with my psych and somehow refrain from pecking his eyes out. he puts me on a noreprinephrine inhibitor(iirc) that isnt actually FDA approved to treat ADHD specifically(i DEFINITELY rc) but it IS given to smokers to help them quit. i dont smoke. i may very well fucking start before this whole ordeal is at the point where someone listens to me

it obviously does a combined total of jack and shit, and the man waffles with this one because he has "had success" using it as treatment for other ADHD patients. he ups the dose. twice. three months on the smoker meds, which are also apparently notorious for destroying your appetite, but they didnt even do THAT. no change to the average amount of hot chip on my desk.

he wants to try quelbree after that. i finally tell him i'm tired of this shit and would like to have more than two hours of usable daylight to function before it all falls to uncontrollable youtube shorts binges and a daily experience i like to call The Weighted Nothings and i would very much like to PLEASE. TRY A STIMULANT.

he's been friendly enough with me over these past four or five or whatever months but at this he gets suddenly very very business-baseline. gives me the whole spiel about the north american shortage. gives me a spiel about how i absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, lose or sell this medication, because they will not refill it if i do. i am sitting here wondering if he he's telling the truth about having other ADHD patients at all like ever in his career, and also, am i nuts or should the "don't sell your prescription drugs" bit apply to EVERYTHING? i dont fuckin know man i just live here

he says he wants a urine test first. its scheduled for two weeks out. i take it.

"hey uh, your piss came back with cannabis in it" "well it'd be weirder if it didn't, we are in california and i am a kitchen manager" "you can't have weed if you want adderall" "fine i'll stop" "we'll schedule you another test in a month" "aight bet" it didnt go exactly like that but this is kind of what the vibe between us has devolved into by this point.

anyway i wait a month and get a good grade in piss. i get the meds prescribed. i go to fill out the prescription

all i really need to say to you are the words "prior authorization error" for most of you to get what happened next.

the psych isnt even aware. i wait another month for our next meeting, which was yesterday. i do not yell at him. he tells me to take it up with the pharmacy, and yell at them. i am going to yell at them.

so i go, and guess what, it actually went through a while ago! NO ONE TOLD ME OR DR. FEEL-BAD OVER HERE. but we can't fill it right now because its a controlled substance so come back in a few hours. hey it's ready where the hell are you? TAKE YOUR METH AND GET OUT

anyway i started it today, reorganized my pantry, and fixed the fire alarm in my hallway that's been chirping at me for a week. i no longer have to wear earplugs to bed.

and with my newfound executive function superpowers, i will be spraying my weed-free piss all over Reagan's grave.

[wintaerbaer]

things we don’t say: part 5 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut

word count: 12.1k

chapter warnings: jeon jungkook, seventeen is here because i needed fill-ins (also they’re not singers but their music still canonically exists in-universe so good luck figuring that one out), a wedding!, tae is WHIPPED, the infamous butt debate, jealousy (plural), jimin has terrible timing, alcohol consumption ft. a drinking game, a mega cliffhanger i’m so sorry

a/n: while not required, i highly recommend reading the prequel drabble if you haven’t yet as it has some heavy relevance to this part and the next! special thanks to @btsborahaee and @jeonwiixard for beta-ing this chapter and letting me gush and brainstorm in their inboxes on the regular <3 also, shout outs to @animeniacss and @taegularities for sprinting with me all the time (and a forehead kiss to rid for coming up with the idea for the bathroom scene, mwah)!

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

"After today, I never want to see a ribbon ever again."

Jimin fumbles his fingers over the thin string, throwing his hands up in a huff when the slippery material resists his efforts to tie it. With Hoseok and Sunny's wedding only two weeks away, you'd offered to help out with some of the prep work, and Taehyung suggested hosting a mini prep party at your apartment as part of his efforts to make new memories since you'd moved back. True to his word, he’s been at your place nearly every day the past few weeks, cooking dinner with you and rewatching your favorite shows from high school.

You have to admit it’s been pleasantly domestic.

"It's not that bad," you say, finishing off your own ribbon around one of the tiny boxes of chocolate which will be distributed to each of the two-hundred-plus guests as a wedding favor.

"No, I'm serious. I don't even want to tie my shoes anymore. I'm a Crocs guy now."

"I've heard girls love sport mode," Taehyung quietly teases. "Is that right, Y/N?"

The flirtatiousness of his tone startles you, and your eyes snap up to meet his where he sits across from you at the dining room table. He's smiling one of those mischievous grins that makes your stomach churn, belly lurching when he stuns you with a wink before turning back to his own tiny box.

What the fu—

"If any of you show up to my wedding in Crocs, I'm kicking you out," Sunny grumbles.

Hoseok smacks his lips as he ties off a ribbon. "Does that also go for—"

"You as well, yes."

Your group settles into a momentary silence at her declaration—not a sound besides the ripple of ribbon and paper. At least until—

“I got laid wearing Crocs once.”

The entire table groans in unison, and you toss a bit of balled up wrapping paper at Jungkook's chest that bounces pathetically to the floor as Jimin boos. “No one cares about your sexcapades, Kook.”

“What, it was impressive!” he argues. “Just be thankful I'm not bringing any of them to the wedding.”

“I almost wish you were,” Hoseok grumbles. “You'd better not be picking up anyone inappropriate that night. Sisters, cousins, aunts—”

“That was one time!”

“—and anyone else even remotely close to family are off limits.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, pouting to himself, before he says, “Moms?”

The table boos again, more bits of wrapping paper flying his way.

“I'm kidding! Kidding!”

“Actually, Y/N,” Sunny murmurs, leaning towards you. “I hate to bring it up, but are you planning on bringing anyone else in Jace’s place?” Her expression is one of compassionate regret, with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, but the question still hits you low in your chest, knocking the wind out of you.

“I feel terrible asking,” she continues, “but one of my friends from high school originally declined a plus-one, and now she’s asking if there’s any way we can squeeze in this guy she met two weeks ago, and normally I’d tell her no, there’s no way I can change the head count two weeks out and who is this guy anyway, but then I figured that we do technically have an extra spot so we could fit him in, but I’d definitely give you the option to bring someone else first if you wa—“

“It’s fine,” you say, trying to ignore the way everyone else around the table is now looking on in sympathy. “I have no one else to bring. Let her guy come.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” It feels like you’re dying inside, but you try to look unbothered, especially since you can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Sunny quietly agrees, just as Hoseok suddenly jumps in at her side.

“You know, Tae isn’t bringing anyone to the wedding either,” he says, looking between the two of you. “Why don’t you just go together?”

“I’m also going alo—“ There’s a thump under the table and Jungkook immediately shuts his mouth.

You glance at Taehyung, who’s looking back at you with a dip in his eyebrows and parted lips. It was probably a given that you would spend time at the wedding hanging out already, but wouldn’t going together mean something else entirely? A promise of dancing and proximity and a label the two of you have never shared?

Perhaps that’s the reason why he’s staring at you with a touch of discomfort. Your own skin prickles at the thought, and so you scratch away the itch at your chin and deflect.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to.” Then you stand from the table sharply, hitting your limits with this conversation. “I’ll be right back.”

You head for the bathroom, not even needing to do anything in there, but sure that you can busy yourself for a few minutes to get your emotions under control away from your friends. But as you’re about to swing the door shut behind you, a large hand reaches out to stop it with a thud, and Taehyung quickly slips in before closing the door himself.

“Tae, what are you—“

“Come with me.”

You’re practically chest-to-chest, and if not for the fact that you’ve stopped breathing with his question, you’d probably be pressed up against him in the tight space.

“What?”

He licks his lips, pulls in air through his nose like he’s bracing himself.

“Come to the wedding with me.”

The room is heavy with silence as his request fully sinks in, the air between you thick and hot as you try to get some of it into your lungs. It’s hard, though, to develop a coherent thought with him standing so close—his scent engulfing you and dark, searching eyes fixated on your expression.

“I don’t kno—“ you begin, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Why not? Like Hobi said, neither of us is bringing anyone already.” His fingers brush yours—an apology for mentioning it again. “So why not go together and…not be as alone.”

You shift on your feet. “But you do know that you don’t have to do this. I’m fine without a plus one. There’s no shame in it for me.”

“Y/N,” he huffs. “You know that I like being around you, right?” He nudges gently against the underside of your chin, making you look at him directly. “I wouldn’t have stuck around this long if I didn’t.”

You’re still skeptical—nervous about the implications of what this would look like, especially when you just got out of a relationship. To you, it feels very much like teasing a boundary. But Taehyung is all nerves in front of you, gaze darting up-and-down your face and a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth telling you that he’s chewing on his lip.

And of course, because it’s him, you cave.

“Okay.”

He beams and, not for the first time, you feel your chest lighten at the sight of his boxy smile. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, smiling back.

“Okay.” Almost impossibly, his grin gets even wider, and you can see the wheels begin to turn in his head. “Do you have a dress picked out yet? What color is it? I can match you.”

It takes you aback. You wouldn’t have even thought about that. “Emerald green.”

“Emerald green,” he repeats, something registering behind his eyes, and he licks his lips again. “Okay. Great.”

He shifts like he's getting ready to leave, but you catch his fingers to reel him back. And you hate to put it out there, hate to even bring it up, but after everything you’ve been through, you need the clarity.

“And Tae,” you say, “this isn’t a date, right?”

He gives a slow blink, a wave of unknown emotion rippling from forehead to chin before he smiles gently at you, eyes softening at the corners. “Of course not.”

You nod. “Okay.” And a small part of you feels…disappointed?

But there's no time to dwell on it as he exits the bathroom, and you follow him out in spite of doing exactly zero bathroom things. You return to the dining room together, your friends clearly trying to look nonchalant as they diligently work on their party favors but being way too quiet to not have been trying to eavesdrop on your conversation.

“Sunny,” Taehyung says as you take your seats, looking positively brighter. “Just make sure we're sitting next to each other, yeah?”

She snorts. “As if you were anywhere else to begin with.”

Blue skies stretch endlessly in front of you, wind running through your hair and sunlight filtering in through the sunroof as you and Taehyung make the trip to the lakeside resort where Hoseok and Sunny are to be married. He's the absolute picture of relaxation in the driver's seat, wearing sunglasses and a mindless smile with his fingers wrapped delicately around the steering wheel like vines.

He'd opened the door for you when he picked you up, a seemingly spontaneous gesture that had left you both shy and blushing. But if the afternoon started with a touch of unusual awkwardness between you, the prospect of your “not a date” wedding date making itself known, it has since evaporated in the hot summer air. At this point, you’ve spent the past hour chatting, playing road trip games (Taehyung somehow destroying you in the alphabet game in spite of having to focus on driving), and burning through three boxes of Pepero.

“These are an addiction, I swear,” you say, crunching down on a chocolate-filled stick and clapping your hands in delight. Taehyung’s eyes leave the road for a second as he takes you in and grins.

“Was that the last of it?”

“Oh.” You peer into the box. Empty. “Yeah. Sorry. Did you want it?”

“No, it’s fine. You can have it.”

“I sure hope so since I already swallowed it.”

He laughs, whole face lighting up with it, and you feel something turn over behind your ribcage as if someone’s flipped your heart like a pancake. It makes you think that even though you were supposed to be making this trip with a different person, you’re glad it’s him instead.

My love only amounts to this.

The lyrics ring out through the car, and Taehyung leans forward suddenly, turning up the volume on the stereo.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s your favorite song!” he joyfully says. “I know you like to sing along.”

You stare at him blankly, taken aback because you don’t think you’ve ever mentioned this to him. When did he notice…?

“C’mon, sing with me. Play a song I know and one step. Hold my hands and put my feet in, two steps.”

His sweet baritone sounds out beside you, and you feel a grin break out across your face. You always forget what a joy it is to hear Taehyung sing.

“The person to know all my secrets is you,” you sing, joining along. “So I’m even more thankful.”

“Sometimes when you get tired, and I see you crying with your head down, I don't know what to do. What can I do?”

You’re both belting it out at the top of your lungs by the time it gets to the chorus, and you think the sun has somehow moved inside the car with how bright and warm you feel.

My love only amounts to this. But thank you for staying by my side, my baby.

Your car charges down the road, trailing laughter and joy in its wake, and your chest feels light for the first time in weeks.

Even if my love only amounts to this. I'll be your umbrella in the rain. I'll protect you on all your days.

Jimin, Maya, and Jungkook meet you in the hotel lobby—a marble behemoth with wrought iron staircases and sofas that definitely cost more than your rent—and you all line up to check in, gawking at the elaborate chandelier that hangs above your heads.

“How did they even afford this place?” Jimin wonders.

Maya sucks her teeth. “At this rate? I think they might have mob ties.”

“Feet pics,” Jungkook says simply.

Once everyone has obtained their key cards, you set off to find your rooms. You’re all on the same floor since a certain section was booked specifically for the wedding, but with you having a room with only a single queen-sized bed, you’re down the hall and away from the others who booked doubles.

While Jimin, Maya, and Jungkook break off to get acclimated in their own respective rooms, Taehyung follows you into yours with a touch of melancholy, your luggage slung over his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re fine here alone?” he asks, setting your bag on the ground. “I can room with you if you’d like. I’m sure Kook wouldn’t mind.”

“There’s only one bed,” you point out, blushing.

Taehyung also goes slightly pink. “Well yeah, but the other week we just…or I can take the couch. Or we can ask Kook to swap rooms?”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I’m alone at the apartment all the time anyway.”

He nods, looking oddly shot down. “Alright. But if you change your mind, just ask.”

“Unlikely,” you tease with a wrinkle of your nose. “You snore.”

He gasps, feigning hurt. “I do not.”

He doesn’t. But you still tilt your head solemnly, pressing your lips together as if preparing to deliver bad news. “You do.”

“Shit,” he sighs before the two of you break down in giggles.

A few hours later, the five of you wind up at the resort’s restaurant for dinner, lamenting the exorbitant prices but enjoying an incredible meal. The night dwindles down as you settle in at the bar, figuring you can have a couple drinks before resting up for tomorrow’s big day. With a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a perfect view of the lake outside and the glow of the sunset spreading out above the trees. It tints the room orange, seeping onto every surface, including Taehyung’s forearms resting atop the bar.

You trace his veins with your eyes, study the way they trail to his hands curled lightly around his low ball glass. Your friends are talking about plans for tomorrow, but you’re not paying much attention; you’re far more interested in trying to figure out when your best friend’s arms started looking like that.

“And don’t worry, Chim. If I have the chance to get lucky, I’ll make sure not to use our room,” Maya says, placing a hand over her heart in pledge. “No locking you out because I’m a good friend.”

But Jungkook has tensed up next to you, and in spite of the cute pout of his lips, the creasing of his forehead suggests that he’s genuinely upset. “Hook-up? You’re going to find a hook-up?”

Maya looks at him incredulously, drink paused halfway to her lips. “Possibly. Aren’t you?”

“I…” His teeth bite into his lip. “It’s a wedding.”

She barks out a devilish laugh. “So? When has that ever stopped you?” A spiteful glare is sent his way that even has you shrinking behind him in secondhand shame. “Since when do you have morals?”

Taehyung’s knee squeezes against yours under the bar—a warning, probably, but your brain momentarily becomes fixated on the weight of it, on how nice it feels to have his warmth pressed against you. It’s not until he taps a finger against your thigh, signaling with his eyes at the sullen man behind you, that you pass on the touch, giving Jungkook’s elbow a gentle nudge in support and encouragement. He takes a quick look at you with sad, vulnerable eyes, and you’re reminded of how flustered he’d been during your conversation a few weeks ago.

“I was actually thinking,” he begins, more serious than you’ve ever seen him, “that maybe we could go together since neither of us have dates.”

Maya snorts, setting her drink down firmly on the countertop. “Why, so you can ditch me halfway through for the first woman that flutters her eyelashes at you? No thanks.”

Jungkook physically recoils like he’s been slapped, the force sending him back so far that he practically winds up in your lap. “You really think I would do that?”

His voice is tiny, hurt dripping from every syllable, and it makes Maya finally look up, face dropping as she seems to realize the wounds she’s inflicted upon him.

Her brows draw together, and she opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by the bartender popping up to ask if anyone needs a refill. By the time he leaves, the moment’s passed, and Jungkook briskly stands up, throwing some money down on the bar.

“I’m done. See you guys tomorrow.” And he strides out towards the hotel lobby.

You hop to your feet, shaking your head at Maya. “That was uncalled for.”

She looks guilty but says nothing, rubbing a finger along the rim of her glass, and you follow Jungkook out, calling his name as he approaches the elevators.

“Jungkook!”

He spins to face you with a frown, thumbs hooked in his pants pockets like he’s trying to look casual, but his eyes betray his discomfort. “What?”

“She didn’t mean that,” you say, slightly breathless from your jog across the lobby. “I know she didn’t.”

“Sure she did. That’s who she is. Always speaks her mind.” He shrugs, shirt rippling over his shoulders. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

“Don’t you though?” you ask. “You’re not a bad guy, Kook. You deserve simple respect at least.”

“Maybe I don’t.” The elevator dings, and he steps inside, turning back to you with a final sad smile. “Night, Y/N.”

A sense of dread taps into the back of your skull, fear that your original inkling on this relationship was perhaps correct. Though you’ve since warmed up to the idea of Maya and Jungkook as a potential couple, it was this exact tension that you were worried about—their fire and gasoline dynamic harboring implications that could blow up your entire friend group.

Taehyung strolls up next to you as the doors roll shut, sighing as he comes to a stop. “He okay?”

“No, but don’t try telling him that.”

He purses his lips. “I had a quick talk with Maya. Reminded her that just because she’s had bad experiences with guys in the past doesn’t give her the right to take it out on him.”

“Good,” you say. “She probably needed to hear it.”

A nod as he assesses your figure and asks, “Are you coming back to the bar? I already covered your tab.”

“Oh, I’ll pay you back—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You can make it up to me a different time.”

You smirk at him, stepping closer. “How about I roll it into your Christmas present?”

“Deal.”

You let out a soft laugh, and he offers to walk you up, pressing the button to call the elevator back. The two of you chat about nothing in particular as you make your way to the third floor, commenting on the ridiculously patterned carpet in the halls and laughing about the strangely risqué photos that you noticed hanging in the rooms.

When you arrive at your door, you swipe your key card over the sensor, turning the light from red to green and wishing Taehyung goodnight, but he loops his fingers around your wrist to lightly tug you back.

“Y/N.” He curls his bottom lip over his teeth, head dipping towards the ground in a shy smile as he searches for his words. “I’m…really looking forward to tomorrow. It’s going to be fun.”

He’s adorable; he truly is. Seventeen years of affection, and he still finds ways to endear you to him even more, bits of gold from the lamps catching on the browns of his eyes as he stands before you.

“It is,” you say, tongue tied around your own apprehension. He hums and looks like he wants to say more—tangles his fingers in front of him and chews on his lip as he fidgets. But after a moment passes—you still stuck on his eyes—he jerks his chin down in a nod, says goodnight, and leaves you standing at your door in confusion, taking one look back as he swipes his own key card down the hall and disappears into his room.

You enter your own space with your mind whirling, not sure what the hell just happened but also sure that you’re not upset about it. And once you’ve gone through your bedtime routine and settled in for the night, you fall asleep thinking about brown eyes and shy smiles, welcoming the most restful sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You awake to the sound of Maya knocking on your door promptly at 9am with her suitcase in hand, casually making her way to your bed when you let her in and picking up the hotel menu from the side table while you stare at her. "What are you doing?" "We are going to order room service and watch some shitty TV, and then I am going to help you get you ready for your date." "It's not a date," you say on impulse, though you're internally tamping down the involuntary flutter that's tickling your stomach. "If it's anything, it's a guy taking pity on his unexpectedly-single friend." "Pity date then." She says it with a nonchalant wave of her hand and doesn't give you the chance to speak when you open your mouth to protest. "Y/N, please, just give me the chance to make his jaw drop. If there really is nothing there like you say there is, then what's the harm?" The harm, you think to yourself, is the tingling feeling that's been increasing in intensity when you've been around Taehyung recently, warmth flooding your body at just the thought of him. Your brain has been desperately explaining it away, chalking it up to years of familiarity and comfort being stoked by the emotional trauma which (you're quick to remind yourself) you're still working through. No, Y/N, I don’t have feelings for you. It's these thoughts that, in the end, have you acquiescing as Maya lets out a joyful squeal. At the very least, you make your friend happy and get some well-deserved girl bonding time. Really, what's the harm?

The idea has barely finished running through your mind when you’re already beginning to regret it and wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Maya wheels her entire suitcase to the foot of your bed and pulls out no less than seven bags of make-up, a curling iron, hairspray, four different brushes, and a straightener.

“Are you doing the entire wedding party after this?” you ask incredulously. “Why did you bring so much?”

“Needed to be ready for anything,” she says, organizing her tools into neat rows. “When I’m done with you, every straight man and half the women will be falling at your feet.”

Your face heats, and you subconsciously rub at your arm. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Okay, then just one man.” She raises her arms, fingers arranged into a square through which she peers at you like she’s sizing you up for a photograph. “Hmm, where should we start?”

You and Maya make your way to the resort's event hall a little while before the ceremony is scheduled to begin. Seating doesn't seem to have opened yet as guests mill about the entryway, the buzz of conversation filling the space above your heads, and the two of you pause at the top of the stairs to see if you can spot your friends. "I think Kook's got a purple tie," she says, peering around. "And you know what he's wearing why?" you ask, but she ignores you. "Oh, look, there they are." Maya's goal may have been to get Taehyung's jaw to drop, but you're left stunned when you look over to where he's standing with Jimin and Jungkook, the now-familiar tingle rippling through your veins once again. His black suit is perfectly tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist, emerald green tie wrapped around his neck to match the color of your dress as promised. He's slicked his hair back and away from his eyes so you're able to see how they nervously dart between Jimin and Jungkook, clearly not listening to whatever it is they're enthusiastically saying. Actually, once you look more closely, everything about his body language screams nerves for some reason, his hands moving back and forth to play with the hems of his jacket before smoothing the lapels over and over again. Maya waves, grabbing Jimin's attention, and you watch as he grins at the two of you before leaning in to say something to Taehyung, pointing at where you're standing. Maybe, you think, just maybe you appreciate Maya's plan from this morning after Taehyung glances up at you. His incessantly-moving fingers finally still—halfway through re-adjusting his tie—and his perfect Cupid's-bow-lips pop open, eyes wide as he soaks you in in your floor-length gown. Maya’s worked your hair into loose curls cascading over your shoulders and bare back, and while you convinced her to not go wild with the make-up, she strong-armed you into agreeing to a deep red lipstick that’s only accentuated by the green of your dress. A smug cough comes from your right (clearly Maya's pleased with her work) as you descend the stairs and approach the trio of men. Jimin and Jungkook greet you brightly while Taehyung still looks mildly concussed, continuing to stare at you with his mouth half-open. "Alright there, Tae?" you ask, reaching up to adjust and smooth out his tie, messy from where his hands had frozen on it.

The pads of your fingers are hot where they brush against the hard muscle of his chest, and you try not to read too deeply into the pounding of his heart. Taehyung makes a weird noise akin to what you'd imagine a drowning fish would sound like, and Jungkook gives him a sharp slap on the back, which seems to knock him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. "Incredible!" he blurts, and you almost want to laugh at the reset-button-like effect Jungkook's smack seems to have on him. He clears his throat, composing himself further. "I, um—you, I mean. You look incredible." You thank him, ignoring the second wave of smugness that comes from Maya's direction, just as the event staff open the doors and begin ushering guests into the hall. Taehyung offers you his arm, and you gladly take it as he guides you to sit alongside your friends.

The wedding hall is as grandiose as the rest of the hotel, with columns ornamenting the sides of the room and a massive flower arch constituting the altar. You all talk as you wait for the ceremony to begin, admiring the decor (the bright bouquets of red, purple, and blue flowers pop against the stark white of the venue) and trying to see if you recognize any of the guests.

“Oh, there’s Sunny’s cousin Chan,” Maya says, peering out over the room. “Remember we met him at that party one time?”

“Didn’t the two of you drunkenly make-out?” you ask.

Jimin frowns. “I thought they hooked up.”

“No, Y/N is right.” She fixes her hair, oblivious to the way Jungkook is now staring at the man in question, hackles raised. “Wouldn’t say no to that happening again; he was good with his hands. Tae, are you alright? You’re looking at Y/N like she’s sprouted four more arms.”

You swivel your head around to see Taehyung next to you, entirely flushed red above the shoulders. He licks his lips as he meets your eyes, blinking furiously like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maya waves a dismissive hand, shuffling her attention to Jimin to ask if he knows about the music choices for the ceremony.

A throat clears on your right. “You do look nice. Really.” Taehyung looks utterly sheepish, his head tilted low as he softly pays you the compliment, and it reminds you of how shy he was last night as well. A butterfly takes flight in your chest, and now you’re the one blushing.

“Thank you. You cleaned up nicely, too,” you reply, and he blinks at you in a way that has you second guessing your words. “Not that you don’t always clean up nicely. And not that you don’t normally look very handsome. Because you do. Look very handsome, I mean. All the time.”

His bashfulness morphs into amusement, lips quirking up in an affectionate smile. “Oh, really?”

Your face heats up even more, mouth opening to respond with you don’t even know what, and you’re grateful when a hush falls over the room, the beginning notes of a wedding march signaling the ceremony’s start.

Hoseok appears first, looking dapper in a full tuxedo and grinning ear-to-ear. He walks down the aisle with long strides like he can’t possibly get to the end fast enough, bouncing on his toes as he settles into his spot.

The officiant is next, followed by Iseul and Seokmin, one of Hoseok’s childhood friends. Hana and Namjoon stroll in arm-in-arm after that, then Yumi and Jiho, and finally, everyone rises to their feet as Sunny appears at the entrance and begins her walk in, gaze finding only her groom.

Just as Sunny reaches the head of the aisle, a teary-eyed Hoseok taking her hands in his, another image, one which had once occupied your mind almost constantly but hadn't plagued you in weeks, takes hold: you and Jace in a similar setting, pledging forever to each other in front of your friends and family.

Maybe you had gotten ahead of yourself—the discovery of the ring box in his desk along with the natural longevity of your relationship sparking your imagination—but in the weeks leading up to your heartbreak, you had allowed your mind to plan—what kind of dress you'd wear, the colors you'd pick out, what you might say in your vows. It seems stupid now, dwelling on a future that's already evaporated into nothingness, but seeing the echoes of your dreams being played out in front of you, it’s like you can feel the sand physically slipping through your fingers.

Right as it starts to become too much, as you feel your chest tighten and heart ache, there's a brush of skin against the side of your hand, and glancing down, you see that Taehyung's reached over to quietly hook his pinky with yours. You turn to face him, but he keeps his eyes directed on the bride and groom, face neutral and unreadable, and you know he's giving you the chance to pull away, no questions asked.

But the gesture has warmth flooding through you, thawing the ice of your previous thoughts, and so you move to slip your hand under his, lacing your fingers and pressing your palms together tightly.

Taehyung looks at you then, a shy smile crinkling his eyes and twisting up the corners of his mouth, and you grin back, the previous ache in your chest replaced with a steady flutter as he begins to skim his thumb back and forth in a gentle caress.

You stay that way for the rest of the ceremony—watching your friends vow eternity to each other, Taehyung's hand tethered with yours.

Classical music drifts from the speakers at the back of the room as you find your seats for the reception. The ballroom is tremendous, with tall, arched ceilings, a gorgeous chandelier, and a wide dance floor that you’re sure will see a ton of action later. With the tables seating eight, you see that you’ve been placed in a grouping of you, Taehyung, Maya, Jimin, Jungkook, and three of Hoseok’s medical school friends, who introduce themselves as Wonwoo, Joshua, and Mingyu.

Thankfully, your group hits it off immediately. Wonwoo is rather reserved, more an observer of those around him than anything, but Taehyung and Jimin quickly strike up a conversation with Joshua about college after the latter mentions having gone to the same school as you, albeit never crossing paths. Maya and Mingyu, meanwhile, immediately fall into their own introductions, talking about how they know Hoseok and Mingyu’s studies to become a doctor.

“If you ever need a headshot or something, let me know,” Maya says, laying a hand on his arm. Across the table, Jungkook's head shoots up. “I do work as a photographer and would be happy to help.”

“Oh, really?” Mingyu makes no move to remove her hand; if anything, he shifts even closer. “What are your rates?”

“For you? Free of charge. Any friend of Hoseok is a friend of mine.” They're in their own little bubble now, Jungkook watching wide-eyed. “Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. With a face like that, you're a photographer's dream. Perfect model.”

Mingyu smirks. “A face like what?”

“Dangerously handsome.”

“HEY, WHAT DO YOU GUYS WANT TO SPECIALIZE IN?”

Jungkook practically screams it, and not only do Maya and Mingyu turn to look at him in bewilderment, but so does the rest of the table and a few guests in the neighboring seats.

Joshua clears his throat awkwardly, eying Jungkook like he might be rabid. “I’m trying for pediatrics.”

“Surgery,” Wonwoo says.

Maya turns towards her new companion. “What about you, Mingyu?”

He leans back in his chair. Gives a light tug on his tie. “I have a residency lined up in obstetrics and gynecology.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me—”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, cutting him off as he slides his chair back from the table. “Why don’t you help me get a round of drinks?”

“But—“

“C’mon.” He says it gently, like he’s trying to coax a toddler, and rises to his feet, giving you a gentle tap on the shoulder as he goes. “Cosmo?”

“Yes, please,” you say, and he nods, dropping a quick wink your way as Jungkook joins him, grumbling under his breath.

Joshua watches them walk away in the direction of the bar. “Is he always this…”

“Annoying?” Maya scoffs.

“Transparent.” Wonwoo quietly smirks.

A gentle laugh sounds on your left as Jimin hears. “I don’t know that anyone has ever described Jungkook as subtle in his life.”

Maya frowns, Mingyu looking downright perplexed at her side. “I don’t think I quite understand what’s going on,” he begins, but Maya soothes him with another press of her hand to his arm.

“Don’t worry about him. It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Tell me more about your residency.”

The reception passes in a swirl of music and drinks and food—and oh goodness, the food. Plates heaped with calamari, crab legs, and tiny filets wrapped in bacon are placed at the table by wait staff as your group digs in. Even Jungkook is placated, no longer scowling at Maya and Mingyu.

"Ughhh, I am never eating this well again," Jimin groans, stretching back in his chair and giving an exaggerated rub to his belly.

"You'd best get ready to," Taehyung says from your other side. "This isn't even dinner."

"This isn't even dinner?!"

Dinner turns out to be just as delicious and lavish as the appetizers, and it's no surprise that once dancing starts, your friends opt to stay seated for a while longer talking and digesting. As the party climbs to a full swing, Mingyu asks Maya to dance, Jimin and Jungkook start a debate on whether the butt is one body part or two, and Taehyung excuses himself to the restroom.

“It’s one part that’s split!” Jimin loudly exclaims. “The top is connected!”

“Jimin, go home, stand in front of the mirror, and pull your right ass cheek up. See if your left cheek comes up with it, and then get back to me, you absolute clown.”

“Do they do this a lot?” Joshua asks, the two idiots arguing between you.

“At least once a month.” You take a sip of your drink as you look on, bored. “I’m pretty sure this one is a rerun from last Halloween.”

“It’s one,” Wonwoo says, amused.

A flash of green catches your eye, and you look up to see Taehyung standing by the side of the bar, speaking with a woman. She's about your age, you think, and pretty, wearing a low-cut dress that certainly accentuates her chest.

She and Taehyung are talking excitedly, and you can tell he's putting the charm on—eyes bright, signature boxy smile lighting up his face. Nausea simmers in the pit of your stomach, and you force your attention back towards Jimin and Jungkook, trying to focus on whatever nonsense they're debating now.

This isn't a “date-date,” you remind yourself. And Taehyung hasn't had a relationship in a year—not since he was so torn up after Luna. He deserves to meet someone.

You’re spaced out next to your friends, still only halfway listening to them jabber on about butt cheeks, when a slow song starts up over the speakers and, within seconds, a hand is being extended over your shoulder.

You look up to find Taehyung's eyes gazing steadily down at you, a small but confident smile playing on his lips.

"Dance with me?"

And in spite of the unease that had plagued you only moments ago, you don't hesitate to let him wrap up your small hand in his large one and lead you to the dance floor. His palm settles on your lower back to pull you in close, and maybe it’s the proximity or the intoxicating smell of his cologne that weakens your resolve, but you find the words spilling out.

"Did you get her number?"

Taehyung looks at you quizzically, brow furrowing in confusion. "Whose?"

"The woman at the bar."

His face relaxes as he realizes. "Oh, yeah. I did."

"Good." You manage a smile. Why does it feel so hard? "It really is…good you're getting back out there. Are you going to ask her on a date?"

He laughs, mischief in his eyes. "I don't think her fiancé would like that." And now it's your turn to look confused.

"Her fiancé?"

"I met the two of them through Hoseok a couple times so we've chatted. Nice people." He nods his head, and you look over to see the woman now dancing with a man not too far from you. "They just got engaged, and she knows I'm a photographer so she asked if I'd be interested in doing the wedding. I said I'd call her this week to talk about it."

"Oh." You can feel your face flush, but there's no doubting the relief that floods through you. And Taehyung surely notices, grinning down at you in amusement.

"Were you jealous?"

"No!" you say, but perhaps a little too quickly because Taehyung laughs, his fingers applying a gentle pressure to your back to pull you closer.

"I'm here with you," he murmurs matter-of-factly.

You shake your head at him. "It's fine, Tae. If someone catches your eye…like I said, it could be good—"

"I'm here with you," he repeats, more firmly this time. He releases your hand for a moment to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and you have to look away. You spot Hoseok and Sunny swaying together in the middle of the dance floor, pressed closely together and smiling at each other like they're the only two people in the world. What it must be like to have someone look at you like that, you think, to hold you like you're something precious to be cherished. You had thought Jace made you feel that way, but now, watching your friends gaze at each other so delicately, so in love, you're no longer sure he even came close.

"What are you looking at?" Taehyung's voice rouses you out of your thoughts, and you suddenly notice his hand has drifted a little higher to where the back of your dress dips down low, exposing your bare skin.

Trying to pass off the shiver that involuntarily runs through you as a nod, you gesture at the newly married couple. "They're so good together."

Taehyung follows your line of sight, watching Hoseok lean down to murmur something in Sunny's ear that makes her giggle and press her face into his chest. "They are."

"Can you imagine loving someone like that?" Your voice is a bare whisper as if the words slipped out on their own accord, like a wish you didn't even realize you were making.

Taehyung's fingers splay at your spine, gently tugging you in until your hips are bumping his. Startled, your eyes snap back to him, breath catching in your chest. He's gazing at you intently, but as opposed to the intense fire that you've seen from him at times, there's only a deep warmth to his brown irises that you're not sure you've ever seen before. He looks at you with softness, with both a sense of familiarity and wonder that can only be attributed to your many years of companionship, and you see it all swimming behind his eyes—every day spent together seeking refuge from your families, every stupid childhood fight, every time you comforted each other through the bad days. And before you can deflect, can explain away the question as a rhetorical slip of the tongue, you hear his answer come out on a breath.

"Yes."

There’s a weight to it, the word landing from his lips like a stone into water, and you suddenly forget where you are. The world around you fades away: faces, music, and noise all receding into the background until it’s just him and you, you and him.

Just like it’s always been.

Taehyung's head dips towards you as if pulled by gravity, and your body responds in turn, hand sliding from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of his neck and eyes fluttering shut. Your breaths mingle together, his nose lightly brushing against yours, and you find yourself on the brink of keening forward, on the brink of diving headfirst into a place of no return, when—

"Hey, we're going to step outside for some air. Do you guys wanna—oh."

You spring apart. Jimin is staring at the two of you, eyes so wide you're worried they might fall out of his head. His hand is still half-raised, pointing in the direction of the doors behind him, and you use this to make your escape.

"Yeah sounds good I'll come outside definitely," you babble before speeding towards the exit. Glancing back over your shoulder, you see Jimin say something animatedly to Taehyung, but the latter shakes his head and mumbles something back, his face pink.

The night air is cool on your skin, and you could not be more grateful for it because what the fuck was that?

Were you really about to kiss your best friend? Or was he going to kiss you? Things had certainly been…different between you two recently, but this surely would have been an awful idea. If something went wrong or there was a misunderstanding, you'd likely never be able to come back from it.

He said he doesn't have feelings for you.

…But do you have feelings for him?

Maybe yes, his smile has always set your heart alight unlike anything else and yes, your brain seems to have been lingering recently on how damn handsome he is and yes, you'd do anything for him at the drop of a hat—follow him anywhere—but given your history, of course you would, right? He's your best friend.

And he deserves to be more than a rebound. Because that's what this must be—lingering heartbreak amplified by the emotions of a wedding. You may have even imagined Taehyung leaning towards you, a desperate fantasy of a mind just wanting to be loved.

That's it, you decide. Your brain must have finally snapped into a world of delusion.

You're so caught up in your thoughts that you don't hear Jungkook approach you, practically jumping out of your skin when he places a gentle hand on your arm.

"Y/N—shit—you okay?" He looks at you with his big doe eyes wide and apologetic.

"Yeah," you say, as your racing heart begins to calm. "You just startled me."

"Sorry, I tried to call you, but I don't think you heard. We're back over there if you want to join us." He nods his head in the direction of a patio area behind him, and you spot Namjoon, Joshua, and Wonwoo sitting around a table next to an elegant fountain, its ornamental lights illuminating the magnificent swan sitting atop it. They’re all laughing and, for some reason, the sight makes your chest tighten.

"Um, maybe in a little bit. I think I might just need a walk right now."

Jungkook studies you, biting ever so slightly into his bottom lip, and you think you see something in the way of understanding behind his eyes (you wonder if it has anything to do with the notable absence of Maya and Mingyu). "Do you want company?"

When you just give him a small smile and shake your head, he nods.

"Okay, well…you know where to find us." He moves to rejoin the others, but then turns back towards you, taking easy steps on his heels. "And just shout if you need a friend."

You meander around the outside of the hotel, following the stone path that paves its way around the perimeter. There's a certain kind of peace out here. Though the summer is nearing its close, you can still hear crickets chirping in the grass and spot the occasional firefly dangling in the air. You focus on the swishing of the cars out on the main road and try to let the sound clear your mind, but as you settle on a short brick wall overlooking the property's enormous lake, you realize it's no use.

Your eyes drift closed as you sink into the grief once again, let it slowly overtake you like quicksand until your lungs are crushed and burning. But more than anything, you’re simply exhausted—perpetually drained by the demons which have once again arrived to feast on your psyche.

At this point, you think most of your frustration lies with yourself. Maybe you’re being overdramatic, maybe you should be over it by now—if only you were stronger, more resilient. Not the miserable pushover you feel you’ve turned out to be. Harsh? Yes. Unfair? Perhaps. This does feel like the breaking point in your life’s long line of abandonments, digging up feelings you haven’t felt since you were a child.

But that being said, it also makes you feel like you should be used to it by now. Should be used to having to bounce back—what else can you expect from the world at this point, really? What a fool you were to even think that this time would be different.

The sound of quiet footsteps has you opening your eyes again, and you’re not sure whether the man in front of you is the first or last person you want to see right now.

Taehyung has his hands in his pockets, watching you with that calculated expression he always has on when he’s trying to gauge your mood. But all you can see in his face on your end is concern, not a hint of awkwardness or trepidation after what just transpired between the two of you in the ballroom.

So it really must have been all in your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Kook said you seemed upset.”

“I’m fine.” You try to push out a smile, but he unsurprisingly sees right through it, closing the gap between you and gesturing at the spot to your right.

“Mind if I sit?”

You’re still not entirely in the mood for company but you can’t bring yourself to say no to him, so you give the tiniest of nods and Taehyung settles on the wall next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, the buzz of the surrounding trees continuing its serenade. Taehyung doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything, only provides a steady presence. On particularly bad days when you were kids, you’d both wander down to the local playground and sit on the swings for a while. Sometimes you’d talk—either to rant and let it all out or make each other laugh to distract yourselves—but most nights, you’d just sit in the quiet and enjoy the feeling of not being alone.

It feels like that now, with Taehyung’s warmth radiating at your shoulder and the stars hanging above, but tonight, you’re compelled to speak.

“I’m really pathetic, huh?”

Taehyung’s eyes flash as he looks over at you, but he doesn’t interrupt, sensing you want to say more.

“I’m at my friends’ wedding, I’m supposed to be celebrating them and their love for each other, and instead I’m out here having a pity party.” You scoff. “It’s pathetic and selfish.”

“First of all, we are out here having a pity party,” Taehyung begins, and it draws a sudden laugh from you that you think sounds halfway deranged, but he only smiles.

"Secondly, you're not pathetic, and you're not selfish. You just went through a traumatic event, you know? You're allowed to have emotions."

"I know, but I just don't…want to," you sigh. "I just want it all to stop. I'm so tired of feeling weighed down especially on a day like this, but it's like it just doesn't end. The reminders don't end."

"You thought he'd be here," Taehyung says softly, and though his head nods slightly in understanding, his voice is tinged with sadness. "You miss him."

"I—that's not exactly it, no," you quickly say, not wanting him to think that you somehow regret being here with him. "Given what he did…like you’ve said, it's not forgivable, so it's not like I wish he was here. I mean, sure, are there some days where I reflexively think about him and stuff? Of course—we were together for four years—but I…still would prefer to never see him again."

Taehyung lets out a short sigh that you interpret as approval, but he stays quiet, giving you time to work out your thoughts.

"I think it's more the loss of security than anything. Seeing Hoseok and Sunny up at the alter…I couldn't help thinking that I was so, so close to that—to having that one person that I could commit to walking through life with. A partner, a friend, just someone to have day-in and day-out. Forever." You choke up, a fresh wave of tears lodging in your throat that you try to keep down. Taehyung is stiff next to you, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"And I want that, Tae. I want that so bad. But it's…so scary to start from scratch after feeling that close. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I'm just constantly overwhelmed and feel like I can't outrun it, and then I feel guilty on days like this because I shouldn't be letting it get to me, and—"

"Hey, hey, Y/N, shhhh." Taehyung finally jumps in as you begin to spiral, reaching out to take your hand in his. "You don't have to worry or feel guilty because you are going to have all of that. Okay? You will."

"You can't know that."

"I do." He slips his pinky around yours briefly before his hand comes up to cup your jaw, guiding your eyes to his. "I promise you. I don't know how far out it'll be, but one day we'll all be together again at a place like this, and it'll be your turn." He gets a faraway look in his eye, seemingly perceiving something that you're struggling to even grab a glimpse of right now. "It'll be everything you've ever dreamed of—intimate and outdoors, right? I know you always said growing up that you were going to get married at the Spring Day Gardens. If you still want it, it'll be yours."

You let his words draw you in, painting you a picture so beautiful you're afraid to even let your heart believe in it. But his baritone voice presses on.

"And it'll be perfect. Not a cloud in the sky—nothing but sunshine. And we'll all be there, and you'll have your favorite lily bouquet and your perfect dress…"

Something stops him, and he blinks at you, dropping his palm from your face and glancing away at the lights from the party before resuming his tale.

"And the guy…" He licks his lips, and you feel the hand that's still holding yours tighten ever so slightly. "He's going to love you so much. Properly love you. He's going to see you come down that aisle and weep because he's just going to know that he's the luckiest guy in the universe. And if he doesn't cry right away, I'll kick him in the shins up there until he does because in spite of what Jimin and Jungkook think, we all know that I'm actually your best man."

You let out a watery giggle, the tears flowing freely now, and Taehyung reaches up to swipe a few off your cheeks, letting out a chuckle of his own.

"I want to believe you," you say quietly. "And hopefully one day I will. I just…I need more time."

"Whatever you need, you know I'm here for you," he murmurs, and you nod.

You fall back into silence for a few moments, Taehyung dutifully continuing to hold your hand while you lightly sniffle and wipe at your cheeks.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to the party like this—I think you ruined my make-up," you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe, but you're the prettiest raccoon I've ever seen."

You laugh in earnest now, your shoulders shaking with it, and Taehyung smiles at you before suddenly rising to his feet.

"Wait here," he says, and then he's jogging back up towards the venue.

The silence envelops you again as you continue to mull over Taehyung's vision. Your battered heart is hesitant to dream, all of your imaginings coming in with fuzzy edges and blurry details that you just can't seem to place. But you're sure Taehyung was definitely right about one thing—you can't imagine a situation where you get married without him standing by your side.

It's a handful of minutes later when the man himself finally reappears with a hand behind his back and a mischievous smile on his face. When you raise your eyebrows at him in question, he comes to a halt in front of you and presents a full fifth of your favorite whiskey.

"What do you say we get out of here?"

The dim hotel lights cast a soft glow about the room as you and Taehyung pass the bottle back and forth, the mood significantly more casual than the extravagant party you just ditched. The decor may be fancy—Hoseok and Sunny certainly didn’t skimp when it came to location—but the two of you are perfectly rumpled, stretched out on the expensive sheets: you having removed your make-up and changed into your pajamas and Taehyung propped up against the headboard with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jacket and tie tossed over the couch.

You’ve started up a game of Truth or Drink, a somewhat milder version of Truth or Dare, where you get to take turns asking each other questions, and the respondent has the chance to either answer the question or take a mouthful of whiskey. Normally, between you and Taehyung, such a game would be low stakes, with your shared years and few secrets between you making it hard to ask challenging questions. But something about tonight and the need for a distraction seems to have made both of you competitive, going for questions that you know the other wouldn’t want to answer.

“What was the last thing you cried about?”

“One thing you don’t like about me?”

“Favorite position?”

“Did you really lose your virginity in a tree house?”

“What’s your greatest fear?”

"If you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?"

"Oh God, one of those cupcakes from Sweet Night Bakery," you groan. It was a place you had passed every day on the way to school, the wafting scents of cookies and cakes playing pied piper to your youthful noses. You had always dreamed of one day being able to afford the expensive pastries but had fled your hometown before having the adult money to do so.

"Seriously? Anything in the world and you want a cupcake?" Taehyung laughs, pink tongue poking out from behind his teeth.

"It's not just anything, it's one of my life's dreams," you counter, playfully shaking a fist at him for emphasis, but Taehyung seems unconvinced. "Fine then, if you have such a good answer. Same question."

He tilts his head at you, a mild haze in his eyes that tells you that while he's not drunk-drunk, he's definitely tipsy. A beat passes and he takes a drink.

"Ooh, mysterious," you slur. "But I win."

"Alright, alright." He grins at you. "I concede to your sugary dreams."

You mirror his smile, observe the way his fingers curl in his lap as you try to think of your next question. He’s always had nice hands—so delicate and careful with everything he touches. It’s odd, you think, how such gentleness could emerge from a home and upbringing that was anything but. How someone as bright as Taehyung could come from such darkness.

“Do you want kids one day?”

The question takes him by surprise when you ask it, and he physically startles, turning the bottle in his hands slowly. “I don’t know. Why?” He looks at you then, and you feel like you can see a riddle being worked out in his head. “Where did that question come from?”

“I don’t know,” you echo. “You spent so much time earlier imagining a future for me. I realized that we’ve never really talked about what you want for yourself outside of your career.”

Growing up, you’d discussed your dreams for the future, of course. But while you have always skewed towards the romantic, envisioning rings and weddings and vows, Taehyung’s always been much more practical and career-oriented—his plans always involved degrees and promotions and retirement funds.

A beat passes as he continues to fidget with the whiskey bottle before he again says, “I’m really not sure.”

“Well think about it now,” you challenge. “Or drink up.”

He chuckles to himself, some private joke in his head. “It would terrify me, I think. But I’d love them with everything I’ve got. Want to give them everything I didn’t have and be better than my parents were.”

You hum in agreement; you’ve had the same thoughts on occasion. Some who grew up in your situation may have been turned off the idea of children—and the idea does scare you in certain respects—but you’ve always been stubborn. “It’d be a chance to prove that it doesn’t have to be that hard. That you didn’t deserve what you went through.”

Fingers graze against yours in a subtle show of kinship. As always, you understand each other. “Exactly.”

And he may be struggling to imagine it, but you can see it so clearly: a small boy with big, brown eyes and a boxy smile riding on Taehyung’s shoulders. The two of them playing in the sand at the beach house or walking down the street together—the boy’s tiny hand tucked safely in his father’s.

The image chokes you up, fills you with so much warmth you think you might burst.

“You’d be an amazing father, Tae.”

There’s not a single doubt in your mind about it—that this incredible, thoughtful, selfless man would also be a wonderful dad. He doesn’t look so sure, but a flicker of recognition passes through him.

“You’ve said that to me once before,” he murmurs.

“I did?”

A nod. “One time when you were drunk junior year.”

You don’t remember it, the memory lost to the alcohol. “I guess drunk me has flashes of brilliance.”

“Maybe we’ll see someday.”

“I hope we will.”

Suddenly nervous, he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in the long column of his neck. “But it’d have to be with the right person.”

“Has there ever been anyone who you thought was close?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re asking a disproportionate amount of questions.”

Reaching over, you pull the bottle from his hands, drink down a mouthful of burning liquor, and set it right back in his lap. “Answer.”

Wide eyes appraise you through the dim light; he looks almost impressed. “No.”

“No, there’s never been someone you could see a future with, or no, you won’t answer?”

“The first one,” he says. “I’ve never been with someone I could imagine having kids with.”

You frown, the blunt despondence in his tone cutting. “Not even Luna?”

A look is thrown your way—pursed lips and creased brow telling you that’s a stupid question.

“What happened with her?”

He scoffs, lips immediately wrapping around the bottle as he takes a gulp.

“So something did happen.”

“We broke up,” he states. “That’s what happened.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never said why.”

He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. As if you’ve just asked him what he wants for dinner and not why the longest relationship of his life ended. “We weren’t compatible.”

You can’t help but sigh, a small part of you hurt that he still refuses to talk about it, that he’s closed this part of himself off to you. “You don’t trust me?”

“Y/N, no.” He shakes his head, looking genuinely remorseful to have given you that impression. “That’s not it. It’s just…impossibly complicated—“

“Was it me?” You’re suddenly reminded of a conversation with Maya from weeks ago, when she’d suggested that you were the reason all of Taehyung’s relationships had failed.

His lips part, tongue pushing into his cheek like he’s trying to hold words back.

“It was, wasn’t it?” you push, and his teeth dig into his tongue now, chewing. “You can tell me. I can handle i—“

“You were part of it, yes.”

In spite of what you’ve just said, the words land like a blow. You’ve spent years watching him go through breakup after breakup, and now you find out that you were a source of that anguish all along—helped fuel that heartbreak in his life.

It pains you to think you’ve been holding him back.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” you whisper.

“Because there was nothing to tell. It didn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Tae. If I’m getting in the way of your relationships…I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy.”

That silences you, the sincerity in his voice leaving you blinking at him, and he continues.

“She didn’t like how close we are—most of them haven’t. But it doesn’t matter because at the end of the day, I’ll always choose you. And that’s the end of it. Nothing left to tell.”

You feel like you should protest this, insist on him putting himself and his future first.

But given similar circumstances, wouldn’t you do the same for him?

“Did Jace ever give you shit about us?” he asks, reading your mind.

He had, ranting about Taehyung that night in some fucked up attempt to explain away why you’d found him in bed with another woman. Before then, you hadn’t noticed the signs: hadn’t picked up on his reluctance to spend time with your friends, hadn’t read into the way he stuck close to your side on the rare occasions he did, a possessive arm always tight around your waist.

It all made sense afterwards, and you hate that the vulnerability and anguish of the moment made you question your own actions. You never would’ve shut Taehyung out—never in a million years—but it initially made you think that maybe if you’d been more attentive towards Jace, had been more sensitive to his feelings, that maybe you wouldn’t have wound up in the situation you did.

You recognize now that he didn’t deserve it in the end, obviously, but heartbreak is a funny thing.

Not wanting to have to admit to any of that out loud, you whisk the bottle from Taehyung’s hands again and drink. He watches the movement of your throat with heavy, knowing eyes, immediately taking the whiskey back for his own sip once you’ve finished.

“I must admit,” he says, the alcohol clearly loosening his tongue as he sags against the headboard. “I’m a little relieved about things ending for you and Jace. Aside from him being a certified douchebag, I mean.”

You frown, not sure where he’s going with this, and the look on your face must come across as offense because he’s quick to clarify.

“Not that I liked seeing you hurt.” He shakes his head, and you can see some anger at the situation still lingering under the surface. “No, never. But I just…now I get to keep you longer at least.”

“Keep me?”

“Yeah, this…” He wags a finger between you. “You know this has to end one day, right?”

The whiskey should be warming, but your veins fill with ice at his words. Losing Jace was one thing. Losing Taehyung would be a different matter entirely.

“You’re always going to have me,” you say, reaching for his pinky.

But he pulls his hand away.

“Not like this.” He smiles with what you assume to be intended comfort, but his entire demeanor is tainted with sadness. “One day, when you have the dream guy and the family and the white picket fence, there won’t be room for me. Not like this.”

It feels like earlier—him trying to paint you a picture of a possible future for you—but unlike earlier, you can’t picture this future. You don’t want it. Not if he’s not there.

“Tae—“

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He gives another sad smile, takes another drink. “No husband is going to want a third wheel hanging around. I understand. I want you to be happy, too.”

But you wouldn’t be happy without him, and in many ways, you’ve always known that to be true. But that knowledge hits you now with such force, such raw truth, that it renders you speechless and leaves you staring at him, drunken eyes laser-focused as if discovering the very center of the universe.

You want to challenge him on his statement, make him see that he’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But the alcohol muddles your thoughts, has your brain dropping half-formed sentences through your mind like Scrabble pieces that you can’t quite wrangle into a coherent thought.

Taehyung takes your silence for agreement and, seeming to suddenly realize that some kind of line has just been crossed, takes the quiet opportunity to flip the conversation back to your game.

“The shoes you gave me for my seventeenth birthday,” he begins, the words tipping out slow and oddly calculated for someone who’s had as much to drink as he has. “Where did the money come from?”

You know where he’s going with this. And it’s perhaps the only secret you’ve kept from him in the entirety of your friendship. “Christmas money, I told you.”

“No, really.”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“I never saw that house decorated for Christmas even once.”

“Could’ve been from an aunt or uncle.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?”

It wasn’t. You snuck the money out of your father’s desk one day knowing that he wouldn’t have even noticed it was missing. Absent-minded in everything aside from work, your father had misplaced things constantly. You drink. And even though it’s supposed to be an avoidance of the question, it gives him his answer.

“I knew it.”

“They weren’t going to miss it, and you needed it more.”

“You could’ve gotten in so much trouble.”

“I knew I wouldn’t. I didn’t. And it was worth the risk regardless.”

Looking back, you wish you’d had more of a fear of getting caught—wish your parents would’ve scolded you, screamed at you, anything. It would’ve been better than the indifference you’d been met with day in and day out. As if you were invisible.

Taehyung’s head swings from side-to-side. “You shouldn’t have. I would’ve been okay.”

“And you shouldn’t have punched Jace in that club, but you did anyway, didn’t you?”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not. You’re not the only one who gets to put your ass on the line for the people you care about. You were worth the risk.”

He blinks, regarding you as if you’ve presented him with some outlandish concept. Like you’ve asked him to explain rocket science or open-heart surgery. “Then you should’ve told me then.”

“You would’ve given them back.”

“Maybe, but then at least we would’ve been in it together instead of you lying to me.”

“And you’ve never lied to me?”

He hesitates, tongue tracing his bottom lip. “No.”

“Okay, then. Truth or drink: what’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?”

You know there must be one, can read it in the way his shoulder is suddenly pressed against yours as he tilts into you. Fingertips skim the bare skin of your knee, tentative in their movements, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath as the distance between you closes to mere centimeters, his gaze roaming your face and snagging on your mouth.

And you feel it—the pull that you’ve always felt towards him, the gravitational force that’s kept you in the same orbit since you were children. Two souls that intertwined the moment they sensed the other’s presence with a flash of awareness and said, You, you, you.

Thinking back on the entirety of your life, you don’t know how you possibly could have made it through without him: your best friend, your partner, your sanctuary. In such a volatile world—a turbulent youth marred by uncertainty and sorrow—he took your hand and held you steady, made sure you didn’t go through it alone.

In hindsight, you can’t truly regret it. Yes, there will always be a part of you that will resent your parents, wish that they would have loved you enough to spare you the hurt and stress they put you through. But just like the night when he brought you back to your apartment—held you close as you fell asleep in his embrace—your memories with him far outweigh the trauma you endured. When you think of your time spent growing up, he is by far the brightest star, outshining any darkness that may have lingered at the corners. It’s not the empty house or your parents’ stony faces that you think of first, but him: blanket forts and starry nights and walks in the park and blurry photographs and sometimes tears, sure, but only with him there to hold you.

Looking at this man in front of you, in every familiar line of his face and body, you know, without a crumb of doubt, that you’d do it all again. Screw Jace and Luna and your parents and anyone else who’s expressed disdain at your closeness with him. He’s written into every line of your history, every memory that’s worth something. And he may fight you on it, but he’s worth every risk you’ve ever taken—you would’ve stolen a thousand pairs of shoes for him. You’d move mountains and drain the oceans if he needed you to. You’d do anything.

You couldn’t live without him. You don’t want to live without him.

A moment of clarity, a wave of revelation as you lock eyes and are met with your favorite color. And at long last, you find the words.

I love you.

Your heart throws itself off a cliff…

And you lean in to press your lips to his.

NEXT

a/n: happy holidays to all who celebrate 😊

[holylulusworld]

Big girls don't cry (2)

Summary: You are no stranger to heartbreak.

Pairing: CEO!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: angst, strong reader, mentions of former heartbreak, arguments, heartbreak, almost violence

Big girls don’t cry masterlist

<< Part 1

Steve’s whole world just exploded. His life lies in shambles because of one stupid mistake.

After he lied to his friends to make them shut up, he lost you. And now, the chairman of his company is yelling at him. But Steve doesn’t care.

He can only think of you, the only woman he ever truly loved. You didn’t answer his calls and sent the roses he ordered for you right back.

“I told you that I don’t want to use my girlfriend to get closer to Harlan Thrombey,” Steve yells back. “You pressured me into meeting her grandmother to charm her. Now my girlfriend hates me, and Harlan Thrombey will never agree to sell his company to you.”

“Mr. Rogers, must I remind you that your position and fate are in my hands?” Alexander Pierce sneers at Steve. He cannot employ someone weak who puts feelings first. “Do still want your job, or is some pussy more important to you? Did that chubby bitch cloud your mind—”

Alexander Pierce doesn’t know what hit him when he ends up on the ground. His nose was broken, and more so his pride.

“Fuck this job,” Steve looks down at Alexander, the man he used to admire. “I can’t do this job anymore. And I won’t. I hate my job, and I hate what you made me do. So many jobs…no not only jobs but lives ruined because of your greed. I’m out of this!”

Steve storms out of the office, cursing himself for ever wanting to follow in Pierce’s footsteps. He’s not the same man he was six months ago. No. You’ve changed his whole life for the better.

“I need to get her back,” he decides there and then to not give up until you are back in his arms.

“Babydoll, I know you are in there!” Steve rams his fist into your door. “Please, I fucked up big time. But I love you, Y/N. Please…I need you.”

“Eat shit,” you yell from inside your penthouse. He can rot in hell for what he did to you. “Get away from my door or I swear you will taste my baseball bat today.”

“I won’t go. If I must, I’ll camp outside your home. It’s cozy out here,” Steve tries to sound confident. “I got food, and sweets, and a soft blanket.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you open the door size Steve up. He looks like he hasn’t slept for days. His hair is a mess, and the suit he’s wearing has seen better days. “Get away from me and my home. There is nothing left to say.”

“I didn’t go out with you to get in your grandma’s good graces. I swear, until my boss brought it up, I didn’t know she was friends with Harlan Thrombey. I refused to use my relationship to get the deal.”

“You know, out of all the shitty guys I met in my life, you are the worst. At least the others had the guts to tell me that they only used me. They never spoke about love,” you huff when Steve dares to take one step toward you. 

“I love you, please,” he tries but you shove him away. “Y/N, it was stupid of me to say those things to get Bucky to leave. I swear on my mom’s grave, it’s not true. You mean the world to me.”

“If you don’t want me to break your dick with my baseball bat, you get out of my sight Rogers,” you point at his crotch. “It’s a nice dick, and it’d be a shame if he gets damaged because of the asshole carrying him between his legs.”

Steve would laugh about the way you talk about his cock. Sadly, you are dead serious about hurting him. “Please give me five minutes, baby doll.”

“The fuck no,” you shake your head. “I’ve got no time to waste on a man using me to make even more money. Where everyone has a heart, you’ve got a cold and rotten lump in your chest.”

“I quit my job.” Steve reaches out for you. “I never wanted to hurt you or use you. I swear this is all a misunderstanding. Bucky was nagging, and I wanted him to stop making fun of me for being in love.”

“You mean for being in love with the fat girl,” you snap at Steve. “I heard all of this before. You’re nice, and your face is pretty for a fat girl. If only you’d lose some weight we could be more than friends.”

“Whoa, baby! Where is this coming from?” Steve raises his hands in surrender. “Bucky is not that kind of guy, neither am I. I love you for yourself. Your size never mattered to me…or it does because damn, do you know how I love burying my face between your tits? You are perfect the way you are.”

How you wish Steve’s words were true. You know better than trusting a man with your heart. “No, I’m not. Not to you and the likes of you.” You shrug. “It’s fine. Not everyone can handle a woman like me. The difference is, you pretend to like, no love me, for a deal.”

“No-“ he sniffs. “Can we not talk, doll? Did you even listen? I quit my job and hit my boss for you.”

“Sure,” you sneer. “I want you to leave and never come back. If I see your face around here ever again, you will regret your birth.”

You slam the door in his face, locking it. No man breaks your heart and gets away with it. If he won’t leave you alone, you’ll make sure that he regrets messing with you…

>> Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Hi, can I request comfort fic with Frank? I just don't really like how my life looks right now... I don't like my job, but don't know what else I can do so I'm stuck here... and I feel really lonely recently and like I don't know what to do with my life... and reading fics are one of the few things that brings me joy...

So I thought about a fic where reader is sad and to cheer her up Frank planned a whole day for them to distract her from not kind thoughts?

And I'm sorry that I kinda dumpt it on you... I have trouble with expressing/describing my emotions and I think that was the first time I expressed those feelings to someone... Of course if you don't feel like writing this you can freely ignore this message, thank you 🫶🏻

Anon, I absolutely feel your pain. I’ve been dealing with my own work drama for months now and some days it feels like I’m going to have to completely start over to be happy. I hope I did your request justice, and if you ever need to rant to someone, my DMs are open :)

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary:  Frank helps you when work is breaking your spirit.

warnings: swearing, hints of smut but nothing graphic

w/c: 3k

Digging your jagged nails into the flesh of your palms, you forced yourself to tune out the overwhelming plethora of stimuli that was currently bombarding you on the subway. Screaming children, the heat of bodies crowding around you, the shrieking of wheels on metal tracks, some old guy coughing up a lung at the back of the car, the bright fluorescent lights beating down on the dozens of people crammed in here like sardines. Fuck, you hated the subway. 

It was especially unbearable on days where you were already overtired from work—which, recently, seemed to be every day. This job was supposed to be your ticket to a good life and a stable future, but instead it was a joyless, energy-sapping, waste of your fucking time. Your coworkers were catty, your boss far too demanding for the bottom of the barrel wages you received, and the work itself was dreary. Each day you sat in that cubicle, you could feel the light inside you flickering, just waiting for one more lackluster employee review to be completely snuffed out. 

Clearly, you weren’t the only one who felt this way about your place of employment, given that over a third of the staff at your level had quit in the last two months. Unfortunately for you, this meant longer hours and crankier conversations with your superiors, who were consistently disappointed in your performance despite you efficiently accomplishing everything that was asked of you. 

Not only did longer hours lead to you getting overstimulated on the subway, but it meant you’d been spending less time at home with your boyfriend. You’d barely seen Frank this month, between his trips out of town and your rigorous schedule, and it was driving you up a wall. All you wanted was to let him wrap himself around you, petting your hair as you cried and holding you tight when you eventually fell asleep. Though, with the way your days were going lately, most of the time you didn’t want to be touched. You just wanted to shove crap food in your mouth and pass out before you had to go back to that hellscape in the morning. 

Frank was the kindest, most thoughtful partner you’d ever had, so he gave you plenty of space on the days you came home in an emotion-filled silence. He could read your moods pretty well at this point, and always respected your wishes, even if it meant he’d be nursing a beer in the living room alone until he went to sleep. You’d hoped that today would grant you enough energy to enjoy some time with him, but the world wasn’t that charitable. 

Shuffling off the subway amongst the masses, you let your body droop slightly as you trudged back to your apartment. Practically crawling up the stairs, you eventually reached the door—shoving it open in frustration as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. 

Instantly, you were greeted with the sound of soft music and the smell of onions and garlic cooking. Frank was in the kitchen, swaying almost imperceptibly to the song he was listening to, stirring a pot of what looked like tomatoes.  

“Hey, doll,” He greeted you softly, throwing you a smile over his shoulder but remaining planted at the stove, probably in an attempt to give you space.

“Hi.” Your voice was breathy and small, your stony face accented with glassy eyes. 

Frank knew better than to expect that everything would change in a day, but the sight of your crumpling face broke his heart. Stepping towards you with a furrowed brow, he tried for a small smile. “Another bad day?” 

You nodded, the force of the movement drawing two parallel tears down your cheeks. Sniffling, you didn’t respond, confident that your voice would crack if you did. 

“Do you want a hug?” Frank asked, hesitating a few feet from you as he waited for your answer. 

“I’m n-not sure, Frankie.” You admitted, more tears pooling as you did. “Not r-right now, I think.” 

Nodding in understanding, Frank crossed his arms, as if to keep himself from hugging you anyway. “Alright, sweet girl. Not a problem. Why don’t you go lay down while I finish dinner, hm?” 

Sighing, you nodded once, padding to the bedroom and collapsing into the blankets with a poorly stifled sob. Frank winced at the sound, his hands burning with an ache to hold you, to make everything better, but he couldn’t do that until you were ready. 

You’d only given him glimpses of the nightmare you were living. Whether you didn’t talk to him about it because you were worried it would scare him away, or because you didn’t trust him, he wasn’t sure—though the dark parts of his mind were convinced it was the latter. Regardless, Frank did his best to maintain a cozy home for you. It couldn’t be easy to have a mass-murderer-turned-government-hit-man as a partner, waiting around on your own for days while he worked odd jobs for Madani, but you’d never let it impact your love for him. 

You were thoughtful, sweet, and adorably shy—not to mention you balanced him out in ways he’d never expected. The pair of you brought out the best in each other, despite your peculiar relationship. You’d never made him feel distant or guilty for leaving, simply welcoming him back from his trips with open arms and eager eyes. Yet, the past few months your job had been eating at you, sapping the life from your beautiful eyes and leaving a listless husk of his girlfriend behind. 

He didn’t want to pry, far too afraid of snapping your already fragile composure and ruining the bond you shared. But every day you came home holding back tears, and it was going to kill him. He’d rip your office apart with his bare hands if it would end your misery, though he knew you’d never ask him to do that. 

So, instead, he did as much as he could—laying out his softest sweatshirt on your bed, playing quiet music, making a warm meal for the two of you to share—all in an effort to take something off of your plate, to remove an ounce of weight from your shoulders. After a week with no indication that any of this was helpful, he’d started scheming. 

Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too much begging to convince you to take an extra day off…

Stirring the tomato sauce one final time as he removed it from the heat, he tilted the pot over the cooked pasta, letting a ribbon of sauce drape over the noodles before giving it a quick stir. Scraping a dollop of sauce out of the pot with his finger, he popped the digit in his mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction at the array of flavors. 

Brushing his hands across his jeans, he plated two generous helpings of pasta, assuming you had worked through lunch once again, and set them in front of two chairs at your table. Steeling himself for the sight of your tear streaked face, he shuffled over to the bedroom and knocked softly. 

“Darlin’? You ready to eat?” Keeping his voice low, he gingerly opened the door. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light that managed to slip through your curtains, his heart squeezed at the sight of you sleeping, curled in fetal position. Your delicate hands clenched around your covers like they were your lifeline, your damp face squashed against his pillow. Biting his lip in thought, he returned to the main room to cover the pasta. 

Spending very little time tidying up, he wandered back into the bedroom, stripping out of his clothes in exchange for a pair of sweats and a worn Henley. Settling behind you with a book in hand, he slipped under the covers as unobtrusively as possible before his inner monologue made him pause. Would you even want him beside you? Was he crossing a line?

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about that for long as your sleeping form unconsciously wrapped around him, a small sigh falling from your lips as you nuzzled into his stomach. Smiling down at you, his free hand came up to stroke over your hair, his own grin widening when the soft touch made your lips twitch up in a sleepy smile. He thumbed through about a chapter of his book before you began to stir, shining lashes fluttering as your eyes opened. As the sleep disappeared from your eyes, Frank felt another wave of apprehension cresting in his chest, but the tide was quickly settled by your sweet gaze. Nestling into his side more deeply, you hummed in appreciation. “Hi, Frankie.” 

“Hi, sweet girl. Did you have a good nap?” A teasing mirth danced in his gaze, making you avert your eyes bashfully. 

“Mmm hmm. Sorry.” You murmured, rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt. 

Clucking his tongue, Frank slid down to face you, tracing a thumb over your cheek. “No reason to be sorry, dollface. I’m glad you slept, you’ve been tired.” 

Sighing deeply, you traced the buttons on his shirt. “Work’s been a lot, recently.” 

“I figured as much, doll. Ya don’t gotta tell me anything, but I’m always here to listen, yah?” The tip of his thumb caressed your ear. 

Blinking back tears, you looked up at him apologetically, “I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark, Frank, it’s just so stupid and I—“

“Hey, hey, it ain’t stupid.” Frank tugged you impossibly closer, brushing tears off your face carefully. “If it bothers ya, it’s not.” 

“You just…” You drew in a ragged breath, the inhale catching on a sob. “You have so much to worry about already, and I don’t want to be a burden!” Bawling now, you felt your chest constricting at the thought of dumping more work onto Frank’s already overflowing to-do list. 

“You’re not a burden.” Frank spoke fiercely, looking deep into your eyes. “You have never been a burden, doll. Never.”

His words were a promise, you drank in his commitment with immense desperation, praying to forces you didn’t believe in that he was being truthful. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Frankie,” Your voice cracked on the admission. “I’m fine at my job, but nobody can see that, and I don’t feel satisfied by the work that I’m doing but it’s all I know! I can’t just quit, I don’t have any other plan, this is everything I’ve worked for and—“ Your ramble broke off into sobs, your breath hitching as Frank shushed you quietly. 

“I know, I know, doll. It sucks right now and I’m so sorry.” Rubbing a hand over your back, Frank encouraged you to breathe, waiting until your lungs could actually take in oxygen before continuing. “Sweetheart, if ya wanna quit, I’ll support ya. If ya wanna stick it out, I’ll support ya. Regardless of what you choose, I’ll be right here at the end of the day.” 

“I can’t quit, Frank, we need the money.” You whimpered. 

“Hey, we can figure it out if we need to. It ain’t a problem.” 

Nodding against his palm, you considered your options. “For now, I’ll stick it out. But, thank you.” 

“No need to thank me, honey. It’s my job to look out for ya, remember?” His sappy remark sparked a tiny smile from you. “You’re my girl, sweetheart. I’m always gonna take care of my girl.” 

Nuzzling into his chest, you stifled a yawn before abruptly looking up at him with wide eyes. “Shit, Frankie, what time is it? Did I miss dinner?” Wriggling out of his embrace, you wiped the lingering tears off your face before sitting up. Frank bit his tongue to keep from chuckling at your genuine concern. 

“Dinner is waiting for us, sweet girl. I’m in no rush.” Cradling your neck, Frank pressed a languid kiss to your lips, taking advantage of your distraction and flipping you on top of him. 

“Frank!” You squealed, beaming down at him with more happiness than he’d seen from you in weeks. 

“What?” He questioned innocently, gently leading your face back to his for another kiss. 

“What’s gotten into you?” You wondered aloud, returning the kiss but looking at him with feigned exasperation. 

“I ain’t allowed to love on you now?” Frank asked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You rolled your eyes, shuffling off of him and out of the bed. “C’mon, you sap. Let’s eat the dinner you made before it’s ruined.” 

As the night sky populated with stars, Frank doted on you insistently. He’d reheated your dinner, turned on your favorite movie, even brought you a pint of your favorite ice cream for dessert. You’d gratefully accepted his comforts, yet he still seemed to be holding back. As he puttered around in the kitchen, doing the dishes alone (he’d staunchly refused your help), you could see the wheels turning in his brain. 

“Frank, is something wrong?” You asked, picking at a stray thread along the seam of the blanket he’d wrapped around your shoulders, gazing over at him as your heart rate pounded anxiously.

“Huh?” Your timid question snapped him out of his thoughts, his hands nearly flinging the soapy dish across the room as he spun towards you. “Oh, uh, no. Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” 

Unconvinced, you nodded, nibbling on a hangnail poking out from your thumb. In an attempt to self-soothe, you shifted your attention back to the tv, but Frank’s energy still seemed out of place. 

Placing the last plate in the dishrack, Frank dried his hands, ambling over to you with a hesitant smile. “I gotta ask ya something, doll.”

Nervousness spiking, you nodded, tilting your head in anticipation of his query.

“If I asked ya to call in sick tomorrow, what would ya say?” Frank’s jaw was tight as he asked, clearly expecting anger in response.

“I’d say absolutely, love. Why do you ask?” “I was hopin’ you’d wanna take an extra day, to escape those assholes and maybe do something fun?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Frank Castle looked nervous. His eyes flirted between your gaze and his lap, his trigger finger twitching. 

“Oh, Frank, I’d love that!” You gushed, throwing your arms around him. He grunted in surprise, his own hands coming up to hold you in place so you didn’t topple off the couch. “I’ve been hesitant to take sick days because everyone’s been so on edge lately, will you sit with me when I call in?” 

“Course I will. If anyone gives ya trouble, they’ll have me to answer to.” Frank assured you with a menacing glint in his eye. Kissing his nose, you stroked a knuckle over his stubbled cheek. 

“Thank you, handsome.” 

“Anything for my girl.” 

True to his word, Frank made sure you were seated comfortably in his lap when you called in sick, both so that he could rub reassuring circles along your waist, and so that he could hook his chin over your shoulder to listen for any flack you might be given. Fortunately for your boss, they grumbled an “ok” and hung up quickly. Anything ruder than that, and they might have been on The Punisher’s shit list. 

Sinking backwards into your boyfriend’s sturdy chest, you shuddered. “Glad that’s over with.” Breathing deeply, you took a moment to collect your anxious self before standing to get ready for the day. Or, trying to stand, at least. 

A set of strong hands caught your hips, yanking them backwards to hold you in Frank’s lap. 

“Frank!” A small fit of giggles burst out of you as his fingers pressed into your ticklish skin. 

“What’s the hurry, doll? We’ve got all day.” Planting heated kisses along your neck, you felt Frank smile when you mewled in response. “Attagirl, let me make ya feel good, hmm?” 

Whisking you back to the bedroom, Frank helped you forget all about your shitty job. 

Slightly breathless following your morning exercise, you hummed happily as Frank continued to press his lips to the exposed flesh of your body, taking care to show every piece of you as much love as possible. Boxing you in with his massive arms, he molded his beautifully crooked nose against yours, finishing his trail of kisses with a lengthy kiss to your lips. 

“So, what did you have planned for today?” You asked against his lips, threading a hand in his hair. 

“Nothin’ much. I was thinkin’ maybe nice coffee and a trip to that museum you’ve been talkin’ about?” A blush crept over his cheeks. “Sorry, doll, I, uh, I ain’t too good with this…” He gestured between the two of you. 

“Aw, Frankie,” You scolded gently, kissing him tenderly. “You’re plenty good at ‘this’.” You mirrored his gesture and he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, honey. You’re the most romantic partner I’ve ever had. And that plan sounds lovely. Let me clean up and we can go for coffee.” 

As you curled into a seated position, Frank caught your wrist. “Hey! Where do you think you’re goin’?” 

“To wash up!” You giggled, striding back over to the bed where he slotted you between his legs. 

“Nah, you’re gonna sit right here while I draw you a bath. And I’m gonna run to the coffee place across the street and get ya one of those sugary drinks ya like so much. Then we can go out, if ya feel up to it.” His demanding tone made you smirk, his military tendencies tended to come out when he was concerned about you. 

“That sounds perfect, love.” You kissed his cheek, sitting on the bed as he headed to the bathroom. 

The rest of the day passed quickly, leaving you longing for more cozy time with Frank. Though he considered himself lacking in the romance department, he’d provided you nothing but pure love on your day off, indulging your every whim just to see you smile. 

And as you fell asleep at the end of the day, you clung tightly to him, trusting him to get you through whatever life threw your way.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I'll crawl home to you II

Previous chapter

a/n I welcome you all to the part two. Thank you so much for all the love and reading. 🤍✨

summary: having a fight with someone you care about right before the mission might be the worst idea ever especially when you don't know if you'll make it out alive.

warning: fighting, guns, past trauma, injuries, blood lots of it, mentions of death, needles, IV's, bruised veins, heavy mention of hospitals, death nr.2, choking, nudity, mentions of sexual intoxications this one packs a punch so be weary.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Right, what's on your mind?", you muttered, pushing the cigarette closer to Javi, which he happily took into his fingers before dragging in the smoke. Allowing the warmth of it to go down his lungs. Javi was sitting by the tub in his apartment. The tub that he used as a shower at best. He hated baths, hence his naked, sprawled-out form, right beside the bath and not in it. Not behind you. Even if he wanted nothing more than another handful of moments of holding you. But it was enough to just watch you like this for now. More than enough. Well, Javi was convinced that he was still riding the post-orgasmic high.

"Work", he muttered, dropping his head back before puffing a cloud of smoke, "That fucking lead is on my mind". Your eyes scanned him for a moment. Today had been one of those days where, besides the unbearable heat, so much shit went south that the screaming in the office didn't ease till 3 in the afternoon. A new record of everyone being pissed off at one another was achieved.

"And how many fucks does it usually take you till you forget about work?", you asked, leaning your head at the edge of the bathtub. Not caring about covering yourself up. Javi had already seen everything more than once. Although you are being pressed against his bedroom wall, with him deep within you, growling in your ear as he edged you closer to your orgasm now felt ages ago, your skin was already missing the feeling of his fingers.

"One", Javi muttered, and you couldn't help the chuckle that escaped your lips. "Shit, agent, I'm doing that bad of a job?". Just what Javi truly meant was that it took one carelessness. Chaotic fuck with you. For him to come back to his senses. If he was fucking a random whore, his head wouldn't settle at all. And it's not even about the sex here. Fuck that, even if it's good. It's you. The smell of you. The way you trace your fingers down his back while he's still deep inside you, panting as he catches his breath. It's the way Javi can feel your heartbeat beneath him. The way your warm skin is pressed against his own, and he finally feels it Feels what calmness feels like. What it feels like to stop and just be.

Javi splashes his face with cold water, shoving that moment as deep as he possibly could. Not now. Not like this. His hands are still stained pink. Fuck knew the blood didn't budge like that. But then he had never been covered in so much blood before. Your blood. His body stagers again. The hours spent in the hospital had been brutal. Javi's eyes fall on the bandage covering the place where they had punctured a needle only a couple of hours ago. Had it only been that? A couple of hours? Javi runs his hand through his hair.

"Get a doctor in here! Quick!", A pair of nurses rushed out; Javi jumped up, and Steve was right beside him. You had been in that room for no longer than thirty minutes. It was all okay, they said. Under control. This didn't feel like something that was under control. "What is going on?", Javi's voice sounded weak. Gone were the confidence and snarl. No, Javi doesn't remember the last time he felt so many emotions. He did not know that he was capable of them.

"What the fuck? Is. Going. On. ", Javi swiftly yanked a nurse rushing to go back inside by the collar. Steve moved to step in, but at that moment, even he knew that interfering meant finding your head in the wall in the next ten seconds. "She's rapidly losing blood and the hospital…", the woman took a moment to swallow, and Javi quickly shook her, "Our blood supplies are low, sir".

And just like the moment the bullet pierced your skin, Javi's world stopped spinning. Halted. Shutting down all of his senses before he's thrown back into the waiting room once more. No. This can't be the reason you die. Fuck all of it. He'll pay for every drop of blood. He'll get you the blood himself if he had to. Get you… "It's the same…", Javi gripped the nurse's hand even tighter, "Tell them it's the same. Put me in there".

And that whole procedure was a blur. Until you're only a hand's reach away. The machines were clacking all around. The number of wires and tubes sticking out of your body was crippling to the core, and the first time Javi's eye landed on you, he had to fight the bile rising in his throat. Then the shock faded, and the need to protect you rose. To hold you. The machine that Javi too was hooked to started beeping, indicating the rapid increase of his heartbeat. His head jerked up; suddenly he was scared it would disturb you too much. But your eyes don't shoot open, and you weren't grumbling at him for being too noisy, like some mornings.

Javi clenches his jaw. Tears now once again threatened to spill over his cheeks. And they do. But Javi doesn't brush them away. Who cares. No one is here. Just you. He can be venerable in front of you. "You will wake up, right?", he muttered, his hands reaching out to touch your limp fingers. The angle was awkward. And the nurse had strictly informed Javi not to move his hand too much. But fuck that. Fuck rules. Were they getting you both anyway? So Javi laces his fingers through yours, "You will wake up and snarl at me, will you? For being an ass", Javi bites down on his lips, suppressing the sob that is now right there at the peak of his throat, "And yet I won't tell you; I told you so this time. You just woke up, okay?"

Javi rips the bandage off, right as another wave of tears blurs his vision. The vein raptured, and the purple bruise was already forming. But he didn't care; he couldn't bring himself to care. It had been static nothingness after they walked him out of the room. Out and away from you. Javi clenches the sink angrily. The old thing rattles beneath his grip. He should have pushed harder. He should have never walked out because his stupid, manly pride was hurt. And he knows that if you don't… No, Javi chases that thought away. We manifest our thoughts. His pope always said to him growing up, Be careful of what you think, Javier.

"I was a pinch away from blowing his balls right there and then", the back door shuts with a bang as you stride towards Javi, who had been leaning against the wall for the past ten minutes. "Did you pull your gun?", Javi asks casually, as if that were a normal procedure for a Thursday night. "Pulled? It was up his nutsack," Javi snickers. Poor fuck crapped his pants for sure. Now he's almost upset that he didn't stick around to see that.

"What are you smiling for?", you snicker angrily, snatching a lighter from Javi's back pocket. Your left hand is shaking. With a mix of anger and strength, you probably held your gun. Javi takes the lighter back. The last thing he needs is for you to burn your hand now. "You amuse me", he admits when the cigarette finally catches the heat.

"Don't fuck with me, Pena. I might just pull the same stunt on you", you warn him, now feeling the shaking seep into your whole body. No matter how many times you went through the waves of adrenaline. The aftermath was never pretty. Javi pushes his cigarette against the brick wall and says, "Come here", You don't move, but his hand laces behind your neck, bringing your body closer to his chest. You don't fight it.

Letting the warmth of him envelop you. Your free hand clenches his shirt. It's such a small gesture. Simple one too. But it's all that you need. All it takes is for your body to budge, and you're not shaking anymore. It's like Javi just soaked up all of that bubbling within you in seconds: "Next time you pull a gun at any of them, keep me around", and Javi can hear your muffled laugh against his chest. And he's smiling. Truly smiling with you pressed tightly to his chest.

"The nurse said she'd be transferred soon", Javi nearly jumps at the sound of Steve's voice, which snatches him out of his head. Javi lost track of how many times he had told Steve to go home. Everyone did. Everyone left. Not that many stuck around for the hospital run in general. But Steve didn't budge. He was there. He stuck to very few or none of the comforting words. Connie hadn't even managed to drag him home. A part of Javi wanted to shove Steve out the door, but then again, he was glad that he wasn't alone.

"You know what that means?", Steve speaks up again. Pulling the neatly wrapped-up sandwich from behind his back, "I think it's time you eat just how you were instructed to". Javi glares at him before turning his attention back to the door. The door that leads to the room they were keeping you in: How were you doing? Did your body push through the transfer? Had they checked that you were stable? Double checked? Did triple-check?

"Come on, Javi, you don't want her…", Steve tries again. His voice is gentle and soft, and Javi hates it. His hands banged on the plastic chairs, sending a sharp sound down the empty hallway. "Stop fucking talking, Steve", Javi snarls; now his glare is all for his partner. "Shut up…", though the last words didn't sound even half as convincing. And Steve catches the crack. He catches sight of every tiny piece finally falling apart.

So Steve brings Javi closer into an embrace, and Javi is quick to push back instantly. Steve just doesn't let go. He's keeping Javi in a tight grip until the agent stops the fight; his shoulder's sagging and only the uneven breathing gives him away. "She will pull through", Steve states quickly, trying to keep his own emotions at bay. "You want to know why?", Javi only grips the back of Steve's jacket tighter: "Because she would crawl from hell itself for you. Because she loves you and she hasn't told you yet, and we both know our tiny girl is a farce".

And then he's back in your apartment. And he's walking back to you after using the bathroom when his eyes catch a glimpse of the picture. Multiple. But all of them have the same boy in them. Big eyes. Curly hair. And he's so similar to you. It's almost disturbing. Javi had seriously considered that you had a child there and then, and he knows it is noisy, but he snatches one of the frames as he heads back to the living room.

You're sprawled out like a cat on your sofa. Soft music is playing. Dirty dinner plates are still on the table. You're humming under your breath. Fuck, Javi doesn't remember the last time he heard someone hum, and a part of him wanted to keep that moment just like that. A part of him had shouted at him not to say anything, but… "Who's this?", the words slip past his lips, and your head instantly turns towards him. And he should have listened to his gut because the lazy smile fell from your face and you suddenly looked so small. So fragile.

"Michael", you mutter as you step closer to Javi, taking the frame from his hand, fingers skimming over the image frozen in time, "My brother. The only couple pictures I have left". The frown suggests that it's something that still hunts you. That still aches. "You don't see your family much?", Javi asks as if he can judge, as if he flies back home often or even calls. Yeah, no. Javi avoids home like the plague, and then the said home returns the favor. "Nothing to visit", the sad chuckle that follows your words strikes Javi.

"I'm…", he starts, but you had already turned towards him. "Sorry? You pity me. You're surprised I'm still here? Or maybe you're disappointed?". Javi crosses the distance between you and quickly catches both of your elbows. "No…", his words die down, and you're laughing again, just this time your eyes are full of tears. You sure?", you say bitterly before dropping your hands over your face, salty tears still streaming down the side of your face.

"Y/n… carino…", And Javi doesn't remember the last time he called out to someone in such a soft manner. He doesn't remember the last time his own heart dropped to his heels for someone. And you're crying, and Javi can't stand it. Because you shouldn't be, because instantly he wants to make it better. "Hey, come here; you're not alone. Shh…" And equally as much, Javi almost doesn't know how to comfort you because Javi never does that. It's always others who do the comforting, who splatter encouraging words.

"But I am. I'm so alone", The sob that slips past your lips makes Javi close his eyes for a moment because the shared agony of it rips through his own heart. Javi wraps his arms tighter around you, fingers running through your hair as you wrap yourself around his neck. Holding onto him as if your whole world now depends upon him. If Javi chose to move, you would crumble. Crumble beyond repair. "You have me", he mutters, but then the anxiety of commitment kicks in and he finds himself adding, "And Steve, and Connie", he doesn't mention Carillo. At first, he's not sure why his tongue doesn't twist to say it, but does it matter? It would be for selfish reasons one way or another.

"They killed them", you rasp out in between catching your breath. Javi pushes away the strands of hair that are now stuck to your face because of the tears. "Dad fucked up a deal, so they came to butcher them all in front of my eyes", you continue, looking up at Javi with desperation. Did no one believe you when you told them what happened? Did anyone ever listen? "I hid in the closet and then…", another sob slips past your lips. "I just saw him, purple face, big eyes, they choked…", and you crumble, legs bucking beneath you, but Javi is there with you. Bringing you even closer as he sways from side to side. Your nails are digging into his flesh, but he doesn't care. Whatever he can do to ground you and calm you down, Javi is willing to do it. "I've got you, carino", he mutters, pressing his lips to your temple, trying to keep his composure, to keep strong because now you need him. And he'll crawl out of his own grave if he had to, just to make sure that you are okay.

"Sir", the voice that doesn't fit the memory cuts through his head. "Sir", it rings, and Javi snaps his eyes open. An elderly woman is standing in front of him, her hand braced on his shoulder, as she attempts to wake him. "It's past 3 a.m., and the visiting hours are long over", she starts, and Javi is once again filled with rage. Try, he thinks, you just try to walk me out. "They transformed her into room 337; I can let you in. You can rest there", Javi blinks a couple of times, convinced that he had heard it wrong. It's against the hospital rules, and the confusion on his face tells the lady that he's trying to find a catch for this.

"Is your name by any chance Javi?", she asks right as Javi stands up. How does she know? He had said his name when he handed you to the sea of doctors and nurses. They had marked his name for the blood transfer, but he hadn't seen this woman in any of the rooms. "Miss. Y/L/N had called out for Javi a couple of times", and he has to both keep himself up so he doesn't sink to his knees and stop himself from running down the hallway. Are you awake? Have you been fully conscious? Why were you calling for him? Is it because you hate him? Or do you want him to be there?

"She's stable; however, with a blood loss like that, I'm sure she will be out for a couple of days", the lady says, and Javi only nods. He probably looks like a maniac there. He is barely managing to stay still, trying not to overstep as he constantly slows his pace to match the nurses.

She walks straight through the door, but Javi halts. You're a door away. You're there, and he will get to see you. But can he see you? Will he be able to look at you without hating the whole world? And most importantly, himself? Yet he does, and you are in there. Still pale as a sheet of paper, but it's only the wires and IVs that surround you. Someone had neatly brushed your hair, and it's not an absolute tangled mess like it was in the emergency room. No, it almost looks like you're lying in… Javi closes his eyes.

"You can talk to her. She should be able to hear you. It'll calm her anxiety and give her something to hold onto", the woman either doesn't notice that Javi is slowly losing it or is great at hiding it as she checks over the machines before turning back to him. "Just catch some sleep yourself, son", she says softly, patting his shoulder just like she did in the hallway. "The emergency button is here, but her heartbeat is strong and steady. I doubt you'll need to use it", that soothes some of Javi's worries, but there are so many of them that it almost feels like nothing. Javi keeps standing till the nurse slips out the door, and then he reaches for the chair, pulling it closer to your bed.

"Hey", Javi mutters, his fingers carefully brushing over your hand. There are so many needles and things poking you that he's almost hesitant to do so. So scared of hurting you more. Making it worse than it already is. Javi let his eyes settle on your face, then down to your chest, watching it move up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Steady. He brings your knuckles closer to his lips. There's still blood under your nails, but he doesn't care. "I miss you already", Javi admits, waiting for an answer he knows he won't get. He nestles his head on your legs, takes your hand into his, and just hopes.

[therobotmonster]

So many kid's toys these days just. Arn't fun. They're designed to be COLLECTED rather than PLAYED with. Everything is a fucking blindbag. Materials are flimsy and cheap and designs don't hold up to an actual child throwing them around. And it's all so EXPENSIVE, even accounting for inflation.

To expand on my thoughts here, I'm unrolling a Twitter thread I made about this trend. (with some additions)

The Big H's handling of mainline figs is... distressing, of late. Very little push for show mains, oversupport of already saturated legacy characters, and some frankly unsettling engineering and materials choices (esp in Cyberverse).

Increase in overall fragility, thinner parts, styrene-on-styrene joints that will go floppy in a few months of light play, very little "clicks" or locks solidly... the passion is clearly in the collector's end, and that's just bass ackwards.

This repugnus would have been amazing triumph from Mego in 1970s. But for a mainline big H TF line in the 2020s? This is a backslide. And before anyone brings up that it's from the kids' line, that's the point. They're KIDS, they should get MORE care and effort in their merch.

Every toy you make might be a kid's only birthday gift or holiday present. Toys are /given/ to children, and if the work is subpar, you make a chump out of grandma. You won't be there to blame if it breaks or disappoints.

It seriously drives me nuts seeing how far the stuff-for-kids industries have fallen. There's no brands without the work, but as the poet DMX said: "these cats done forgot what work is."

All your blockbuster superhero empires start in the pulp gutters. Compared to the movies toys, games and comics will never be profitable ENOUGH to be worth it on a billion-dollar scale ledger.

"Give me mighty oaks! There's no profit in acorns!"

If you want the stuff that makes the Michael Bay blockbuster, you have to start with the stupid goofy cartoon no one had seen before where anxiety over the oil crisis was acted out by robotic Punch and Judy puppets. How many studios would greenlight TMNT or TF sight unseen today?

If you make toys and cartoons and video games, your job is to make kids happy. How is that not sacred? If anything is sacred it should be that.

Art is the act of evoking emotion, and fun is an emotion (what else could it be described as?) and it is SO IMPORTANT.

I fear that gets lost in the "what to do over next?" rush. Every artist at those companies has a dozen amazing ideas in their back pocket that won't get a chance to become the next Transformers because a studio is terrified they'll make Jayce and the Wheeled Warriors instead.

Since the world is run by Captain Planet villains, I wouldn't bat an eye if we found out venture capital was a ploy by some disgruntled warlock who just hates the goddamn Care Bears.

Just some dick at Bear Sterns singing "There's no room for joy on a spreadsheet" to a weaselly sidekick.

Cuz guys, we've got companies that make GAMES for CHILDREN hiring the Pinkertons. I repeat. Games. For. Children. That's not normal. That's not a normal thing. That is a very disturbing thing.

And its hard to even discuss without sounding like a frickin' Care Bear myself. Because how do you sum up the creeping dread that the support beams are being mined thin, and everything fun for kids will go the way of Toys-R-Us, dragged down like Artax.

I'm not advocating pure altruism here. There's plenty of money to be made giving kids an awesome experience. It's investing in future fandom. Real Brand loyalty. If you want the blockbuster 15 years from now, get them hooked on the fun cartoon now. The value-add always pays off.

For every Transformers or He-Man there's going to be several Robotix-es or Power Lords. That's a risk. A risk worth taking. New ideas should be easier and cheaper to bring to fruition now than ever. But the system won't let it happen.

[hrts4hanniehae]

clutch || three

there are written parts :)

note that the timeline or educations may not add up but just ignore it because i don't have the brain power to sync up THIRTEEN + 1 's education schedules

also!!!! the story begins in the christmas period of 2022!!!! IF THERE ARE YEAR ERRORS IM SO SORRY!!!! i legit can't change it omfg

okay if we were being very honest, e/n was an attractive guy. well-liked by everyone, especially yn's parents -- mother. he had a good office job, loved the idea of starting a family and was rather... old-fashioned in his thoughts.

e/n had asked her out 2 years prior. she agreed because she was desperate to please her mother. but it wasn't as if she didn't like him. she did. just... not as much as she would have preferred. he was all those good things, but he didn't let her be free. he always talked her down when she brought up her art or passions. but he made her parents happy. so she suppressed it.

when he cheated on her, she didn't feel any sadness. not much resentment either. but when he stole her apartment from her, she lost her shit.

"what do you mean i can't take my apartment back? MY NAME IS ON THE LEASE!!"

"i did not sign that! that's a forged signature! how many times do i have to tell you, i have no recollection of EVER signing my apartment off to him! god why won't you even investigate the signature!"

not only did she have to deal with this bastard's theft, but now she had to deal with him at work too.

"do you know where's the bathroom?" (random museum goer)

she kindly pointed her in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

"oh yn! I didn't know you worked here." - e/n

"hi e/n. what do you need. and where's your side chick." - yn

"she went to the bathroom. i wanted to see you." - e/n

"when the fuck are you going to leave me alone? you already stole my house. what else do you want?" - yn

"yn, you're being ridiculous. just come back to me. i'll ditch her for you. i just wanted to try someone new. you're not exactly a... fun partner you know? fun in that way." - e/n

"leave me alone. i already have a new apartment. just please. i don't fucking like you anymore. just leave me alone. stop harassing me, okay? your idiotic excuses and reasonings don't make ANY sense at all. just go." - yn

"so why haven't you told your mom about our breakup? hm? do you really not like me anymore?" - e/n

"i've told you time and time again. i don't talk to my mother. at all. if you care so much, just tell her yourself. why we broke up. hm? or do you want me to get byeongho to tell her. because I will. i'm not telling her because i'm trying to help you save face. if i tell her, your father will know. and he will not be happy. i'm trying to do one nice thing for you despite you fucking another girl in OUR BED." - yn

and just like a saviour, minghao was running up to her.

"yn, your boss told me to look for you about managing my exhibit. oh. hi e/n. get lost, thanks." - minghao

"mind your own business, [redacted slur]" - e/n

security kicks him out.

"thanks, hao. my day has been ruined because of him." - yn

"i'll buy you lunch? i don't think you've had lunch yet." - minghao

"thanks but i'm good. i don't usually have lunch anyways. i'm going to head home. my shift is over." - yn

"did wonwoo tell you our friend was staying over at your place today?" - minghao

"huh. who? he didn't tell me." - yn

i guess he forgot - minghao

"lee chan, or dino. the soloist. so don't be too shocked if you see him walking around." - minghao

"right. i'll see you tomorrow for lunch, minghao. go hang out with jun." - yn

"he's filming a movie right now. how am i supposed to go see him?" - minghao

"figure it out!" - yn

she forgot about dino and walked into the bathroom not knowing he would be there. luckily, he was half-clothed.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

synopsis: wonwoo is a popular streamer known for his incredible gaming skills and good looks. He turned heads. but he hates the attention. he just wants to play games and earn money. one day he receives a letter. his apartment’s rent has almost doubled. no warnings at all. his current paycheck from streaming can’t shoulder those bills. he has no choice but to rent out his spare room. to who? a fresh art university graduate who has… 1. a stable job ✅ 2. talent for art and sculpting ✅ 3. many friends ❌ 4. social anxiety ✅ 5. no filter ✅ when his iconic cat logo gets copystriked, she comes to the rescue with a new logo for him. when his apartment’s walls start peeling, she fixes it. whatever he used to struggle with… the empty space... was now filled by her. so what does he *last player standing* do when her ex *enemy spotted* tries to take her back? heh. *clutch* he clutches.

inspired by wonwoo's gam3bo1 streams, falling into your smile & gogo squid (has hints of valorant)

pairing: streamer!jeon wonwoo x fem!artist!reader (ft. jeongcheol, soonhoon, junhao, seoksoo, verkwan)

genre: fluff, comfort, slowburn, comfort, pining, bestfriend!minghao

warnings: stalker ex, toxic ex, mentions of abuse, guns (game), cursing, hate comments, panic attacks

started: 28.12.23

ended: ?

taglist: join from my masterlist

main masterlist

smau socials

previous I next

tags! @fairyofhour @megseungmin @sun-daddy-yoriichi @woozixo @euphoric-univers @christinewithluv @haowonbins @ocyeanicc @asyre @cynthiaaax13 @superhoshisvt @bangantokchy @chimmy-bts @angelarin @daisawa @writingbarnes @jeonghansshitester

@belladaises @wonwootakemyheart @wonwooz1 @luchiet @kookssecret @caratsland @peachescreamandcrumble @thepoopdokyeomtouched @isabellah29 @leah-rose03 @yandere-stories @coupshour @heesbees

[dross-the-fish]

I found myself thinking of Jekyll today and wondering if it causes him physical pain to have to fake a smile. To what extent is Henry Jekyll, pleasant doctor and sophisticated upperclass gentleman a painful mask he has to wear and does the discomfort ever feel physical?

I was at the local aquarium today (this is the perfect time of year to go because it's open but there are no tourists so it's never crowded and admission is cheap) hanging out and doodling on one of the benches while I watched the fish. I had on headphones to listen to an audio book and to provide a buffer between myself and anyone who might try to talk to me and I had been looking forward to relaxing for a couple of hours when a family walked up and the father waved his hand in front of my face to get my attention. The minute they started asking me questions about what I was drawing I was filled with what I can only describe as intense dismay.

Obviously the family being present isn't in of itself an issue, it's a public aquarium, it's aimed at families and parts of the aquarium are geared specifically at children, but the family noticed me drawing and stopped to talk to me.

I reiterate that this was not something they did wrong, they were just being friendly, but I was really not prepared to have a conversation and I found the whole ordeal to be...well an ordeal. They were interested in what I was drawing (a sketch of Henry Jekyll because he's been on my mind off and on) and just the thought of having to explain who this character was, hoping they got it, and having to potentially explain why I was drawing him felt overwhelming.

And it was, they did not know who Henry Jekyll was, they were vaguely aware of Jekyll and Hyde but weren't the type of people to read classic literature and had never heard of the musical or actually seen for themselves any movies featuring the character. The mom commented that he looks like "a Disney villain from back in the 90s" which...fair assessment, I can't pretend I don't see why she would have thought that. The older kid was probably the most interested and wanted to see more of my drawings which made me really uncomfortable but I let him look through my sketchbook anyway because his parents kept saying he was interested in drawing and he loves art and I felt too anxious to say no.

I made small talk with the parents for a while, all the usual, "what's your name, where you from, what's your job?" (I hate those questions, they are usually the least interesting things about any people, myself included) and I wondered if this is what Henry does on a regular day. Has ordinary conversations with reasonably nice people and feel completely like a fish out of water the whole time. I felt pretty terrible about it too, I didn't have any hard feelings or resentment but the whole time I was thinking "Stop touching my things, go away, please fucking leave so I can get back to my audio book and my drawing. I just wanted to sit with the fish for a few hours because it's supposed to be quiet here this time of year."

No one ever seems to catch on that physically talking to people is an effort for me. I've gone my whole life and no one has ever noticed that I'm anxious or uncomfortable in situations where I have to speak out loud because I've gotten good at faking small talk and I know how to make my voice sound pleasant.

It's strange because I express myself easily enough in writing and I like messaging with people over text but the minute I have to be verbal with people I don't know I feel like I'm putting on an immense effort. I have to consciously choose a tone, figure out what words I want to say, be ready with an explanation in case I'm asked questions and I have to do all of it in real time on the spot. It feels like improve, like I'm constantly doing an improve routine and I know most people would say "Just be yourself!" But myself doesn't want to be doing this at all. Myself wants to be drawing and looking at fish. Even as a child I was never very social, I liked to doodle or daydream or build with my lego sets. I got reprimanded a lot for being too quiet. So I made myself more talkative and learned how to hold conversations. I learned to blend in but it's so tiring at times and I can swear when it's at its worst it feels almost physical. The discomfort becomes a suffocating "texture" on my skin and in my brain and I have to keep pretending like I don't notice it because every time I try to articulate how I feel people don't understand it. It's just not a thing they experience.

So I just keep "acting normal," and wonder if there's something wrong with me, like I'm operating on a different frequency from the people around me and I'm the only one on that frequency so other people don't even know it exists. It's...incredibly isolating at times. Even my partner doesn't seem to hear the world as loud as I do or experience the "texture" it's just a strange THING that I'm stuck with by myself. I wonder if it was the same for Henry Jekyll? Except instead being of too quiet he was too loud, too boisterous, threw tantrums, didn't know when to stop rambling about anatomy and weird gross medical facts. So he learned how to cover it and move through life pretending to be interested in everyone else but keenly aware they could never share his interests because his favorite subjects were too grisly and if he started talking about diseases he'd put everyone off. I head-canon Jekyll loves what he does, but he doesn't love it for reasons a doctor should, he doesn't care that much about healing the sick, he cares about conquering illnesses, he likes to learn about symptoms, he enjoys the disgusting viscera of his work. But he can't let on that this is what he enjoys about his work because that's not noble or heroic, it's something most people would find creepy of him. So he buries it and pretends he cares about curing the sick. He pretends he enjoys talking to people who don't know anything about who he is or what he does but they think they do because they are aware of doctors and understand that medicine exists. All the time he loathes it, it exhausts him and he can't even indulge in activities he enjoys to blow of steam because he enjoys things like brawling, doing drugs, and fucking. All things a man of his status shouldn't be seen doing. There's an image people associate with Henry Jekyll and it's an image he can't afford to tarnish...

but it's not really HIS image, it's just a buffer he keeps up to make himself more palatable. I wonder if that ever hurts him physically, if the mask ever feels like a "texture" muffling him.

there are times when I feel like it's no wonder he wasn't repulsed by Hyde when he first saw his reflection. Because I can only imagine by the time Hyde showed up he was already completely burnt out on being Jekyll.

[mcflymemes]

THE PRINCESS DIARIES & THE PRINCESS DIARIES 2: ROYAL ENGAGEMENT PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from both films (2001 & 2004)

the brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all.

wait for me! wait for me!

anyone can see your desires. no one knows what's in your heart.

you are so lucky you don't know who your parents are.

i am invisible... and i am wet.

i'm just supposed to watch you.

am i too late to ask you to accept my hand in marriage?

you broke my glasses!

don't worry about me.

a princess never chases a chicken.

this really is more romantic in books.

oh, by the way! i'm getting married!

you're not very good at lying.

i thought you'd never ask.

oh! oh yes! i absolutely accept!

somebody sat on me again.

we just made the bed.

tell me a secret.

i have done a lot of flying in my day.

do we have any problems?

you'll never be bored.

i loathe you.

no matter how many times you press that, it will still go up and down the same way.

i just love to look at him.

you look so... clean.

can you please pretend you have a life for just one moment?

just in case i wasn't enough of a freak already, let's add a tiara.

this is between a waltz and a tango.

we don't slump like this.

tell me your greatest desires.

i thought you said you never slide.

if there are no more passengers, i think we should close the door.

this is getting us nowhere! talk to me!

are you sassing your grandma?

courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear.

i have never put on pantyhose before, but it sounds dangerous.

why me?

yeah, he's cute.

shut up!

look out the window.

as always, this is as good as it's gonna get.

don't forget your shoes.

i haven't danced with you since your birthday.

you're morphing into one of them!

probably all i ever do is think about myself.

i can't do this.

i have diplomatic immunity in 46 countries, including puerto rico.

i love your eyebrows.

you can't run from everything?

i simply cannot condone it.

love does things for reasons that reasons cannot understand.

hang up the phone!

the secret is... i still want to.

the fault was entirely my own.

i'd like to report an accident.

the three of us have to talk.

what am i, a duck?

my job is to protect the crown.

stop daydreaming!

oh! your foot! i'm so sorry, are you all right?

i hate it when they move in like that.

is there maybe something else about me and my life that just maybe i might want to know about?

this is so cool!

now what did you want to tell me?

just stop it, okay?

you will answer directly to me.

are you sure you don't want to exchange licenses and proof of insurances?

he's not a backstreet boys clone.

i don't like you.

i look like a moose.

well aren't you just... crafty.

i've got a wedding to go to.

wait wait! no, not you. i don't even know you.

can we park a block away from school?

you know what? i don't feel protected.

you will find the word "fear" is not in my vocabulary.

i won't be getting married today.

oh my god! you're here!

i beg your pardon!

oh, for the love of god!

why do you talk like that?

is your mom dating an undertaker?

you look so... young.

can i borrow a comb?

oh, yeah, that is exactly what you did.

i know it's short notice, but you were all dressed.

so where are you taking me?

who destroyed you?

just because i didn't get my fairytale ending doesn't mean you shouldn't.

not if you didn't want me to.

they're smitten!

well, that probably wasn't the best idea.

you look ridiculous. you should sue.

have you ever experienced that instant headache when you eat ice too quickly?

just because your hair sucks, get off mine!

do you wear contact lenses?

i would gladly take a bullet for you.

look over there.

is this the punishment for driving without a licensed driver in the front seat?

you broke my brush.

so what are we learning today?

did you happen to see who's here?

you talk to him much?

well, the camera's all ready to go.

let's go this way.

ever take those shades off?

are you ready?

enough bowing! back to your chores!

no more straggling for me.

you did very well. very charming.

the light is perfect!

i'm feeling shy, come on.

you chose me, and i accepted.

did you hear that?

do you have any change?

no, it's not attractive!

okay, i look like an asparagus.

where is she going?

if this were my party, we'd be kissing by now.

they put me on hold!

we never rush. we hasten.

you know what? i'm fine! i'm good!

a strange woman came in here and asked to hide in your closet so i let her.

should i shoo him?

[romanestuffsposts]

I just got fired from my job & need some comfort from daddies asap please

Just daddies holding onto you so tightly while you let out all your sadness & frustration

Hi there love! 💜

Oh no! I’m really really sorry it happened to you! I understand how disappointed it is 😕 but I’m sure you’ll get back to your feet quickly! You’re stronger than that, show your ex boss that it didn’t made you fall!

You’re your own boss and you take your life in hands, it’s not others who chose what you worth. You know it and it’s the principal

I give you all of my luck for the futur ❤️ trust in yourself like I do, everything will be okay, I promise you 💜

Here’s what you need sweetie 😊

****

Warnings : getting fired, being scared to open up, cares, reassurance, pet names, comfort, kisses

Pairings : Daddies!Stucky ; Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader

Summary : you got fired and are scared to tell it to your Daddy. That until they make you feel safe and protected from your pain

****

Todays was totally shit. Firstly, when you went to take your breakfast before heading to work, the bottle of milk was empty and you hate eating cereals without milk.

Then, it took you the double of the time you take usually to go to work just because people don’t know how to drive.

And to add to those beautiful moments, before leaving work at the end of the day, your boss fired you for some stupid reasons you knew weren’t true.

So to say the least, it wasn’t your best day ever.

You thought you were fine, you weren’t crying while packing your stuff, you weren’t sad nor angry. You just wanted to go home.

But as you were driving, it’s like all those feelings hits at the same time and you found yourself crying in your car.

It’s been ten minutes now that you’re parked in front of your house, in your car under the rain and in the dark.

You see lights coming in your eyes before they're shut off and you know it's your Daddies who finally came home.

You kinda feel shitty for staying in your car, in the cold while you could be crying in your warm bed or under the shower but that's too late now.

Since the light in your car is still on- you know cause you're still inside- they could tell you're not in the house and reach your car once they're out of theirs.

They knock on your window and you pull it down after wiping your tears "baby ? What are you doing here" your Papa asks. You don't see his face well because your eyes are blurry and it's raining and dark outside.

You sniff and take your keys out of your car "nothing i- i just got here" your voice is cracky and who knows you better than anyone ? Your Daddies, of course.

"are you- are you crying, babydoll ?" your Daddy's sad voice is heard from under the rain. You sniff again and shake your head "it's nothing" you open your door and get out.

They don't ask questions right now because it's raining so you all hurry up inside. You throw your coat and shoes where they have to be and step further in the house. The warm of the inside hit you at once and you relax a little because of that.

You were about to go upstairs when your Papa rests his hands on your shoulder "why don't we go sit down for a minute so we can talk ?" he proposes.

At first you declined but he pressed the thing so you eventually agreed. You sit on the couch between them and wait for one of them to start talking.

"did something happened today ?" your Daddy asks, his hand stroking your knee "or is it simply a bad day for unknown reasons ?"

You shrug and look at the table in front of you. You're scared to tell them that you got fired, you don't want to disappoint them. It's really the worst feeling.

"you know you can talk to us, right ? We're here to listen to you and give you advise if you need some.. We can be there for you whenever you need it" your Papa softly says with his hand caressing your back up and down

You nod your head because you know that, you know how they are and how much they will be there for you but you have a hard time spilling the words. It’s more for you that for them.

‘’Take your time, pretty girl. We’re not in a hurry’’ your Daddy says, kissing your temple.

‘’Why don’t we go upstairs to take a bath to warmth up a little. You’ll have more time to get ready if you want to tell us’’ your Papa proposes.

Both of your Daddies look down at you, waiting for a reaction. You nod your head stand up from the couch. Your Papa takes your hand and walk upstairs with you

He helps you with your bath while your Daddy get your room and your clothes ready for tonight. They checked if you needed a pull ups before heading downstairs.

You spend the evening cooking with them, laughing and playing around in the kitchen and in the living room. They made sure to get ride of every bad energies to replace them by good ones, which was successful.

Once bedtime has ring and you are in your bed, sandwiched between your Daddies who are ready to help you falling asleep, you found the courage to talk.

‘’I got fired’’ you quietly say, too quietly for them because they asked you to repeat what you said.

Not because they’re angry and need to be sure of what you said but because they really didn’t heard tou at all.

‘’I got fired’’ you say a little louder this time, with your eyes closed.

A long silence is weighted in the room and after a moment you opened your eyes. You look up and see your daddies looking down at you with sweet smiles

You frown as to why they are smiling.

‘’Was that the thing you wanted to tell us but weren’t able to ?’’ Your Papa asks, stroking your hair gently. You nod and look at your lap.

‘’Can you tell us why you had trouble telling us ?’’

You take a breath through your nose and sigh, still looking down at your lap ‘’was scared betause I didn want you to be disappoted.. didn want it to be real too’’ you sadly say.

‘’Look at us, beautiful’’ your Daddy gently asks, ‘’can you look at us please’´

You peer up at him through wet eyes ‘’you don’t need to be ashamed because you got fired. We will never be mad at you because of something like that’’

‘’Those kinds of experiences are hard to live but it’ll bring you to things better afterwards. If it happens then it means it needed to happened, you’re strong enough to get through it’’ your Papa adds

‘’You don’t a boss to tell you what you can do or not. It often happens like this but you have your own mind and your own opinions. Nobody is allowed to change you and what you think. Nobody is allowed to except you.’’

‘’You will find something better than what you had, you will get back to your feet because you’re too determined to stay in your place’’ your Daddy chuckles making you giggling too.

‘’Don’t feel sad about it, it’s just a job. It can be a lot of course but it’s not that who will break you. We’re here to help you getting back to your feet, you don’t need to be ashamed around us, no matter what is happening to you, we’ll be there to support you and to lift you back up to your feet when you fall. Don’t keep us away. Please don’t do that baby’’

You Daddies give you kisses on your temples at the same time before lifting your sheet to your chin ‘’sleep now baby. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow.’’

‘’Yeah, with a good night sleep we’ll have lots of ideas for the futur’’

[balkanradfem]

I was trying to explain to my friend how all music from our country that is made by m*n is sexist, and was deconstructing the lyrics of some beloved, popular songs from the 90s. She told me I was the only person who would ever find fault in those songs, and acted like I was, in fact, a lunatic for dissecting every little thing to find offense in it. So I thought, you know what, I will bring this to my blog. Let the tumblrinas decide if I'm right.

So I will translate for you, some of our very beloved songs, in order to tell you what I think is wrong with them. If you're croatian, this will be funny, and you are allowed to correct my translation. I don't even hate these, they're incredibly catchy, but the lyrics are driving me insane.

Mary and Kate (youtube link) (1st verse) I thought the life was restaurants and dreams Friends, pretty women, for love to guide me And wherever I went, I didn't care I loved, never asked, through the world I drifted (chorus) Mary and Kate Where are they, to come back? My beautiful little Anne Who did you sleep with tonight? (2nd) I talked a lot, drank a lot, and laughed a lot I did this and that, everything, and always what I wanted And while I drifted, a crazy fool Pretty girls were all snatched by effortless cretins (chorus) (3rd) Where was I, what I was doing, who did I love? I was having fun, never lost my head I am still the same, I am the real one Real m*n goes, gives, never gets spoilt.

I no longer understand These young girls I am real for them They are not the real ones. I no longer understand What do they want? If only women were what they once were. (chorus) Mary and Kate Where are they, to come back? My beautiful little Anne Who did you sleep with tonight?

So you all can probably tell why this pisses me off, the chorus itself is giving me rage, but then the last bit just goes into full misogyny rant about women. It is obvious that this is a bullshit sicko man! He fancies himself as a 'vagabond' who just drifts around, drinks and has sex with women, and while he was young, it was working out for him and he could get young women to sleep with him, and then some time later, women obviously caught on onto the fact that he is a worthless drunk who doesn't do anything but party and bed women, incapable of being faithful or useful to anyone, and they've settled for males who, I would hope, are at least having a job and don't cheat or do alcohol all day. So as a response to that, he has to go and say 'wow women today are not real anymore, what do they want?? I am the real male obviously, m*n can never go bad, but all these women, they are unreal for not wanting me,' and then he proceeds to try and guilt trip MULTIPLE WOMEN AT ONCE for being on a location he doesn't know of, asking who they slept with! It's literally none of his business! He's literally not invested in any of these and will not contribute to their life in any manner except to give them a horrible time and to then proceed to look for his next victim, but they're being depicted as wrong and unreasonable. It's very obvious why no woman would look at him!

It makes me even more concerned that by the end of the song, he's no longer saying 'women', he's saying 'girls', indicating that now that he's older, he's interested in younger female demographic, but then also a verse later he had the GALL to call them 'not real women', if they're also not interested in him. In the end he even goes 'if only women were what they once were', by which he probably means, without any rights to reject him, without legal protection, only that way he could get whatever he would want from them.

My friend told me I'm supposed to just 'not listen to the lyrics' but m*n are listening to these lyrics! And agreeing! And if we're also acting uncritically, they're taking it as a sign that we also agree! A m*n wrote these!! It got mega popular!! And the song itself is so damn catchy it's been playing in my head all damn day. Someone needs to say something!!!!

The second one I want to criticize is considered one of the most beautiful, most romantic songs in our language, and I too will sing it sometimes because the imagery gets to me, but once I fully analyzed the lyrics I could see that something unsavory and messed up is going on in here and I am going to talk about it.

Empress (youtube link) (1st verse) Golden threads of the summer dawn came to her castle to wake up my love. Light shall kiss her face, beautiful as in an empress, while I can't kiss her. Golden net of her body has captured my soul only to throw it back into the sea. Every morning, before dawn I come to her castle, white castle of my penance. (chorus) All of my life, all I wanted was her. To find the way to her heart. All of my life, my body is without her Like flowers without water.

These are all of the lyrics, and on the first glance, it sounds beautiful, he's describing her as royalty, and without any derogatory terms as well, which is not common, thus the romantic notion. But. If you paid attention, there are clues that tell us that this woman is not even remotely interested in him, and he's depicting himself as this deeply pained, suffering man, and he's suffering because of her appearance.

He's depicting an image of a woman who is hidden from him, by a castle, and he can't get close to her – this is probably because she is unwilling to face him, or to come close to him, she's behind a wall for a reason. He even implies he's jealous of the light kissing her face, which is in the area of insane obsessed stalker, and when you read further on, he mentions he actually comes to her castle, BEFORE DAWN, which means she probably doesn't know he's doing it, he is in fact, stalking this woman. He describes her castle as a white castle where his punishment happens – he is punished by what? Her existing?

The only description of this woman we get is the perceived beauty of her, there's never any insight in who she is, anything she does or says that would imply interest, but he feels deeply victimized. 'Golden net of her body has captured my sol', he imagines that her appearance was a trap to capture him, by which we can assume the poor woman never even said anything to him, he just saw her and decided that she is responsible for his feeling, because he likes appearance and feels he should have her. And here also we can see that she doesn't want him, because she 'threw his soul back into the sea', meaning she did not show any interest in him. He goes on to cry about how his body is 'like flowers without water', implying he is withering at the foot of her castle, because she is not showing any interest in sleeping with him, oh the horrors.

This is clearly a stalker song! She probably never even spoke to this man and he doesn't seem to know anything about her, he never ever mentions anything except for her beauty, we don't know what this woman is like, or what she wants, this is not a love song! The only agency this woman is showing is that she's staying hidden in her castle PROBABLY FOR A GOOD REASON, and he keeps stalking her and claiming she's causing him pain. I would freaking move castles.

The only saving grace of this song is that I do hope he withers completely without ever getting a glimpse of her, and that she never even finds out, which I feel is the correct way for him to go, without bothering her.

These are not the only songs I find issue with, I am actually continually mad about many other songs but I will leave it at this for now. Thank you for coming to my music corner where we point things out.

[cerealforkart]

Announcements and Updates

I already mentioned this with my anniversary comic this morning (I'm glad people seemed to like "it's back on air"), but Dungeons and Daddies the Manga is a whole year old today and I wanted to talk about a couple things!

For starters, thank you to everyone who's been on this journey with me, from those of you who have been here since lesson 1 to those of you who only just discovered lesson 42 yesterday (you probably don't exist because the tags hated lesson 42). Whether you like or reblog every single lesson, you silently read the updates without ever interacting with them, and even if you fell out of the fandom but you read the manga at some point, I appreciate you all so deeply.

I might be making this a bigger deal than it actually is, but Dungeons and Daddies the Manga is a really special project to me. I'm so proud of my growth and I've put a genuinely crazy amount of time and effort into this. There was a time when I was trying to catch up when this was basically a second job. I would come home from work and draw manga pages until I went to sleep, it was all I did, it probably wasn't healthy tbh. People in the discord know, I've gotten crazy efficient at making these, if I don't have anything else going on, I can pump out 2-3 of these a day when new episodes drop. I've never undertaken a project this big before, I'm more the kind of person with a million abandoned first chapters, so to actually still be keeping up with this is huge for me, so I'm hyping this up a little bit.

If anyone has ever thought, "wow, I would love to support cereal financially! They seem to work very hard and would probably really like some money! I would also love some of cereal's cute art to plaster on my belongings," please keep your eyes open, I'll be dropping stickers in near future (Taylor in the trash can will be one of them)! I meant to have them ready for today, but I've never sold anything online before, and I'm kind of stumbling through the process. I'll try to have them up soon! So keep an eye out in the upcoming weeks.

For those of you who only care about Dungeons and Daddies the Manga, you can stop reading here, thank you so much for enjoying my manga this past year! For anyone interested in some personal updates and projects, please keep reading, I've been working on something I'm finally ready to announce.

I've learned a lot from my work on Dungeons and Daddies the Manga. My art has improved a lot, and it's still improving all the time, and I've really come to love making comics. Which is why maybe it won't be so surprising to learn I've decided to start an original webcomic. This webcomic won't interfere with my work on the manga, no need to worry, but as much as I love the manga, and the DnDads community, there's only so much I feel like I get back from it. I've been pouring so much time, energy, and love into Dungeons and Daddies the Manga over the past year, and I'm so proud of my product, but I want to start putting some of all that into something that's actually mine. I've been through a weird past couple of months where I went through some really bad burnout, looked around my life and realized "oh wow, this ALL sucks! I don't like a single thing I have going on here!" So, I quit my job, moved, and while I've been restructuring my life, I started dusting off some of those old abandoned first chapters I mentioned earlier and getting back into original work.

The webcomic is called The Rotting Things, I've teased it a very little bit here and there. It's about a boy with a power that is slowly but surely killing him and a man said to be unable to die trying to maneuver through a world of magic that hates anyone unlucky enough to be able to wield it.

I'm kind of nervous about starting a webcomic, but I've been waiting to be "good enough" to put something out there for a very long time, and I'm trying to come to terms with the fact I'll never be fully happy with my own work and just diving in. It would mean a lot to me if anyone wanted to give it a chance.

An eight page prologue will be dropping next Friday, September 29th, after which pages will start to drop one at a time every Friday. We'll see how I handle the one update a week schedule, it might go up to two pages a week depending on how confident I feel. Just like the manga was, this will be a learning curve for me, but I'm eager to try it out! Please give it a shot!

[ashleymasenado]

QSMP Reader Insert One-Shot: It's a Deal

Summary: You were one of the residents of Quesadilla Island running for presidency; at least, you were. Halfway through, you had decided to drop out due to some other runners having similar campaigns to yours. But after listening to them better, something about them makes you uneasy, so you decide to get back into the run…with one of the few people you would ever trust.

Hi everybody! Alexa here! I'm feeling quite optimistic about this little bit I'm writing today, even though I've told myself quite a few times to wait for when I'm getting to the real fic, but that's not important right now. What's important is that I get this out before the final elections on the QSMP, because that's what this one-shot is all about. And man, if you guys have time to read this, might wanna grab a snack and a drink cause this is lengthy; probably one of the longest solo pieces I've tried writing.

Anyway, this is a female reader insert, as those are easier for me to write and because we don't have much girl power on the QSMP. But, if you are not a girl who is reading this, feel free to change things up for your own preference. I am a fifteen-year-old Christian teenage girl, but I know I have to respect and be thoughtful of others. This takes place after the third debate (Day 106). As for what you're up to, well—you'll just have to find out.

Major spoilers if you're not following the QSMP, or if you're still catching up on it. I'm sorry if anything is not entirely accurate to the timeline of the QSMP; I've checked the characters' pages on the QSMP wiki yet they're not entirely up-to-date on events. This is actually the first one-shot in a collection of two or three, because I had to get this out soon with the recent lore on the QSMP being absolutely crazy and getting darker and deeper, and the elections being close to wrapping up. I hope you don't mind what I did to get this out soon, everyone. I just hope I did a good job.

Will also be posted on quotev.com, fanfiction.net, and archiveofourown.org, on my account with the same name: Ashley Masenado, except for fanfiction.net with the username being AshleyMasenado15.

I hope you all enjoy, and remember—stay safe, and stay weird.

——————————————————————————————————

I can't believe I'm doing this…

You pursed your lips together as you walked through the woods, far away from the town, one hand in your pocket as the chatters grew quieter and farther away from you as you walked. You shuffled around your fingers, trying to stay calm, as you went over the crazy plan in your head again, over and over, to make sure you had it.

This plan was crazy. You were going crazy, and you absolutely hated it. For a while, you always thought you were the only sane one left on the island—until now. But this—this idea changed that thought. There was no turning back—but now you wished there still was.

Your steps came to a halt as you glanced around your surroundings, then raised your left hand to look at the screen of your Portable Minecraft Guide (PMG). You pulled up the map to check your location, and your icon confirmed that this was exactly where you needed to be. Pulling up the inventory tab, you rummaged through one of your backpacks for the three item kinds you would be needing: lava buckets, water buckets, and a flint and steel.

Your plan was simple: create a Nether portal with the bucket method to get Cucurucho's attention so you could negotiate with it. Normally you wouldn't break the rules on purpose; you had strong morality boundaries after all (unlike a majority of the people on the island). But you had no choice. You had missed the chance and had to come up with this in desperation, especially after what had happened near the end of the debate today. The chaos had prevented you from even getting a chance to see Cucurucho, so this was your best and only shot. You were not going to waste this only chance.

Letting out a deep sigh, you began to build the portal as the afternoon sky gave way to night. The cool breeze cooled the heat on your face, calming your heart from the nerves of today's events. As you poured one lava bucket down, followed by a bucket of water following your exact calculations, your thoughts drifted to the past events that you were around for since the beginning of Quackity's QSMP. Some were fun and fueled your resolve for adventure and to solve the mysteries of the island, while some were quite…depressing. Ordo Theoritas had been reestablished, the Nether portals at the end of the train tracks were a huge discovery, Quackity's mysterious disappearance (which you were still trying to solve today), many eggs had died (including your own, which nearly destroyed you and you were absent for a week, even needing therapy once), and the beginning of the elections of presidency for the island.

That was actually where you were now. Out of pure curiosity you had actually opted to run for president; and being the "do-it to-it" person you were, you went for it. After a bit of hard brainstorming and plenty of rewritten drafts, you had the perfect campaign: a program designed to protect the eggs and the people, and everyone and everything on the island. Cellbit, whose primary goal you knew was to leave the island—you knew he was going to be against the idea. But that didn't bother you, even if he was a good partner outside the elections.

As the elections had gone further with the first debate, you grew bold enough to share your further ambition to bring down the Federation, as they had done nothing to stop the problems of the Binary Code Entity and its attacks on the other eggs. It had been the cause of so many deaths, of people and eggs alike, and all they did was sit back and watch? Well you had had enough. If this so-called government wasn't going to do anything about your problems, you would. You would make sure of that.

At least until the very next debate. After you had heard the proposals of Bad and Baghera, you had decided to drop out of the elections as they had similar ideas to yours, and you figured since they were older than you and had more experience with these things. And besides, you figured with your lack of self-control that you'd probably go mad with power the moment you started your first day. It was probably for the better that you had dropped out. Thanks to some negotiations with Cucurucho and having the official paperwork signed, you were out of the run for presidency.

What some people didn't know, was that not long after the second debate, you were having second thoughts. There were many things you knew that the others did not, and these things worried you. Had you made a mistake to drop out of the elections? Maybe. Especially with Bad's proposal, which you had reflected on more after reading back on your draft for the QSMP newspaper (you were the main editor as it gave you something to do after you lost your egg). You didn't want something like that to happen again; you couldn't let it. You would not let it. If anyone was going to actually make things better on this cursed island, it was going to be you.

As the heaviness of the load in your hands began to lighten, you stopped pouring and put down the empty bucket. The portal was finished and now it only needed to be lit. You stared at the flint and steel in your hand, seething through your teeth at the thought of the crime that was about to be committed. Standing in position and gripping the tools tight, you flicked the flames and the deed was done. Now all you had to do was wait.

As you stood there waiting for Cucurucho to come by and give you your news, you thought of the strange nature of this white robotic bear. Ever since your first interaction with it, you had thought it to be an A.I., due to its use of a soundboard to communicate, having no desire for itself, and its constant presence to ask questions to the reidents as surveys. You were very wary of Cucurucho, especially after its first jumpscare on you. You nearly had a heart attack that day. No joke; you had to pump your fist on your chest plenty of times and your child had to calm you down since you were even laughing your head off with insanity.

As time went on and you were noticing patterns in its behavior, you began to understand it more—at least, you hoped it did. Cucurucho was only doing its duty, given to it by the Federation. It was only doing what it was told, even if it did have some… interesting methods to getting the job done. It reminded you of yourself in a way, with your "get-right-to-it-before-I-get-too-lazy" attitude. Except you weren't the kind to use force to get your work done, so of course there were some major differences. At least you didn't laugh in someone's face when they were about to lose the last of their hearts.

A flash of white caught your eye from the trees in the left, and you immediately stepped back as Cucurucho came running. In a single click it destroyed the portal, one block at a time. Not a single trace was left, not even a particle. As soon as the portal was out of existence, it turned around and faced you with that same eerie smile, plastered on its white mask for hours at a time. It sent a chill down your spine whenever you saw it; it was like a prison it couldn't escape. If you still didn't think Cucurucho was just some AIR (Artificial Intelligent Robot, as you called it), you would have felt a little sympathy for it.

"Hello," it said, its iconic leather-cover notebook in its left hand. The feather pen was stuck in-between the pages, serving as a bookmark for where it could write when it had to communicate with the residents beyond its limited soundboard. Its white long-sleeved shirt, white pants, white fingerless gloves, and white socks and shoes were spotless as always, somehow completely free of stain. The white mask sported the usual shiny black eyes and button pink nose, and the unmoving mouth where the soundboard played its repeated words held the same old smile. "You have committed an illegal act. Please, follow me."

"Yes, Cucurucho, I know I did, but I only did this to get your attention," you muttered, holding your hands up in defense as it tried to walk away. "I just wanna talk alright? It's really important, so please just listen."

To your surprise, the bear stopped in its tracks and turned around, returning back to you as it had walked away a few paces. It opened its book and wrote down some quick scribbles, then handed it to you to read.

I'm listening; what is it you need? The text read; inwardly you sighed with relief. You didn't think this plan would have actually worked, and yet it did. You figured it was now best to move on to the next phase, so you explained that you wanted to get back into the elections, and you needed Cucurucho's help for it. The bear was quiet the whole time, completely still as you talked. Halfway through, you realized the danger of the current situation and frowned slightly, looking around to see if anyone was listening in. Internally you sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose, reprimanding yourself for not thinking this entirely through.

"We're not safe talking about this out here," you said, turning around to the direction of your house. The bear had put the book away, its paws now empty as it stood there; perhaps contemplating its decision in the matter. "Would you mind if we have to go to my house? I think we're close enough to it."

"No."

"Okay cool," you said, as you began to walk towards the direction of your home. You turned around to check if Cucurucho was following, and you kept going as it stayed three blocks behind you. As you went, you kept your map window open to make sure you were taking the most inconspicuous route, even making sure no one was following you by checking behind you every minute of the way. Normally you wouldn't call yourself paranoid, but things on the QSMP were making you more and more afraid of the island everyday.

Ever since the death of your egg child, you had been feeling less like your old self. You had become more tense, more wary of your surroundings and especially very careful with who you made friends with. You even stopped frequently hanging out with people, which you used to do plenty before to make more friends and be more socialised. Sometimes when some players would come by to ask how you were, they would be answered with an "I'm fine" and a chill wave. But in reality, sometimes you forgot how to smile a genuinely happy smile.

It took a bit of a long walk and a bit of quick sidestepping to avoid some of the player residents, but you and Cucurucho finally arrived at your little wooden cottage in the larger cherry blossom biome, near a quaint little village where you had built your house. It stood on top of a hill where the sun could shine into your windows. You opened the door to let Osito Bimbo in, then after you closed it you flicked on the lights with your redstone-powered lever that went all the way to some lanterns up on the ceiling.

Your living room was simple, yet enough to make one feel right at home. The red couch on the right side of the house was enough to seat atleast five people, and it was clean and inviting. On the right armrest was a jukebox with a chest labeled "Non-Copyrighted Relaxation Music" on its right side. A window with shutters was on the left wall, the shutters having been pulled up so the sunlight could flow in and warm the room enough; albeit with nighttime coming through, it was more of the sunset coming in. A ceiling fan whirred on in the middle of the ceiling, surrounded by the warm glows of the lanterns above. At the far side of the room were the stairs leading to the upstairs, with the bedrooms and the guest rooms. A hallway to the far left of the room lead to the dining room and the kitchen, where you lead Cucurucho into. You gestured for it to take a seat at one of the chairs at your table, while you went into the kitchen to prepare some refreshments for the both of you.

"Hey Cucurucho," you called from the kitchen while you poured pre-prepared hot water into two little teacups. "Jaiden told me you like tea a few days ago. You want some honey in your green tea?"

"Yes."

Nodding, you took out two of your green tea bags from the second top cabinet, dipping them into the cups and stirring a tablespoon of honey into one of them. You quickly stirred it and carefully made sure to evade the steam quickly lifting from the cup, as to not burn yourself from it. While the cups cooled on the counter, you took out a few home-baked Fita crackers from another one of your storage cabinets and put them on a plate, then put them aside to make room for the cups. After you brought and distributed them on the table, you took one of your discs from the shelf in the living room and played it in the jukebox near the table, then took a seat as you took your cup to sip your tea.

With the comfy music, you took some time to collect your thoughts while you looked around the dining room. The place was rather homey as intended, nice and simple with a long wooden table and wooden cushioned chairs. It took up most of the dining room, but left enough space for people to walk around the table, especially when you needed to serve visitors their refreshments. Lanterns hung from the ceiling from reinforced iron chains, bathing the room in a warm and comfortable glow.

You put down your cup and chewed on some biscuits, then after another sip you took a deep breath and braced yourself. Gently clapping your hands, you turned your attention back to the white bear, who seemed to have not budged from its seat except for having opened its book on the table and the cup in front of it being noticeably half-empty.

"So, Cucurucho," you started, holding out your hands in a hopefully professional manner. "Like I said, I wanted to talk to you about the elections. I would like to get back into the run for presidency."

"Why?"

You shuddered inside; this was new. You didn't think Cucurucho could have its soundboard updated to include new vocabulary, especially since you were used to hearing its usual "Good morning" , "No", "What are you doing?" and its eerie monotone "Hahaha". But maybe it was always there and you just didn't get an opportunity to hear it before.

"I want to get back into the presidency because I am concerned about the proposals of some of the candidates. Not only because of what they plan to do, but also because I am wondering if they will actually do it. Many running candidates often tend to forget about their promises because of their want for power. Once they have the power offered to them, they often forget about what they've promised and only care about themselves. Do you follow me?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not going to be like that. I've decided that if there's a fat chance that these candidates won't do what they've promised to do, then I'll do it myself, as I've always told myself all the while while I was in the run for presidency. Basically, I'd like to get back into the run for presidency because I want to help the island, and everyone in it, in my own way. What do you say?"

There was another reason you wanted to get back into the run for presidency, but it was one you would rather prefer to keep to yourself. Not only did it make you uncomfortable to think about, but it reminded you of terrible things that only further motivated you to get back into the run. You couldn't let something like that happen again, especially not with Bad and Foolish. They were some of your best friends on the island and the QSMP itself, and there was no way you would let history repeat itself over.

H̷͙͘o��̼̈́w̵̡̾ ��̝͐c̵̦͝a̸̫̚n̵̞̊ ̷̥̏y̵̻̍ö̷̹́ū̴̠ ̷̭̿b̵̫̚e̶̱͌ ̷̖͠s̷͝ͅo̵̝̓ ̸͇̌c̷͚̚ǎ̵ͅl̴͍͗m̴̲̀ ̷̭̈́ȁ̵̼b̷̧̈́o̵̾ͅu̴̙̍t̶̲̀ ̴̣̋j̶̝̈́ú̸̹s̷̯̋t̵̙͐ ̷͙̊t̴̹̊ă̸͇k̷͚͊ī̶̧n̵͚͘ĝ̶̭ ̸͇̔s̵̤͠ỏ̸͓m̸̜̆e̵̱͊ō̶̫n̸͓̎é̶̩'̸̫͒s̶̔

"̸W̸h̴a̶t̴ ̸h̴a̸p̷p̶e̴n̵e̵d̸ ̷t̷o̴ ̷t̷h̶e̸ ̵B̴a̷d̴ ̵B̶o̶y̴ ̸H̸a̸l̵o̴ ̴I̴ ̵u̸s̵e̶d̴ ̷t̸o̷ ̶k̷n̵o̸w̴?̴!̷"̷

"̸I̴ ̶t̴r̷u̵s̸t̸e̶d̶ ̴y̶o̴u̶

Deciding not to dwell on the past, you looked up and noticed that Cucurucho's notebook was in front of you with the words written inside: "Please wait while I discuss this with my workmates." From across the room, Cucurucho had pulled up a window on its PMG, which you figured was where it was talking with its fellow workers of the Federation. You decided to be patient and think of what you could request to Cucurucho in case it would need you to do something to fulfill your requisition. You carefully closed the notebook with the pen inside as a bookmark and slid it back to the bear, chewing on the rest of the biscuits on the plate while leaving some for Cucurucho.

After only a few minutes, Cucurucho turned off the window and carefully took out a page from its notebook. Your eyes widened as you never thought Cucurucho was allowed to do such a thing. But you figured it was best to say nothing, so instead you opened the chat on your PMG and began to talk with your friend Foolish. The QSMP members were put into an all-members group chat where if a single person messaged, everyone would immediately be able to see it. Luckily, the QSMP admins had created something new for the players: a personal chat similar to the private messages in Minecraft, except without the /msg command which made things a little tedious. You were especially grateful for this new function, which you used plenty of times when you weren't busy building.

Hey Foolish, what's up? You put in the personal chat for Foolish Gamers, his profile picture of him in his shark hoodie and doing a silly face in his selfie. This always made you giggle and actually made you feel a little better when you were feeling down, especially since you all liked to joke about Foolish being a comic relief during all of these hard and angsty times.

Nothing much, just hanging out with Leo rn He typed, an adorable little peace sign emoji following after. An image of Leo with a poppy doing a little dance came on, which you immediately reacted with a little red heart for Leonarda exclusively.

She actually misses seeing you around He texted. Asking when you gonna be able to come see her again

Tell her I said I'm sorry that I can't like, come over cause of how busy I am with my house You replied, with a little sad face emoji with the little teardrop. I do miss seeing all the eggs, Leonarda especially

Cucurucho's usual "Good morning" made you look up from your PMG at the white bear, who gestured to two pieces of paper it slid across the table to you. Curiously, you tilted your head at it then looked down at the paper, and what you saw made your eyes widen.

A little ping made you look back onto the open window, with a message from Foolish saying You still there bud? with the little sad face with puppy eyes. You giggled for a second, then replied with Yeah, but I gotta go now though. On the next message you said Sorry bud Then a little wave emoji, brown for your skin color from your Asian heritage. Bye you texted, putting away the chat window without waiting for an answer. You glanced back at the paper on the table in front of you, your heart dropping once again as you picked it up with the utmost delicacy.

The papers were but pieces of a contract, written down with Cucurucho's iconic feather pen. Despite being written with a feather quill pen, it was very neatly in the Courier New font, as if it were written on a computer and printed. The Federation's logo was in the upper-left corner, as it always were in the bear's notebook (you noticed this logo a while after it would ask you to answer its surveys). You didn't know the Federation was now starting to print contracts for the residents, which was making you nervous, frightened even. Quietly you opted to ask Cucurucho when they had started writing these for the residents, albeit it only answered with an ominous "I don't know. Maybe". With a frown, you began to read through the paper's contents, remembering to read through the fine lines so as not to miss anything majorly important. The contract read as follows:

The rest of the paper read about an agreement to keep everything about tonight confidential: the meeting, the agreement, every single little detail. Not a word was to be uttered to anyone about what had occurred in this little cottage in the woods, on top of the hill above the village. You wondered how Cucurucho had been able to write this all down if it really wasn't an A.I. Perhaps it had had some help with its fellow members of the Federation, as it had been talking with them in a private chat window just a few minutes earlier.

Speaking of the Osito Bimbo—it was making you nervous; like, somewhat jittery in your seat as you tried not to let your heart pound so hard. It had been staring at you from its side of the table, never moving from its spot except for a few notably missing biscuits off the nearby plate. The cup was empty as well, which made you wonder if Cucurucho had been eating silently while you read as you had not heard a thing.

"So let me get this straight," you said, rubbing the side of your temple to get rid of a small headache and straighten your thoughts. "If I can fulfill the guidelines talked about in this contract, I can get back into the elections—back into the run for presidency right?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Mmhmm, right. So this is only effective until July 31 huh? That's plenty of time for such simple items, but I'm not asking for harder work."

Carefully you read the contract's fine lines over again at least three times before nodding and putting down the paper to face Cucurucho. Its black eyes stared back at you as if it were waiting for you to make a move first before it would, and you already knew what it was waiting for. To seal the deal and get you right to work.

You stood up, locking a firm gaze with the white bear as you held out your hand in agreement. This was it—the point of no return. "I've made my decision," you alluded. "I accept your offer, and I understand that there's no turning back from here. From here on out, it's a deal. I'll do my duties well and I'll make you proud."

Cucurucho stood up as well and took your hand in a rigid grip, the touch feeling cold despite the warm feel of the fingerless gloves. With a simple handshake and a quick signing, the deed was done, and the deal was sealed.

"I hope you enjoy the island."

"I will, thanks," you muttered as Cucurucho quietly left its seat, pushing back in the chair to the table. You figured it had other duties to attend to after this, so you knew it was time to bid goodbye for now—yet somehow you knew it would always be watching. Showing it the way out from the front door, you waved to it goodbye and good night as you tiredly stretched from the doorway. After it disappeared behind the trees below, you closed the door and went back to the dining room.

The papers still lay on the brown table, a stark contrast in the color scheme that was somehow pleasing to the eye. Your brows furrowed in worry as you picked it up, knowing there was no turning back now from this. You had to do it. For the island's sake, and your friends. Even if you had to explain a ton of things later down the line.

Deciding this needed to be secure, you sealed the document into a spare plastic bag and looked around for a good hiding spot. Your paranoia was making you worry about the thought that someone could come in here while you were gone and steal it out of pure curiosity, then your secret would be out and no one and nothing would be safe. It took you a while to find a secure location, but after that you figured you could rest easy. You pulled up the Settings window on your PMG, then logged off the QSMP for the day.

Back in the real world, you took off the VR helmet and shook the spare strands of hair out of your face. A quick stretch did you good, and then you opened your face cam to talk to your chat. You had been streaming on YouTube for atleast a few hours, and you needed some food and a quick nap; that sounded good enough. And the people in the chat definitely needed some of that too.

"Alright guys, I'd say this is a good time to end today's stream," you said to the camera, smiling for your viewers. You quickly read a few comments asking what was next for the lore, and you said there wasn't going to be too much major stuff except for what had just transpired, so they didn't have to expect much to happen except for stuff-gathering for the rest of the month if you could help it. Some joked that it was a bit like Jaiden's lore on the QSMP, and you couldn't help but agree that it was a bit similar in a way.

"Please note however that everything you have seen or will see in the QSMP is all heavily improvised roleplay, so please do not send any hate to the content creators for any action of theirs you find displeasing. Thank you, God bless, and have a great day."

From there, you ended your stream with your brief ending screen, then you stood up to prepare yourself for the rest of the day. Now out of role play mode, you couldn't wait to see what would await you in the QSMP the next day.

[absentlyabbie]

teen me did not think i would live to see the age of 36. more than that, she didn't particularly want to.

that kid had been ground and beat down enough and boxed in by her present she couldn't conceive of a future at all, much less a good one, and so figured none was best.

i bought a mattress today.

my current one is only 5 years old, but it was bought floor-model clearance and started sagging to one side within 2 years (don't do memory-foam only, friends.) i've suffered on that damn thing for three years after that, and i wake up every day in pain.

but today i bought a new mattress. because i needed one, and because i could. because i'm finally in the kind of financial situation where i can afford to do that with a tax refund.

i am 36 and i have a good job with people i like, good benefits and the best pay i've ever had, i live in a nice apartment in an area i love with my best friend and our cat. and i can afford to do things like get treats from the bakery on the weekends and, because suffering every night is awful, buy a new mattress when i need one.

that teenager couldn't have seen this as possible. not through well into my 20s either. she had no clue this was coming, that here was where she'd be at the age of 36.

five years ago when i bought the previous mattress, it was a financially fraught and precarious move, living still with my best friend and our cat, but in a miserably shitty apartment in a place we hated, making barely enough to pay bills each month. five years ago me had a vague, maybe slightly dim hope that someday things could get to the sort of place i'm in now, but she didn't know either.

and neither do you. you have no idea how good your life might be in five, ten, fifteen years. how content you may be, how happy. even if you can't imagine good as a future possibility for you. you don't know.

the only way to know is to stick around and find out.

to take every small comfort, tiny joy, and little contentment in your now as another anchor, to build the life you want, or that's better than the day before, tiny step by tinier piece, every little improvement you can grab onto and keep.

it doesn't just happen. the road to good will contain probably a lot of suck, and even when you reach good, there's no such thing as perfect. you do have to make efforts, and hope for some luck, and accept help from the people who love you.

but the first, most important foundational thing you must do to reach those good days ahead is to stick around and find out.