#aborted suicide attempt

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[luxiomahariel]

anything that targets cis women like abortion bans and child marriage are going to also affect trans men/mascs

anything that targets trans people like hrt bans and hate crimes are going to also affect trans men/mascs

and there are also issues that disproportionately affect trans men/mascs like being denied health care based on medical records indicating that they are or were taking testosterone or the harms that come with chest binding for long periods of time or the increased rates of depression/attempted suicide/sexual assault that trans men/mascs suffer from

all these different types of oppression intersect in a way that we call:

TRANSANDROPHOBIA

[gyutopia]

temptation | lee heeseung pt 2

⟶ summary: having just completed your graduate work in psychotherapy, you’re eager to begin a career as a marriage counselor. you land a job as a counselor at a matchmaking firm for millionaires and meet heeseung, a charismatic client who makes no effort to hide his attraction to you. the only catch is...he’s engaged.

˗ˏˋpairing: billionaire!heeseung x f!reader ❀ genre: marriage counselor au ❀ word count: 19.0k ❀ staring: chisa (22)- xg, yunho(23)- ateez, jaehyun(22)- bnd, heeseung (23) + jake (22) + jay (22) + sunghoon (22)- enhypen, sakura (24)- le sserafim, karina (24)- aespa, danielle (20)- new jeans. ⟶ warnings:mentions of anxiety and depression, therapy speak, lots of swearing, cheating, soft dom!hee, sub!reader, oral (f + m receiving), p in v intercourse, protected sex, dirty talk, praise, brief breast play, fingering, vanillaish sex, slight body worship, talk about childhood trauma, consumption of alcohol, mentions of abortion (not reader), invasion of privacy, inappropriate relationship dynamics, talk of assisted living, mention of a suicide attempt, allusions of starving yourself, mentions of anti- depressants, vague talk of ptsd, mentions of verbal abuse, heeseung doesn’t have good parents, physical altercation, online bullying (knets have a field day with u), heeseung is v insecure and has some emotional trauma. please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

✎୭: the full version, uninterrupted can be found on my ao3 here. thank you so much for reading this monster of a fic! i love and appreciate every single one of you!

SATURDAY FEBRUARY 22ND, 2025

It’s been a week since the kiss. A week since everything spiraled out of control.

You’ve been rotting away in your bed, hidden beneath blankets like a child hiding from monsters only this time, the monster isn’t under your bed—it’s in your chest, clawing at your heart every time you think about him.

The first thing you did the morning after was log into your work account and cash in some of your sick days. You needed a way to avoid the office, a way to avoid him. Dani emailed you a few small assignments, things you could complete from home so it was easy to play the role of someone mildly under the weather. A few sniffles over the phone and vague mentions of a stomach bug and Miss Min didn’t even question it.

Sakura still being in Japan has worked to your advantage. With her busy filming schedule, the usual meetings and updates have been sparse. Miss Min has been surprisingly lenient, perhaps assuming that you’re taking this time to recover before things pick up again.

But you’re not recovering. If anything, you’re unraveling.

You haven’t stepped out of your apartment in days, let alone made an attempt to eat properly or take care of yourself. The bare minimum—replying to work emails and completing small tasks—is the only thing tethering you to reality.

You know you’re running out of time. Eventually, Miss Min will expect you back in the office and when that day comes, you’ll have no choice but to face the truth. You’ll have to tell her to reassign Heeseung and Sakura’s case to someone else.

The thought of it paralyzes you. Once you remove yourself, that’s it. You’ll have no reason to see him anymore. No excuse to hear his voice or watch the way he absentmindedly taps his pen against the desk during meetings. No more pretending that you’re just doing your job when deep down, you know you’ve already failed at keeping your feelings in check.

Heeseung hasn’t reached out. Not once. No calls, no texts, no emails. Nothing.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. You’re the one who left his home without a word, too embarrassed to face what you’d done. You’re the one who’s been avoiding him like the plague hoping that the distance will make it easier to let go. But his silence feels like a confirmation of your worst fear—that he regrets everything.

The memory of that night replays in your mind on a loop. The way his lips felt against yours, the way he held you, the way he took care of you.

It’s torture, and you’ve trapped yourself in it.

Your friends have noticed, of course. How could they not?

It started with Yunho.

He texted a few days ago, saying he’d made a big batch of jjajangmyeon and that you should come over for dinner. Normally, you’d jump at the chance to eat anything Yunho cooked—he has a talent for cooking. But you declined claiming you weren’t feeling well.

His reply was immediate. 

5:25pm | yuyu💫: u never turn down food…are you sure ur okay?

You typed out a response. Deleted it. Typed out another. Deleted that one too. Finally, you settled on:

5:36 pm | you: i’m fine. just tired. thanks for the offer.

Then there was Jaehyun.

He called the following evening, his tone light and casual. “Hey, want to grab drinks after my shift? It’s been a while since we caught up.”

Normally, you’d agree in a heartbeat. Jaehyun’s presence was easy and comforting, and nights out with him always left you feeling lighter but the thought of facing anyone, even someone as laid-back as Jaehyun, felt impossible.

“I’m not in the mood,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Not in the mood for drinks?” he repeated, his tone disbelieving. “Since when?”

You forced a weak laugh. “Rain check?”

He didn’t press, but the concern in his voice lingered long after the call ended.

Finally, there was Chisa.

She didn’t bother with subtlety. One afternoon, she stormed into your room, keys in hand. “Get dressed,” she said firmly. “We’re going to the mall.”

You blinked at her from your cocoon of blankets, confused and slightly annoyed. “I’m good,” you muttered, burrowing deeper into your bed.

“I’ll buy you makeup,” she added, a note of bribery in her voice. “Whatever you want.”

Normally, you’d jump at the offer. You loved makeup, and free makeup was even better. But the idea of standing under bright store lights, pretending to be okay, was unbearable.

“I already have more than enough makeup,” you said, turning away.

Chisa didn’t argue. She just stood there for a moment, watching you with an expression that made your chest ache, before leaving the room without another word.

That was two days ago. It’s now past midday and you’re still in bed. The room is dark, save for the faint light filtering through the curtains. Your stomach growls but you don’t have the energy to cook let alone eat.

You’re about to close your eyes again when the door to your room bursts open.

“What the—?” You sit up abruptly, squinting against the sudden intrusion.

Your friends stand in the doorway, each of them wearing expressions ranging from concern to frustration.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice hoarse from disuse.

Jaehyun strides forward without answering, grabbing the edge of your blanket.

“Jaehyun!” you protest, clutching the fabric tightly. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you since you clearly can’t do it yourself,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’re used to.

“Stop it!” You tug back on the blanket, growing annoyed but Jaehyun doesn’t let go.

“Hey, hey,” Yunho interjects, stepping between the two of you. “Let’s all calm down.” He turns to you, his voice softer. “We’re just worried about you. You haven’t seemed like yourself lately.”

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m fine, just—”

“Sick,” Chisa interrupts, crossing her arms. “Yeah, we know. That’s what you want us to believe.”

Jaehyun scoffs. “You rarely missed a day of class in college, even if you were sick so excuse me if we’re not buying that excuse this time.”

You stare at them blankly unsure of how to respond.

Chisa steps closer, kneeling in front of you. Her voice is gentle as she says, “We’re just worried about you, ____. This isn’t… normal. Please, just tell us what’s going on so we can help.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. “I just needed a week off. I’ll be okay.”

Yunho sits beside you on the bed, his presence warm. “We can’t force you to talk about something you’re clearly not ready to share,” he says. “But at least let us help you.”

Jaehyun sighs, his frustration melting as he sees the tears threatening to fall. “We don’t have to talk about it. We can just order takeout and binge-watch early 2000s shows… just stop icing us out. Please. We love you and want to help you.”

The dam breaks.

You start crying, the sound raw and unrestrained. Your friends don’t say anything—they just surround you, pulling you into a group hug.

Yunho is the first to pull away, sniffling quietly as he stands. “I’ll order the food,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

Jaehyun follows, mumbling something about not wanting to cry in front of you.

Chisa stays, holding you until your sobs subside. She rubs your back soothingly and says, “Whatever it is, know that you’ll overcome it.”

You nod weakly, more out of instinct than belief. Deep down, you don’t think you’ll overcome this—not when “this” is Lee Heeseung. How could you possibly move on from him?

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this way about anyone before. It’s not just the heartbreak—it’s the way he made you feel so seen. You’ve spent so much of your life hiding parts of yourself, keeping your scars neatly tucked away but Heeseung made it feel safe to let them show.

Most people don’t know why you became a marriage counselor. You’ve always lied whenever the question came up, saying you “just love love,” but the truth is messier and darker. Your father’s infidelity, your mother’s quiet suffering and your own helplessness in the face of it all shaped you. You wanted to help people in ways you couldn’t help her. But it’s not something you ever talk about—not until Heeseung.

He was the first person outside of your friends whom you willingly opened up to. The first person you wanted to open up to. And when you did, his response wasn’t pity or judgment. It was understanding. He didn’t tell you to move on or let it go. He simply listened, offering quiet reassurances. His words didn’t just soothe your present self…they reached that fractured little girl you used to be, the one who just wanted someone to tell her it wasn’t her fault.

And Heeseung… he understood because he’d been there too. Despite living in the aftermath of his brother’s attempted suicide, enduring his father’s suffocating demands and his mother’s overbearing love, he hadn’t become some cold-hearted monster. He had every reason to, but he didn’t.

Sure, he has his flaws. He’s scared of vulnerability, keeps people at arm’s length and hides behind a playboy persona. But you see through it—it’s all armor. He doesn’t want people to see the cracks, to know he has weaknesses they could exploit. And yet with you, he tore all those walls down. He let you see the version of himself that never got to exist when he was younger.

The version he even hides now.

You’d give anything to make sure he’s never hurt again. To ensure he never has to hide or water himself down. To guarantee he can just be himself—happy, unburdened and free. But you can’t.

Because you’re not from his world. You’re not the person he’s supposed to choose. And even if you were, some part of you thinks this love—this all-consuming love—might be too much. Too much for Heeseung.

But not because he doesn’t deserve it. No, Heeseung deserves the kind of love that heals, that lets him breathe, that doesn’t ask for anything he can’t give. But it’s the weight of it, the enormity of what it would mean to truly care for someone like him that gives you pause.

You haven’t forgotten about him forcing his ex-girlfriend to get an abortion, it’s stuck with you since you overheard it. You never brought it up, never asked Heeseung to clarify but it lingers. It colors how you see him, even if you don’t want it to. You don’t believe Heeseung is the kind of man who would demand something so cruel, so selfish but the seed of doubt is there. And it terrifies you.

Because if you’re wrong, if he really did that, what does that say about him? About you for wanting to believe in him so badly?

But even without knowing the truth, you can feel how carefully Heeseung treads around the idea of vulnerability. It’s in the way he deflects, the way he keeps people at a distance, the way his sharp words mask the pain he doesn’t think anyone notices. Loving someone like that would require patience…endless patience and you’re not sure if even that would be enough.

Heeseung doesn’t halfass anything, he said so himself. He doesn’t know how to. If he let himself fall for you, it would be all-encompassing. Consuming. He would give you everything he has, every vulnerable piece of himself he’s spent years hiding away. And that’s what scares you. Not that he wouldn’t love you enough, but that he’d love you too much.

That kind of love comes with expectations, with vulnerabilities Heeseung might not be ready to face. It’s one thing for him to care for someone in theory, to keep his emotions safely compartmentalized, but to truly open himself up? To risk that kind of pain again? You’re not sure he can.

And then there’s the other part, the part you don’t want to admit even to yourself: what if it’s not enough? What if you’re not enough? What if he gives you everything and you still can’t reach him? What if the walls he’s built are so strong that even love can’t break them down?

So you hesitate. Not because you don’t want him, but because you do. Because the thought of not being enough for him is unbearable.

You lean into Chisa’s embrace, letting the tears spill over again silent now but no less heavy. The weight of it all, the longing, the guilt, the hopelessness—feels unbearable.

You don’t think you’ll ever overcome Lee Heeseung.

Chisa helps you out of bed and into the living room, where Yunho pats the spot next to him on the couch. You sit between him and Chisa, feeling their warmth on either side.

Chisa boots up the TV, scrolling through the options. “How far away is the food?” she asks.

“Another twenty minutes,” Yunho replies, checking his phone.

Jaehyun comes into the living room, handing you a bottle of water. You smile softly and thank him. He nods, taking a seat beside Yunho.

Chisa selects That’s So Raven and hits play. As the theme song fills the room, you glance around at your friends, your heart swelling with gratitude.

You don’t deserve them.

But as you sit there, surrounded by their love and support, you realize you can’t keep this from them forever. You’ll tell them about Heeseung—once you’ve removed yourself from the case.

For now, you let yourself enjoy the moment knowing it might be the last bit of peace you have before everything falls apart again.

THAT SAME DAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN

The ball bounces high off the court, cutting cleanly through the crisp afternoon air. Jay slams it back toward Jake and Heeseung’s side with enough force to make Jake grunt, barely managing to return it. It ricochets toward Heeseung—his racket is raised and ready, but his reaction time is too slow. The ball whizzes past him, landing well within the lines.

Jay pumps his fist triumphantly. “Another point for us!”

Jake groans, marching toward Heeseung with his racket pointed accusingly. “Yah! What’s wrong with you? We’re losing!” His aussie accent is stronger than ever, laced with the kind of playful exasperation only a best friend can get away with.

Jay and Sunghoon dissolve into laughter at Jake’s fiery outburst. It’s Sunghoon’s first time joining their tennis matches—Jake had invited him earlier that week, saying, “He fits the vibe, trust me.” And so far, Sunghoon had been keeping up, much to Jay’s delight and Jake’s annoyance.

“Sorry,” Heeseung mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “My head’s… everywhere today.”

“Yeah well get it together!” Jake huffs, gesturing dramatically with his racket. “We’re not losing to these two.”

“Hey!” Jay protests, offended. “These two are crushing you.”

Sunghoon smirks as he twirls his racket. “Not my fault Heeseung’s got his head in the clouds.”

Jake groans, pushing Heeseung toward his side of the court. “Come on man! Get out of your head and play!”

Heeseung exhales heavily, adjusting his stance to serve. He tosses the ball into the air, his focus sharpening as he swings his racket. The ball zips across the net, hitting the opposite side perfectly.

As the game resumes, Heeseung speaks, his voice low but clear: “I made out with my therapist.”

Jay misses his swing completely, the ball bouncing away. Sunghoon whistles in surprise. Jake freezes, staring at Heeseung like he’s grown a second head.

“You what?” Jake finally blurts out.

Heeseung shrugs, keeping his expression neutral even as a knot tightens in his chest. “You heard me.”

Sunghoon fiddles with his racket, clearly intrigued. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Jake recovers first, shaking his head. “Wait, wait. Back up. How did that happen?”

Heeseung exhales, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” Jay says, walking over to grab the ball.

Heeseung hesitates, but when he sees the curiosity—and concern—in their faces, he decides to tell them everything. “Okay, so you know how my parents forced me to go to that matchmaking firm?”

Jay snorts. “Forced is putting it lightly.”

“Exactly,” Heeseung mutters. “They were tired of the tabloids making me look like a… well, you know.”

“A whore,” Jake supplies helpfully.

“Thank you, Jake,” Heeseung says dryly before continuing. “Anyway, I wasn’t taking it seriously at first. But then I met her—____. She’s one of their counselors. The minute I walked into that consultation room and saw her…” He pauses, the memory of that moment flickering in his mind. “She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. She was professional but kind. She didn’t look at me like I was some project to fix. Didn’t associate me with what the news was saying….she just… listened.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “Listened?”

“Yeah.” Heeseung nods. “Like, really listened. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before. Not the way she did.”

The game pauses as the four of them linger on Heeseung’s words. Jake twists his racket, visibly intrigued. “So, what happened?”

Heeseung shifts uncomfortably. “We had dinner last week…don’t ask…She didn’t judge me. Didn’t push. We talked about everything—work, family, life… even stuff I don’t usually talk about…like Heejoon.”

Sunghoon frowns. “Who’s Heejoon?”

Heeseung hesitates before explaining, “My brother. He lives in an assisted living facility.” His voice is quieter now, tinged with a sadness he doesn’t often show.

Jake and Jay exchange a look. They’ve known about Heejoon for years but they also know how rarely Heeseung brings him up.

“She didn’t pry,” Heeseung continues. “She just… let me talk. And when I didn’t want to talk, she let me sit in silence. Do you know how rare that is?”

Jake whistles softly. “Sounds like she really gets you.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung says, almost to himself. “She does.”

Jay watches him closely, his expression thoughtful. “It sounds like you like her.”

Heeseung’s grip tightens on the racket, his jaw clenching. The idea strikes a nerve, one he’s not ready to confront. He tried to ignore his feelings when they first started surfacing—during that one-on-one meeting at the hotel bar.

He brushed it off as professional interest, convinced himself it was just admiration for your work. But then you started slipping into his thoughts more often than he liked to admit.

And now, standing with his friends on this tennis court, the reality of it feels inescapable.

He doesn’t want to like you. The idea terrifies him. Liking you would mean opening himself up and he’s learned the hard way what happens when he lets someone in. Vulnerability is a risk he’s not sure he’s willing to take again. It’s safer to keep things on the surface, where emotions can’t dig too deep, where people can’t get close enough to hurt him.

But this… this feels different.

The way you listen to him without judgment, the way you genuinely seem to care—it’s unlike anything he’s experienced in years. You don’t expect him to be the perfect son, the unshakable CEO, or the carefree charmer everyone else sees. You let him be Heeseung—messy, flawed, and real. And somehow, that’s scarier than anything else.

"I don’t like her," Heeseung replies, his tone sharper than he intended. "It’s not like that."

Jay shrugs, setting up another serve. "Hate the message, not the messenger."

The ball flies across the net, but the tension remains. Jake eventually breaks the silence. "Okay, but Jay’s right. This is the most attention we’ve seen you willingly give someone since... well, you know." He stops abruptly, glancing at Jay as the ball falls flat in front of Sunghoon.

Jay glares. “Don’t.”

“What?” Jake says innocently. “I didn’t say her name.”

Sunghoon frowns, looking between them. “Who are we talking about?”

Heeseung exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging. "You can say her name. It’s not the end of the world."

Jake takes it upon himself to explain, filling Sunghoon in as they continue their game. "Heeseung dated this girl, Karina, back in college. She was the first person who got through to him during his...experimental phase." He dodges a stray ball from Heeseung before continuing. "He actually wanted to be monogamous with her."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, surprised. Jay adds, "Shocking, I know."

Sunghoon serves, the ball whizzing over the net. "So, what happened?"

Heeseung remains silent, his jaw tightening. Jake picks up where he left off. "Heeseung was still... figuring things out and Karina got self-conscious about all the attention their relationship got."

Jay continues, his tone more measured. “It wasn’t just the attention. Karina was…insecure. Heseung was the only person she had ever been with, but she wasn’t his first anything. All those other girls he’d been with? It got in her head. She started wondering if she was good enough.”

Sunghoon nods slowly. “So what, she wanted a break?”

“Yeah,” Jay says. “She said she needed to figure out what she really wanted. Heeseung knew what that meant but he didn’t think she’d actually sleep with someone else.”

Jake takes over, his tone blunt. “She got pregnant by another guy.”

Sunghoon’s jaw drops. “Seriously?”

Jay snickers. “And lover boy over there,” he tilts his head in Heeseungs direction as he prepares to serve,  “didn’t care, he offered to help her raise the baby.”

Jake bursts out laughing, striking the ball back. “The dad that stepped up!”

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

Sunghoon studies him quietly. “So… what happened?”

“She said it wouldn’t be fair to me,” Heeseung says quietly. “That I deserved more than being tied down to someone else’s mistake. So we ended things.”

Jake adds, “But her friends didn’t see it that way. They told everyone Heeseung dumped her because she wouldn’t get an abortion. People thought the baby was his. Karina transferred schools to get away from the mess.”

Sunghoon whistles, shaking his head. “That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “We had to pick up the mess she left behind. Heeseung was a wreck.”

Jay nods. "It was a mess. Heeseung didn’t bother correcting the narrative. He figured it was better to let people hate him if it meant they’d leave Karina alone."

Heeseung fixes his gaze on Jay’s new serve but his mind is far away. Jake’s words echo in his head dredging up memories he’s tried to bury.

It all started so innocently. Karina had crashed into him in the hallway outside their dorm rooms, her lab manual and papers went flying across the floor. She was in such a rush, barely looking at him as she muttered a quick “sorry” and darted off after Heeseung helped pick up her notes. He’d laughed it off at the time, figuring she was just another busy college student.

But then he started noticing her more. She was his next-door neighbor after all. He saw her leaving for early classes, hair in a messy ponytail, coffee cup in hand. He caught glimpses of her in the common areas, always with her head buried in a textbook or her laptop.

The first real conversation they had was late one night when he came back from a party. She was in the dorm lounge, slumped over her laptop, tears streaming down her face. He didn’t even know why he’d stopped—normally, he would’ve just kept walking. But something about the way she looked so defeated and alone made him pause.

He found out she was locked out of her room, freezing, starving, and overwhelmed by a cell bio lab report she had no idea how to write. Heeseung hadn’t planned to stay. He told himself he was just being nice when he ordered Mexican food for them and offered up his room for her to work in. But as the hours passed, as he stayed up helping her find sources and cracking jokes to make her laugh, something shifted.

That night, he realized he wanted to see her again. And he did—again and again. Their friendship grew and somewhere along the way he fell for her. Hard.

He didn’t even notice at first. It wasn’t one big moment, but a series of small ones: the way she’d scrunch her nose when she was concentrating, how her laughter lit up a room, the way she listened when he talked, like he was the most interesting person in the world. Heeseung started skipping parties, hanging out with her instead. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to impress anyone or put on a front. He could just be himself.

When they started dating, it felt like a dream. But dreams don’t last.

Karina wasn’t like him—she wasn’t used to the attention, the whispers, the gossip. His past flings made it worse, their snarky comments and passive-aggressive stares feeding her insecurities. He tried to reassure her, to show her she was the only one who mattered, but it wasn’t enough.

When she asked for a break Heeseung gave her space even though it tore him apart. He told himself she’d come back, that they’d work things out. Heeseung still remembers the night she told him. She’d shown up at his door, tears in her eyes, her hands shaking. He thought she was there to reconcile, to tell him she was ready to try again. Instead, she told him about the baby.

He could’ve walked away. A part of him wanted to. But the love he felt for her, the kind that makes you want to stay even when it hurts—kept him rooted in place.

Heeseung argued and pleaded but she wouldn’t budge. She told him she loved him too much to let him sacrifice his future for her mistakes.

When the rumors started—that the baby was his and he’d dumped her because she wouldn’t get an abortion—Heeseung didn’t correct them. What was the point?

She transferred schools soon after, and that was the end of it. The end of them.

Heeseung exhales sharply, his chest stinging at the memory. He’s not in love with Karina anymore, he knows that. But what they had, how it ended, left scars he’s still dealing with.

She was his first love, the first person he let himself be vulnerable with and she left.

Now, the idea of letting someone in like that again terrifies him. What if they leave too? What if he’s not enough?

Sunghoon glances at Heeseung, who is unusually quiet. The tabloids had painted a picture of him as a careless playboy, but this version of Heeseung—reserved, contemplative—didn’t fit that image. As Heeseung serves again, Sunghoon’s perspective shifts. Heeseung isn’t aloof; he’s guarded, carrying the weight of past scars and unspoken emotions.

“Point is,” Jay finally says, breaking the silence, “you deserve to be happy, Heeseung. And it sounds like this girl—____, makes you happy. Maybe it’s worth giving it a shot.”

Heeseung’s grip on his racket tightens, his gaze distant. “I know. But that’s what scares me.”

Jay frowns. “Why?”

Heeseung hesitates, then sighs. “Because people like her don’t exist in my world. Genuine, kind… It’s easier to push her away than risk losing her.”

The silence stretches between them as the weight of his words settles.

Jake tilts his head, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “What’s worse? Losing her because you didn’t try, or losing her after you gave it your all?”

Jay nods, his expression softening. “Whatever makes you happy, man. You’ve spent years doing what everyone else wants. Maybe it’s time to focus on what you want. You deserve to be happy.”

Heeseung looks at Jay, his jaw clenching as he processes his friend’s words. He knows they’re right. They always are. But admitting what he wants—admitting that he wants you—is the hardest part.

Sunghoon, who has been quietly observing, finally speaks. “You should go for it, man. You’re right, there aren’t a lot of genuine people in our world but it sounds like you’ve found someone who cares about you...why pass that up?”

Jake grins, the humor creeping back into his tone. “Plus, she’s a therapist. I’m sure she can help you sort through those deep-seated mommy and daddy issues.”

Heeseung snorts, shaking his head. “Fuck off.”

As they pack up their equipment, Heeseung lingers, his mind replaying the events of the past week. The kiss, the way you’d looked at him, the vulnerability in your eyes—it had all felt so real. But the morning after, you were gone. No explanation, no goodbye. Just... gone.

He remembers waking up, hoping to talk things out, to figure out what the kiss meant for both of you. He’d wanted to kiss you again, to tell you that he didn’t regret it. But your absence had said it all. You regretted it. You didn’t want him.

That’s why he hadn’t reached out. He’d convinced himself that you needed space, that pushing you would only make things worse. But now, after hearing his friends, he’s starting to question that logic. Maybe he’s been using your disappearance as an excuse to protect himself. Maybe it’s time to take a risk.

As the sun sets, Heeseung sits in his car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The echoes of Jay’s words ring in his ears: "You deserve to be happy."

For the first time in days, he pulls out his phone, his fingers hovering over your contact. His heart pounds as he considers what to say, what to do. He doesn’t call—not yet—but the decision is made. He’s going to reach out. He’s going to try.

Because Jay is right: he deserves to be happy, and maybe you’re the person who can help him find that happiness.

MONDAY FEBRUARY 24TH, 2025

You’re standing in front of the glass doors to your office building clutching your bag with both hands as if it might slip away and drag you with it. The week you took off feels like a fever dream now—blurry and surreal but undeniably real in the toll it’s taken on your body and mind. You’ve barely slept, barely eaten, and every fiber of your being wants to turn around and leave. But you can’t.

You exhale shakily, willing your feet to move. The lobby is bustling as usual—faces you don’t recognize weaving in and out, some rushing to catch elevators, others lingering by the café for their first caffeine hit of the day.

For a moment, you imagine Jaehyun here, waiting in the corner like he offered. He had insisted on accompanying you today, his day off but you turned him down. “I’ll be fine,” you’d said, more to convince yourself than him. The truth is, you don’t feel fine. Not even close.

Your resolve wavers as you step into the elevator, but you clutch your bag tighter and remind yourself of your plan. Drop off your things, go straight to Miss Min and request to be removed from the case. That’s it. That’s all you have to do. You don’t have any sessions today so you’re free to do paperwork in the comfort of your office alone.

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to reveal the familiar hallway. Your heart pounds harder with each step, dread clawing at your chest.

The firm feels unfamiliar after just a week away. You round the corner to your office but stop dead in your tracks.

Sakura is standing there, waiting for you. The sight of her sends your heart plummeting into your stomach.

Her outfit is immaculate as always, a Dior top tucked into high-waisted jeans, a fluffy tote bag slung over one shoulder. She looks stunning, almost as if she just stepped out of a magazine spread.

What is she doing here?

You don’t have a scheduled meeting with her today and the possibilities racing through your mind only make the anxiety worse. Did Heeseung tell her about the kiss? Is she here to confront you?

You swallow hard and force a polite smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Sakura, hi. What brings you here?”

Her smile is warm and genuine, completely disarming. “I finally found an opening in my schedule,” she says. “I know it’s last minute and I’m sorry but I really wanted to have that one-on-one time with you.”

Your heart sinks further.

Oh.

She’s not here to accuse you of anything. She’s here because she thinks you’re someone she can trust.

Staring into her kind eyes feels unbearable knowing what you’ve done.

“Oh, um…” You hesitate, glancing at the door to your office. “Actually, I don’t… I can’t today. I’m sorry. I don’t have time.”

You try to sidestep her, desperate to escape into the relative safety of your office but Sakura gently places a hand on your arm, stopping you.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her tone almost pleading. “I really don’t mean to impose, but this is my only free day off. Please?”

There’s something so sincere in her voice, something that twists the knife of guilt even deeper. You have no right to deny her this. It’s quite literally the least you could do.

You nod reluctantly, forcing a small smile. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

Sakura’s face lights up as she lifts her tote bag slightly. “Crocheting! I brought some of my materials.”

You smile softly remembering her mentioning it was a hobby of hers. “Crocheting?”

“Yeah!” she says, her excitement palpable. “I thought it might be a fun way for us to spend time together.”

“Sure,” you say quietly, nodding toward your office. “We can work in here. We’ll have it to ourselves.”

You lead her inside, offering her the seat across from your desk. She immediately starts unpacking her supplies—rolls of yarn in soft pastels, a variety of hooks, and a pattern book.

“Have you ever crocheted before?” she asks, glancing up at you with a smile.

You shake your head. “No, never.”

Sakura grins. “Perfect. I’ll teach you the basics.”

She’s patient as she explains each step, showing you how to hold the hook and yarn, how to make a simple chain. Her enthusiasm is infectious and for a brief moment you almost forget the fact that you kissed her fiancée.

When she hands you a pattern she’s already started—a small flower, you thank her and begin carefully following her instructions. Meanwhile, she starts on a new project.

“What are you making?” you ask after a while, glancing at the soft gray yarn in her hands.

“A scarf,” she says, her voice light. “It’s getting colder, and I want Heeseung to stay warm.”

Your hands falter, the hook slipping from your fingers. You force yourself to recover quickly, pretending to focus on the flower in your lap.

“Do you…” You hesitate, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you have feelings for him?”

Sakura blushes, her fingers pausing for a moment before resuming their work. “I know it probably sounds stupid because, well, why would the ‘perfect princess’ want the messed-up playboy?”

She sighs, her voice soft and contemplative. “I don’t know. I can’t help but like him.”

You nod slowly, understanding all too well how easy it is to fall for Heeseung, especially when he lets his guard down.

“You don’t have to rationalize why you like him,” you say quietly.

Sakura smiles faintly, her gaze focused on her work. “I see myself in him, you know? Spending your whole life in the spotlight…it forces you to become someone else. I see that with Heeseung. He hides so much of himself but I know there’s more to him than what he lets people see.”

You nod again, unsure of what to say. The conversation feels like walking a tightrope.

Sakura continues, her voice softer now. “I think he’s very guarded. He keeps me at a distance but I believe if we keep working with you, he’ll learn to open up. He can be a good husband, I know he can.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You have no doubt either that Heeseung would make an amazing husband. You swallow the lump in your throat and force a small smile. “You’re…good at seeing the best in people.”

She looks up at you, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” you say quickly looking back at the flower. “But…do you think you like him for who he is now, or for who you think he could be?”

Sakura tilts her head, considering your question. “Can’t it be both? Can’t I like him and also want to help him become the best version of himself?”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the yarn in your lap. “Maybe. But sometimes, when we try to ‘fix’ someone, we end up falling for the version of them we’ve created in our heads, not the person they really are.”

You don’t know why you’re saying this—or maybe you do. Maybe it’s because you’ve seen the real Heeseung. There’s no need for you to imagine who he is or who he could become because you know. You know his flaws, his frustrations, the way his voice sharpens when he’s annoyed, and how his smile softens when he talks about the things that matter to him. And despite all of it—no, because of all of it….you still like him.

Heeseung doesn’t need fixing. He deserves to be loved unconditionally, not molded into someone else’s ideal.

You glance at Sakura. She doesn’t seem like the type to love with limits. She’s earnest, kind, and patient in a way you’ve never been. If Heeseung allowed himself to get to know her, you could see them being happy together. She would lay her life down to ensure his happiness.

But you?

You’d let the world burn if it meant keeping him safe. You’d tear the universe apart just to put him back together.

It’s an unbearable truth, one you wish you could erase from yourself because no matter how much you care for him, you know that it’s unfair to Sakura.

Sakura nods slowly, her gaze distant. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to figure out. But…I care about him. And I want to see him happy, whether that’s with me or not.”

“Do you mean it?” you ask hesitantly.

Sakura looks up, confused. “Mean what?”

“When you say you wouldn’t mind if Heeseung chose someone else,” you clarify. “Do you really mean that?”

Her fingers pause mid-stitch, and she looks thoughtful. “It would hurt,” she admits. “I’ve come to care about him but I think we both deserve to be with someone who loves us completely. Don’t you?”

You nod slowly.

“I believe he could be that person for me,” Sakura continues, her voice soft. “But if he isn’t, I won’t force it. I’ve spent too much of my life trying to fit into roles that weren’t meant for me. I deserve someone who loves me for who I am and so does he.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For trusting me with this.” You respond.

Sakura smiles warmly. “You’re easy to talk to. I can see why Heeseung respects you so much.”

You lower your gaze, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m just doing my job.”

The conversation drifts back to lighter topics as you continue crocheting, but the weight of your guilt never leaves. When the hour is up, you see Sakura out and close the door behind her and lean against it, exhaling shakily. You need to remove yourself.

Crossing the room, you settle into your chair and reach for the files neatly stacked on your desk. Your fingers tremble as you sift through the documents; session notes, progress reports, everything you’ve meticulously prepared over the past month for Heeseung and Sakura.

This was supposed to be just another assignment, your first major case as part of the matchmaking firm’s elite team. You were supposed to help them establish trust, lay the groundwork for a successful marriage and ensure the media viewed them as the perfect couple. But somewhere along the way, it became personal.

You can’t do this anymore. Not when you’ve crossed lines you swore you wouldn’t. Not when you’ve let yourself feel things you shouldn’t.

Gathering the files into a tidy stack, you take a deep breath and stand. You’ll bring these to Miss Min and request to be removed from the case. It’s the only way to salvage what’s left of your integrity and maybe even your sanity.But before you can take a step, there’s a knock at your door.

“Come in.”

The door opens to reveal Dani with a bright smile plastered across her face. She steps inside, holding a clipboard in one hand and a tablet in the other.

“Hey, just the person I was looking for!” she says cheerfully.

You blink, setting the files back down on your desk. “What’s up?”

“Miss Min wanted me to stop by and let you know something,” Dani says, her tone chipper. “She saw Sakura in your office earlier and said you’ve been doing a great job with this case. And since there hasn’t been any bad press with Heeseung lately, she thinks tomorrow’s the perfect day to announce their engagement!”

The words hit you like a freight train. Tomorrow.

You knew this day was coming—it’s what you’ve been working toward. But now that it’s here, the reality of it is suffocating. You force yourself to nod. “That’s…great news.”

Dani’s smile widens. “I know, right? This was your first major case and you killed it! Miss Min is definitely going to put you in charge of more high-profile clients after this.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, the word feeling hollow. “I’m happy.”

Dani doesn’t seem to notice the strain in your voice. She beams at you one last time before turning to leave but then she pauses and looks back over her shoulder.

“Oh, and Miss Min said you’ve earned a day off tomorrow. Just be on standby in case Heeseung or Sakura need anything.”

You nod again, managing a faint smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem! Enjoy your night!” Dani chirps before disappearing out the door.

The moment she’s gone, you sink back into your chair, the files still sitting in front of you. Tomorrow. It feels like a death sentence.

You’re supposed to be proud of yourself, supposed to feel accomplished for guiding Heeseung and Sakura to this point. But all you feel is empty.

Your gaze drifts to your phone on the desk and as if on cue, the screen lights up with a text notification.

9:12 am | heeseung: hey, can we talk?9:14 am | heeseung: please come over tonight.

Your heart pounds as you stare at the messages. You know what you should do. You should say no, maintain the little professional boundaries left and keep your distance. You should focus on preparing yourself for tomorrow, for the inevitable. But you can’t.

You’ve always been selfish when it comes to Heeseung, unable to deny him anything. So you type out a reply before you can think better of it.

9:22 am | you: i’ll stop by after work.

Setting the phone down, you try to convince yourself that this will be the last time. You’ll go over there, tell him the kiss was a mistake and tell him about the engagement announcement. You’ll encourage him to give Sakura a real chance.

Yeah, you’ll do the right thing.

You spend the rest of the afternoon finishing up paperwork, your mind elsewhere the entire time. By the time the clock hits 7 p.m, you’ve packed up your things and are preparing to leave when your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call.

It’s Yunho.

You sigh softly before answering, his smiling face filling the screen.

“Yo,” he greets. “You up for game night at mine? Chisa’s already on her way.”

You hesitate, “I can’t tonight. My first day back was a bit overwhelming. I just need some sleep.”

Yunho frowns, clearly not convinced. “You sure? I don’t want you falling back into a slump.”

“I’m fine. I promise. Just tired. I’ll stop by tomorrow—I’m off, so I’ll spend the whole day with you.”

He studies you for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Alright. But you better not flake on me.”

“I won’t,” you say softly. “Thanks, Yunho.”

“Anytime,” he says before ending the call.

You exhale slowly, setting your phone aside. You gather your things and head to your car. The drive to Heeseung’s home feels excruciatingly long, your thoughts racing the entire way. By the time you pull up to his home your nerves are frayed but you force yourself to get out of the car and head inside.

This is it. One last time.

You make your way up the familiar stone steps to Heeseung’s front door. Your hand hovers for a moment before you knock, three soft taps against the wood.

A beat passes. Then another. Then another. For a moment, you wonder if he changed his mind about wanting to see you, but then you hear the faint shuffle of footsteps on the other side. The door opens, revealing Heeseung. His expression is unreadable.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice a little raspy.

“Hey,” you reply.

He steps aside to let you in and you hesitantly cross the threshold, the warmth of his home doing little to soothe the chill in your bones. The atmosphere is tense and awkward in a way that neither of you seems to know how to address.

The last time it felt like this was the first time you met him, when you were still trying to figure him out and he was sizing you up in return. That day, you were both strangers, carefully tiptoeing around each other. And now…now, things couldn’t be more complicated.

Heeseung leads you into the living room and gestures for you to sit and you do, choosing the far end of the couch. The space you put between you feels significant, like a boundary you’re desperately trying to maintain.

Heeseung watches you for a moment before sitting down as well, leaning back slightly but keeping his eyes fixed on you. You clutch the strap of your bag, running your fingers along the leather in an attempt to calm yourself. The silence is thick, and you don’t know how to start.

You break first. “Miss Min is announcing the engagement tomorrow.”

The words hang in the air. You glance at him but his expression doesn’t betray much. Heeseung’s gaze shifts away for a moment then back to you. His jaw tightens and he exhales deeply.

“I’m calling it off,” he says suddenly, his voice steady and sure.

Your heart stops. You stare at him, certain you misheard. “W-what?”

“I’m calling it off,” he repeats, turning to face you fully. His eyes are locked onto yours, and the intensity in them makes it impossible to look away. “I’m done prioritizing everyone else’s happiness over my own. I can’t keep pretending to be okay with this.”

You blink at him stunned. Your mind races, trying to make sense of his words. “Heeseung…you can’t just—”

“I don’t want Sakura,” he interrupts. He leans forward slightly, closing some of the distance between you. “I want you.”

The confession feels like a punch to the gut. You shake your head, your hands gripping the strap of your bag even tighter. “No. Heeseung, you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve tried to deny it, to push it down but I can’t anymore. I can’t lie to myself—or to you.”

“Heeseung—”

“I know this isn’t how things were supposed to happen. I know the way this started was unconventional but none of that changes the way I feel about you.”

You’re frozen, unable to respond.

“I like you. I’ve spent the past month trying to ignore it, trying to convince myself that it was just��a passing thing. But it’s not. I can’t stop thinking about you. About the way you challenge me, the way you see through all the bullshit, the way you care.” He says, his voice trembling just slightly. 

His words are a direct hit to your heart. You swallow hard, your throat tight as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I want you too,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “But we can’t.”

“Why not? Who says we can’t?” He asks, his tone almost desperate now. He scoots closer to you on the couch, his knees brushing against yours.

You shake your head, trying to find the right words. “Because…because it’s messy and wrong, Heeseung. You’re engaged to someone else. Someone kind and sweet who doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

Heeseung reaches out, his hands cupping your face gently forcing you to look at him. His touch is warm. “I don’t want her. I want you.”

“Heeseung…” you choke out.

“I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. All I care about is you and I need to know if you feel the same.”

You hesitate, your heart conflicting with your mind. Every rational part of you is screaming that this is a mistake, that you’re walking into dangerous territory. But your heart…your heart is begging you to take the leap.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you look into his eyes, the sincerity in them making it impossible to lie. “I do. I feel the same.”

His lips part slightly, relief washing over his face. “Then that’s all that matters.”

You shake your head again, tears slipping down your cheeks. “But it’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he insists, his hands still cradling your face. “It is if you want it to be. Just say yes.”

“Heeseung…”

“Please,” he whispers, his voice breaking slightly. “Just say yes.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to explode. You know you shouldn’t, you know this is dangerous, but you can’t bring yourself to deny him. You’ve never been able to deny him and you don’t think you could now, not when he’s looking at you like this, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Okay,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out. “Yes.”

Heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath this entire time. And then before you can second-guess yourself, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepens, his hands sliding to the back of your neck to pull you closer.

You melt into him, every doubt, every fear fading away as his warmth envelops you. In this moment, nothing else matters. Just him. Just this.

You part your lips slightly, letting him deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours and a quiet whimper escapes your throat, the sound swallowed by his kiss. Heeseung’s grip tightens, one hand sliding down to your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer.

You barely register the moment when he tugs you into his lap, your knees straddling him as his hands settle on your hips. You instinctively brace your hands on his shoulders. His warmth radiates through the fabric of his shirt, his broad chest firm beneath your palms. You can feel his heart pounding just as wildly as your own.

It feels right; this moment, his touch, the way he holds you. For a fleeting second, you remember all the things you need to address. All the unanswered questions about how this will work, what it will mean for both of you. But right now, none of that seems important. Right now, you focus on the way his lips move against yours, the way his hands hold you as if he never wants to let go.

Your breath hitches when you feel him harden beneath you, the unmistakable evidence of his desire making heat pool low in your belly. The realization sends a flush of warmth spreading across your cheeks, but Heeseung doesn’t give you a moment to linger on it. His grip on your hips tightens slightly as he kisses you deeper.

Without breaking the kiss, he stands, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you effortlessly. A gasp escapes you, muffled against his mouth as your arms wrap instinctively around his neck. He carries you through the house, navigating the short distance to his bedroom with ease.

When he sets you down on the bed his movements are slow and deliberate. His lips leave yours for a brief moment, and you’re left catching your breath as he pulls back just enough to look at you. The way he gazes down at you makes your chest tighten and pussy clench. There’s so much emotion in his eyes, all mixed together in a way that makes you feel both shy and hot under his gaze.

You look away for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks but Heeseung gently tilts your chin back to face him. “Do you want this?” he asks. His hands fall down to your hips, pushing up your blouse to feel the softness of your stomach beneath his palms.

You look at him through your lashes and stare at his face for a minute trying to decipher what he’s thinking. He’s always been a person who wears their emotions on their face, and now, as you look up into his eyes searching for any hesitation— you find none. You find nothing but pure want and admiration.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

The corners of his lips lift in a small relieved smile and then he’s leaning down again, capturing your mouth in another kiss.

Heeseung pulls back just slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as his eyes search yours. His fingers trail lightly along the hem of your blouse and he murmurs, “Raise your arms for me.” You do as he asks, lifting your arms above your head and Heeseung takes his time peeling your shirt off, his knuckles brushing your skin as he tugs it free. The fabric falls to the floor and he pauses for a moment to take you in. His gaze sweeps over you with such hunger that you lose your breath.

Heeseung pulls his own shirt off in one smooth motion and you can’t help but stare. His chest rises and falls steadily, his toned muscles illuminated in the dim light of the room. He catches your gaze and offers you a small reassuring smile as he leans closer again.

You bite your bottom lip suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze but Heeseung seems to notice. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, his voice gentle, soothing. “I’ll be gentle.”

You nod slightly, your lips parting as he leans down to press another kiss to your lips. His hands trail down to the clasp of your bra and he pauses for just a moment, giving you time to stop him if you want to. When you don’t, he deftly unhooks it and slides it off your shoulders.

Your breath hitches as the cool air grazes your skin and Heeseung takes a moment to admire you, his eyes softening as if committing every inch of you to memory. His tenderness feels almost overwhelming, and your heart beats wildly as he gently lays you back down on the bed.

He leans in again, placing a soft peck on your lips before his mouth begins a slow descent. His lips trail kisses down your collarbone, lingering for a moment before continuing down the center of your chest.

When his lips reach your navel he pauses, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “Can I taste you baby?”

You shyly nod at the question and use of pet name not used to it. Heeseung shakes his head though, “no baby. I need to hear you say yes. C’mon, let me hear that beautiful voice.”

You lift your hips off his bed not able to voice your wants. He smirks and kisses your naval again. “C’mon baby, tell me what you want.”

You huff frustrated. “Heeseung please…I need you.”

“There we go.”

He helps you unbutton your slacks and slides them down your legs and tosses them onto the growing pile on the floor. Heeseung grips onto the band of your panties and slides them down. Once you’re completely naked, he dips his fingers into your sticky dripping pussy. 

He hisses at the feeling of your warm cunt wrapped around his fingers “Mmm, you’re so wet, baby,” he says, a pathetic whimper escapes you in response. 

Heesueng dives his head in between your thighs and kisses your clit just once before pulling his head back again. There’s a few seconds of silence, of anticipating what he’s going to do next.

You gasp as you watch him lock eyes with you before spitting directly onto your clit. You bite your lip to keep in the moan that wants to escape at the feeling of his spit dripping from your clit down your pussy, making a mess of you and his sheets beneath you.

Heeseung leans back down and latches onto your clit, sucking harshly.  Pleasure shoots through your veins and your stomach clenches. Heeseung groans, the vibration making you shake underneath him. His eyes flutter closed, savoring the feeling of your legs thrown over his shoulders and the taste of you.

His tongue laps up your juices, he’s slurping loudly enjoying every drop of your sweet arousal on his tongue. He licks fast up and down your pussy, parting your folds with the tip of his hot tongue. Your legs are shaking, your right hand tangles in his hair to make sure he stays down. "H-heeseung," you hiccup, starting to grind your hips for added pleasure. 

Heeseung moans, flicking his tongue on your clit quickly. You feel his fingers at your entrance again, playing with your slick, stroking up and down your folds. Your breath quickens more, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Fuck,” you whimper, wincing at the slight burn as he inserts two fingers into you slowly. You haven’t had anything inside of you for so long, you welcome the pain that comes with it.

“Gonna stretch you out nice and good,” Heeseung growls against your sopping cunt. “Make sure you’re ready to take my fat cock, isn’t that right baby?” 

You nod dumbly at his words, grinding your hips onto his fingers as the tightening feeling in your lower stomach keeps building.

"Oh, f-fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum." You’re starting to babble, moans becoming increasingly higher in pitch. You try pushing yourself higher up on the bed trying to escape his grasp, it’s all too much. Your thighs start shaking and Heeseung takes it upon himself to grip a little tighter to keep you in place.

He practically buries his face in your pussy, stimulating you with his tongue and the tip of his nose whilst still fucking you with his fingers. He grunts, sucking on your pussy whilst flicking his tongue over your swollen clit, his fingers curling deep inside of you. 

“Cum for me doll,” Heeseung begs, desperate to pull an orgasm from you just to lick it all up. “Be a good girl and cum on my face.”

"Oh fuck," you choke out, your hips bucking. 

Your legs close up on him, nearly crushing his head. Your fingers pull on his hair but Heeseung  keeps on licking and sucking the whole time. With the pressure on your clit and the fullness of his fingers scissoring deep in your core you can’t help it, the budding tightness unraveling as you come onto his tongue. Your body shakes lightly, trembling in his grip as you let out loud needy moans.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” He confesses as he watches you ride out your orgasm.

Heeseung pulls back and exhales shakily, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hip as he leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, his voice tender.

You nod still, catching your breath, watching as he pushes himself up from the bed. He moves to his bathroom and disappears behind the partially open door. You hear the faint rustle of a cabinet being opened, and your heart races when you catch sight of him returning with a small box in his hand.

Heeseung sets the box down on the nightstand and pulls out a single foil packet. His movements are deliberate but unhurried, as if giving you all the time in the world to change your mind.

When he settles back beside you he cups your face with one hand and kisses you softly, his lips conveying reassurance and care. “We don’t have to go any further,” he says, his forehead resting against yours. “We can stop here if you want.”

His sincerity makes your heart flutter and for a moment all you can do is stare into his eyes. But then you lean in, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I don’t want to stop.”

You don’t let the kiss last long, pulling away to look Heeseung in his eyes as you slowly sink to your knees in front of him. He gulps as he watches you with hooded eyes, lifting his hips so you can remove his sweats and boxers. The moment his cock springs out, your jaw nearly drops to the floor. Not only is he long, but he’s also thick and veiny. Your mouth waters at the sight of it, he twitches in the air, red and angry waiting for attention.

You flick your eyes up to meet Heeseung’s impatient gaze before wrapping your dominant hand around the base and slowly tugging. Heeseung groans at the feeling and spreads his legs a bit more to give you better access. You kiss the tip of his erect cock, slowly opening your mouth to suck at the tip of his dick. You wrap your lips around his head, slowly sucking the tip into your mouth as precum drips out and coats your tongue.

Heeseung lets out a breathy moan, thrusting into your mouth slightly as he urges you to take him deeper into your mouth. You willingly swallow more of him, tongue swirling around his head, groaning at the taste of his precum.

You begin bobbing your head, taking more and more of his hard length into your mouth. Heeseung grips on to your hair and slides you further down his length. “That’s it, princess. Take this big dick down your throat.” He begins thrusting his hips gradually, forcing more and more of his cock into your mouth until you take in his whole shaft, your face pressed against his lower abdomen.

Heeseung thrusts harder into your mouth, losing himself in the feel of your lips wrapped tightly around him, letting out a small groan whenever you flick your tongue against his slit, licking the precum.

“F-fuck just like that.” You’re slowly coating his cock in your saliva, the mixture of your spit and his precum turning him into a sticky mess.

Wet sounds of gagging resound through the air, mingling with the sounds of Heeseung thrusting into your mouth. You feel his cock twitch inside you before he says. “Gonna swallow all my cum like a good girl? Hm?”

You hum around him, eager to bring him over the edge. “Oh, oh fuck, I’m cumming.” Heeseung groans, gritting his teeth. He thrusts his hip one last time before cumming. You feel his cum shoot down the back of your throat and you make sure to swallow the warm liquid, not wasting a single drop.

“Fuck. You’re amazing” Heeseung mutters, pulling you off of his dick before kissing you, tasting himself. You kiss him back fervently, your fingers burying into his red locks.

“I need you Hee,” You whimper.

Heeseung nods and picks you up to lay you flat on your back. “Anything for you princess.” He leans over to grab the condom from earlier and opens the foil. He tosses the wrapping and slowly slides the condom down his shaft. Once he’s sure it’s secure he hovers over your body just taking you in.

You blush but whine, spreading your legs a bit more. “Heeseung….please.”

He smirks at the desperation in your voice before leaning down to close his lips over your right nipple. You whimper at the feeling of his tongue on your nipple, sucking it into his mouth before pulling back and blowing cold air on it.

You lay still, anticipating his next move. His eyes flick down. “Your pussy looks so fucking good.” Heeseung says, letting the pink tip of his dick rub against your wet folds. You both moan at the sensation.

With one more rub of his head, he lines himself against your entrance and slowly pushes his hips forward. You think you could come instantly.

Heeseung shifts above you, moving so his hands cage you between both his arms. You moan as he slowly enters you, his girth stretching your pussy out. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and places a kiss at the juncture of your jaw and neck at the feeling of your walls clamping around him. Finally, when he’s completely in your pussy, his head grazing cervix, he stills and shifts his head to meet your eyes. You look up at him through hazy, half lidded eyes, completely lost in the way he opens you up. Heeseung stills for a couple moments, allowing you to get used to his size before pulling out and thrusting in once again, this time in one smooth glide. You let out a choked-out moan, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

The intimacy is overwhelming, a closeness that feels as though it’s unraveling you and putting you back together all at once. He holds you like you’re something precious, something fragile, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he isn’t careful.

His gaze never leaves yours. The way his eyes search your face, looking for any sign of discomfort fills you with a warmth you’ve never known. There’s no urgency in him, no impatience, just a steady gentle rhythm.

“Right t-there” You mewl, slowly losing yourself in all the pleasure. Heeseung tucks his head under yours and grins against your skin, biting your collarbone gently before sucking a hickey on your skin. He trails kisses down to the valley of your breasts, pressing a kiss against your sternum before taking a nipple into his mouth, suckling gingerly. “P-please Hee, can’t…gonna cum” You babble, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You faintly acknowledge Heeseung grinning against your chest, his right hand slowly inches towards your own before entwining it with your own. Holding your hand over his sheets. You can feel him pour out all his emotions into each and every action as he thrusts into you over and over again.

“You’re so beautiful.” Heeseung whispers.

All of a sudden you cum without warning, the pressure too much. Heeseung pushes your hips down into the bed, pounding relentlessly into you, chasing his own high. He hammers into you one last time before letting out a loud groan as he empties himself into the condom, spurt after spurt of his cum pouring into you.

The world feels quiet now, the only sound in the room your mingled breaths as you both come down from the high. Heeseung’s forehead rests against yours, his hand still clasping yours tightly as if letting go would somehow make the moment less real. His thumb strokes over your knuckles.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his voice hoarse and laced with concern.

You nod, barely able to gather the words to respond. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

A small, relieved smile touches his lips before he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Heeseung shifts slightly, careful not to crush you as he pulls out. You wince at the sensitivity and he quickly apologizes.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, reluctantly letting go of your hand. He slips out of bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his movement.

You watch as he crosses the room, disposing of the condom in the bathroom and cleaning himself off before grabbing a warm damp cloth. When he returns, he kneels beside the bed, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleans you up murmuring soft reassurances. “You did so well,” he says quietly, his voice full of affection. “Thank you… for trusting me with you.”

Your cheeks warm, but you manage a soft smile and nod.

Heeseung’s gaze softens even further, and he presses a kiss to your knee before standing to place the cloth aside. He joins you back in bed, pulling the sheets up over your bodies before tugging you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, your legs tangling with his as his hand strokes your back in soothing circles.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your back. “I hope you know that.”

You huff a small laugh, finally finding your voice. “You don’t have to flatter me, you already got what you wanted.”

Heeseung chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Maybe I just like telling you how I feel.” He tilts his head to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded. “Can I?”

You glance up at him, confused. “Can you what?”

“Tell you more about me…The messy parts. The things I don’t usually share.”

Your breath catches slightly at the vulnerability in his voice but you nod. “I’d like that.”

His grip on you tightens just a little, as if you're his own personal stress ball. He doesn’t start talking right away, his thumb brushing along your shoulder as if he’s organizing his thoughts. You don’t rush him content to lie there in his embrace waiting for him to open up.

Finally, he speaks. “When I was fifteen, my brother Heejoon was seventeen,” he begins, his voice quiet but steady. “He was… everything you’d expect from an eldest son in our family—smart, responsible, always trying to do the right thing. But he struggled a lot too. Heejoon always had anxiety. It wasn’t obvious at first; he’d just get nervous about things other people didn’t think twice about. But as we got older… it got worse.”

You shift slightly in his arms looking up at him with concern. Heeseung’s gaze is fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight as he continues.

“Our dad…he’s a no-nonsense kind of man. Everything is about discipline, results, and maintaining the family’s reputation. That summer, he was preparing Heejoon to start interning at the company. Heejoon was terrified but he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t want to disappoint our dad. So he just… pushed himself harder. He started focusing on the business, trying to prepare, but his grades started slipping. He was so afraid of letting Dad down that he…he cheated on a final exam.” 

Heeseung clears his throat. “He got caught and Dad had to bribe the teacher to keep it off his record and let him retake the exam. He was livid, but he didn’t hit him or anything. He’s never laid a hand on us. But his words…” Heeseung’s voice falters, and he looks away.

Your heart aches for him, for Heejoon. You reach up, cupping his cheek and gently guiding his gaze back to you. “What happened?” you whisper.

Heeseung closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s reliving the memory. “Heejoon couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure to be perfect, to be something he wasn’t…that night, after Dad tore into him, he tried to kill himself.”

Your heart drops at the confirmation of what you knew all along.

“I was the one who found him,” Heeseung continues, his voice barely audible now. “We got him to the hospital in time, but… he was never the same after that. His will to live was just… gone.”

You sit up slightly, your eyes searching his face. “Heeseung…”

He meets your gaze, his own eyes glassy but resolute. “Heejoon’s alive. But he’s not… He’s not the same person he used to be.”

You gently take his hand in both of yours, your fingers wrapping around his as if to anchor him. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” you say softly, your voice steady but full of empathy. “And I’m so glad he’s still here. Heeseung… You’ve been through so much and you’re still here too. You’re still fighting. That means something.”

Heeseung shakes his head slowly, his grip on your body tightening. “I blamed myself for years,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “I saw how much he was struggling and I didn’t do anything. I was his little brother—I was supposed to have his back and I didn’t. I just stood there, thinking he’d be fine because he was Heejoon. He was always the strong one.”

His voice cracks and you reach up brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw, grounding him. He leans into your touch almost unconsciously, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“When I see him now…” He pauses, exhaling shakily. “I can’t stop thinking about how different his life could’ve been if I’d just said something. If I’d told someone how scared he was, how much pressure he was under. Maybe… maybe he wouldn’t have felt like he had no other choice.” His gaze drops to yours, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I failed him.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice, the weight he’s been carrying alone for so long. “Heeseung,” you say softly, “you didn’t fail him. You were a kid too, trying to survive in the same house under the same pressure. You did the best you could with what you knew then. That matters.”

His lips twitch faintly, but the guilt in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Some days, it doesn’t feel like enough,” he admits quietly.

“It is,” you insist, leaning closer your hand still resting against his cheek. “Every time you show up for Heejoon, every time you keep going, you’re proving how much you care. You’re making him proud, Heeseung. I know it.”

Heeseung looks at you for a long moment, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite place. Finally, he nods, his grip on you tightening slightly. “Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“Where’s Heejoon now?” you ask gently.

“He’s in an assisted living facility,” Heeseung replies. “After the incident, Dad couldn’t… He couldn’t live with him anymore. The guilt ate at him so he sent him away to get professional help. Heejoon’s been there ever since. He’s getting better, slowly. His doctors think he might be able to come home soon.”

You smile softly. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s getting the help he needs.”

Heeseung nods, his expression thoughtful. “I visit him every weekend,” he says.

Your brows furrow slightly. “Every weekend?”

Heeseung glances at you, his brows raising in question.

You hesitate before continuing. “The tabloids… They say you sneak off to Jeju every weekend to sleep with a new model,” you say carefully.

Heeseung scoffs, the sound almost bitter. “Heejoon’s care facility is in Jeju,” he explains. “My parents didn’t want anyone knowing what happened so they sent him there to keep it quiet.”

Your heart aches at the weight he must’ve been carrying alone. “So… those rumors?”

“Bullshit,” Heeseung says firmly. “You’re the first person I’ve slept with in years.”

You blink surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “I won’t lie and say I’ve never slept around. I did, but that was during my undergrad days… before I met Karina.”

The name sends a jolt through you, his ex who he allegedly forced to get an abortion. “Who’s Karina?” you ask carefully, playing oblivious to know the truth.

Heeseung’s expression shifts, the room is quiet save for the hum of the heater and the faint rustle of the sheets as he shifts closer. His hand trails absently along your arm, his touch warm “She was… the first person I ever loved,” he admits.

You listen intently as he begins to tell you about her. He shares how their relationship came to be, how she made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had but he also tells you about the heartbreak that followed when she left. About her carrying another man's baby and leaving because it wasn’t fair to Heeseung despite how badly he wanted her to stay.

Heeseung exhales, his voice trembling just slightly. “I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve convinced her to stay. Instead, I let her go. I told myself it was what she wanted but deep down, I think I was scared. Scared of everything that came with loving her, scared I’d mess it all up anyway.”

He pauses, his fingers grazing your back, his gaze distant. “It’s a pattern, you know? People leave me but maybe… maybe it’s because I push them away first. Like I did with her.”

His words hang heavy in the air. You sit up slightly, leaning on your elbow to face him. “Heeseung, listen to me,” you say softly, your right hand resting gently on his chest. “What happened with Karina wasn’t your fault. You need to stop carrying this like it was all on you, like you had the power to change everything. There’s nothing wrong with you, and you’re more than deserving of love—then and now.”

His lips part slightly as if to protest but no words come out. His eyes search yours, filled with doubt and pain, as though he’s grappling with the possibility of believing you.

“She didn’t leave because you weren’t enough,” you continue. “You were both young, and Karina… she was stuck in an impossible situation. That doesn’t mean you failed her, Heeseung. It doesn’t mean you were to blame. Her insecurities, her choices—they weren’t your burden to carry or fix. Just because you had a past, just because you were more experienced, doesn’t mean you pushed her away. Those were her fears, not a reflection of your worth.”

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his breathing uneven. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as his brows draw together, struggling with the truth in your words.

“You have to let go of this idea that you’re the reason things fell apart,” you whisper, brushing your thumb tenderly along his jawline. “Sometimes people leave not because of anything you did but because they don’t know how to stay. It’s not about you being enough—it never was. And it doesn’t mean you’re not enough now.”

Heeseung swallows hard, his head dipping as his forehead presses lightly against yours. “I don’t know if I can believe that yet,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you reply, your voice soft but resolute. “I’ll remind you as many times as it takes.”

For a moment the room falls into stillness, the only sound is the mingling of your breaths. You feel his arm wrap tighter around your midsection pulling you closer, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Then, in the quiet you speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “Heeseung… I already knew about Karina”

His head pulls back slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion as his gaze locks onto yours. “What do you mean?” He asks, his tone cautious, tinged with uncertainty.

You take in a breath gathering the courage to continue. “I knew about her. About what people said. Before you told me.”

His confusion deepens, flickers of uncertainty and hurt shadowing his expression. “How?” he asks softly, his voice low and guarded, his walls creeping back up.

You hesitate, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket draped over you both but you push through the fear because this is Heeseung and he deserves honesty.

“Remember how I told you Chisa is a journalist?” you begin carefully.

Heeseung nods slowly but you can already see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes darken. His defenses are rising, and it crushes you to watch the vulnerability you’d shared moments ago slip away.

“Chisa is writing an exposé. About your college days. She has a source—someone who knows about Karina, about the rumors that you…that you asked her to get an abortion.”

Heeseung goes still, his body tensing beneath your touch. He’s silent for a moment, his gaze fixed behind you. Then finally he speaks his voice sharp and clipped. “How long have you known?”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat, knowing there’s no point in lying. “Chisa got put on the article the day we first met but I didn’t find out about the rumors until… the day you asked me to dinner.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightens and he slowly pulls away from you, the space between you growing wider as your heart drops. He sits up slightly, running a hand through his hair. His expression is a mix of hurt and disbelief.

You instinctively grab the blanket to cover your bare body, not out of modesty but because the emotional distance feels unbearable. “Heeseung…” you begin softly, but he cuts you off.

“You knew all this time,” he says, his voice low and tinged with disbelief. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t know how,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Heeseung, you have to understand—Chisa is my best friend. This article is everything to her.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair. “And what about me?” he asks, his voice rising slightly. “Did you even think about what that could do to me? About how I’d feel if you believed those rumors?”

“I didn’t believe them. I didn’t, Heeseung but I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know how to bring it up or if I even should! You have to understand—if I said anything to you or Miss Min, it would’ve meant the end of my friendship with Chisa. I didn’t know what to do.”

Heeseung’s gaze is piercing, his silence more cutting than any words he could’ve said. You feel the weight of his disappointment, his hurt and it tears at you. 

You feel tears threaten to spill over now but you don’t bother wiping them away. Instead, you reach for his hand, grabbing onto it tightly even as he stiffens under your touch. The blanket slips from your body leaving you exposed but you don’t care. You need him to understand.

“This wasn’t an easy decision to make. I’ve been stuck between my best friend and her career and the guy I—” You catch yourself, your breath hitching. “The guy I care about. I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. I’m sorry I hurt you but I don’t want you to be blindsided by this Heeseung. I don’t want you to be hurt anymore. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

Heeseung stares at you, his expression softening slightly as your words sink in. He exhales deeply, the anger in his gaze giving way to understanding. “Okay,” he says softly after a long moment, his tone laced with exhaustion. “Okay.”

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his arms, his hand cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, his voice gentle again. “Please don’t cry. I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you sure?” you whisper, your voice muffled against his skin.

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I could never stay mad at you.”

The two of you settle back under the covers, his arms holding you close again not leaving any space between the two of you. After a beat of silence, Heeseung speaks again. “I have to pull the plug on the article… you know that, right?”

You nod against his chest, your heart sinking at the thought of what this will mean for Chisa and your friendship. “Can you at least let me tell her before you make any phone calls?”

Heeseung hesitates, his fingers massaging your shoulder as he considers your request. “Are you sure you’ll be able to do that? To look her in the eyes and tell her you’re the reason her dreams won’t come true?”

You flinch at the harshness of his words, but you understand where they’re coming from. “I have to,” you say quietly. “I owe her that much.”

Heeseung exhales, nodding reluctantly. “Okay.”

He holds you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head as the two of you sit in silence. Despite everything, there’s a strange sense of comfort in knowing you don’t have to carry this secret anymore. As the minutes stretch on, the tension slowly fades, replaced by the steady rhythm of your breaths syncing together. And eventually, the two of you drift off to sleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

THE NEXT MORNING

You wake up slowly, sunlight streaming through the curtains and warming the room. For a moment, you forget where you are, your body pressed against soft sheets and someone warm and firm beside you. Blinking, the events of last night come flooding back and a soft smile tugs at your lips. You hadn’t planned to stay the night but waking up here wrapped in Heeseung’s arms, doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels… right.

Shifting slightly, you glance over at him. He’s still asleep, his features relaxed and peaceful in the early morning light. His hair is slightly mussed, his lips parted as he breathes deeply. He looks younger like this, the weight he often carries nowhere in sight.

You try to move carefully not wanting to wake him up but the slight shift of your body stirs him. His arms tighten instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer as his eyes flutter open.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep and a small smile curving his lips.

“Morning,” you reply softly, your own smile growing.

Heeseung leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your lips, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with a warmth that makes your heart race. “I could get used to waking up like this,” he says, his voice still low.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face, the silky red strands slipping through your fingers. “As nice as this is, I really should get going. Chisa’s probably worried about me.”

Before you can move, Heeseung tightens his hold on you, burying his face in your neck with a dramatic sigh. When he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lower lip juts out in a pout so exaggerated it almost makes you laugh out loud.

“Stay,” he whines, his voice soft and petulant. “Just for a little longer. Please?”

You blink, momentarily stunned. This side of him is so unlike the composed and confident Heeseung you’ve grown accustomed to. The playful pout on his lips, the slight scrunch of his nose, and the sparkle of mischief in his eyes are all so…unexpected.

And yet, you think to yourself, you’d like to see this version of him more often, this carefree boyish Heeseung who doesn’t seem burdened.

You shake your head, laughing. “Heeseung, as much as I’d love to stay in bed all day, I promised Yunho I’d spend the day with him. And knowing my friends, Jaehyun and Chisa are probably going to tag along.”

At the mention of your plans, Heeseung lets out a resigned sigh, finally releasing his hold on you. “Fine,” he mutters, feigning annoyance. “But only because I’m trying to be supportive of your friendships.”

You sit up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you begin gathering your clothes. As you pull your shirt over your head, you glance over at Heeseung. “What about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He clears his throat, his gaze flickering briefly away before returning to you as you move around the room. “I called Miss Min last night,” he begins quietly. “Postponed announcing the engagement.”

Your hands still for a moment, your chest tightening as you think of Sakura and what this means for her. “What are you going to do?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung sighs, his fingers raking through his hair. “I need to talk to Sakura today. In person, it’s the least I can do,” he says softly.

Your heart sinks a little further, your thoughts drifting to Sakura’s feelings for him and how this will affect her. “Let me know how it goes,” you say gently, folding your arms across your chest. “I’d like to apologize to her too.”

Heeseung hesitates, his brows knitting together. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice firm but gentle. “I don’t mind taking the blame for this. You don’t need to get involved any more than you already are.”

You shake your head firmly. “No, Heeseung. I’m just as complicit in all of this. You shouldn’t have to shoulder all the blame—not after everything you’ve already been through. I need to own my part in it too.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, and he takes a step closer, his hands brushing gently against your waist.  He studies you for a moment before nodding, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, trying to mask the flutter of your heart. “Don’t try to distract me with compliments,” you tease lightly, though the smile on your lips betrays your feigned irritation.

Heeseung chuckles softly, pulling you closer for a brief moment before letting his hands fall away. “I mean it,” he murmurs.

Once you’re dressed, you grab your phone from the nightstand, only to find it completely dead. Letting out a sigh, you glance over at Heeseung, who is now standing by the bed in just his boxers.

“You should probably put some clothes on,” you tease, unable to stop the smile that forms as he approaches you.

Heeseung smirks, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you close. “Why? Planning on staying a little longer?”

You roll your eyes but your heart flutters as he leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and unhurried, filled with a tenderness that makes you momentarily forget why you need to leave.

When he finally pulls back, you sigh. “As tempting as that is, I really need to go. I have to tell Chisa about the article.”

“Stay for breakfast, at least?” he asks, his tone hopeful.

You hesitate, but the look in his eyes makes it impossible to say no. “Fine,” you relent, laughing softly. “One day, I’ll learn how to tell you no.”

Heeseung grins, taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen. “Good luck with that,” he teases.

You hop onto the countertop as he pulls out a pan and begins preparing the ingredients for pancakes. Watching him move around the kitchen, you find yourself thinking about how natural this feels—how easy it is to picture mornings like this being a regular thing.

As he pours the batter onto the pan, he slides between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs. “Gimme a kiss.”

“The pancakes will burn,” you say, laughing softly.

“They will if you don’t hurry up and kiss me,” he counters, his lips quirking into a playful smirk.

You roll your eyes but lean in, intending to give him a quick peck. Heeseung has other plans, deepening the kiss until you’re breathless. When he finally pulls back, he’s grinning smugly.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter but the warmth in your chest betrays your words.

“Impossible to resist,” he quips, turning back to the stove just in time to flip the pancake, which, to your surprise, isn’t burnt.

Once the pancakes are done, you help him with the eggs while he cuts up some fresh fruit he had laying around. The two of you work together, the easy banter making the morning feel light and carefree.

When everything is ready, you sit together at the kitchen island, plates filled with food. For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of utensils and quiet conversation.

Heeseung breaks the silence, his tone thoughtful. “I could get used to this.”

You glance at him, your cheeks warming. “Me too,” you admit softly.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you in a way that makes your heart race.

“Your food’s going to get cold,” you say, laughing nervously under his gaze.

Heeseung shrugs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Worth it.”

You shove his shoulder lightly, trying to hide your flustered state. “Eat,” you scold, and he chuckles before finally picking up his fork.

As you finish your plate, you take a sip of the orange juice he poured for you, noting how he remembered your preference for sweet drinks. You don’t comment on it but the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.

When Heeseung finishes eating, he stands and helps clear the dishes, his movements unhurried. You grab your bag and dead phone ready to head out.

Heeseung walks you to the door, his hand resting lightly on your waist. As you step outside, he makes no move to let go.

“You’re just in your boxers,” you point out, raising an eyebrow.

“So?” he replies, a teasing grin on his lips.

You swat his arm, laughing softly. “Go back inside before your neighbors get an eyeful.”

Heeseung laughs, pulling you into one last kiss before letting you go. “Drive safe,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

You nod, smiling as you climb into your car. The drive home is quiet, the events of the morning replaying in your mind.

When you arrive, you park your car and head up to your apartment building but when you step into the space, the atmosphere shifts. “Chisa?” you call out, your voice tentative as you set your bag down by the door.

The apartment is eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. You step further inside rounding the corner and your breath catches in your throat.

Chisa is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room, her back rigid and her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her. Her hands rest limply in her lap but there’s a tension radiating from her body that makes your stomach twist.

“Chisa?” you try again softer this time, taking a cautious step forward.

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink. The silence stretches heavy and suffocating as you kneel in front of her, your hand hesitantly reaching for her shoulder.

“Hey,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

This time, her eyes shift, locking onto yours with a sharpness that sends a shiver down your spine. Her gaze is cold, unyielding, and when she finally speaks, her voice is low and chilling.

“Did you tell Heeseung about my article?”

You freeze. The words knock the air out of your lungs, leaving you grasping for a response. How does she know? Heeseung promised to give you time to talk to her yourself.

“I—what?” you stammer, the sudden intensity of her glare making your heart race.

Chisa’s jaw clenches as she rises to her feet, looming over you. “I got a phone call from his lawyers in the middle of the night. They said I can’t publish my exposé. Did you tell him?”

Your chest tightens as realization dawns. Heeseung must have made the call while you were sleeping. A flicker of anger sparks within you—why hadn’t he let you handle this? You push it down, trying to focus on Chisa who looks like she’s seconds away from exploding.

“Yes.”

Chisa scoffs, her expression twisting into one of disbelief and fury. She takes a step back, shaking her head. “Unbelievable,” she mutters before spinning around and storming toward the hallway.

“Chisa, wait!” you call, scrambling to your feet and following her. “Please, just listen—”

She whirls around so suddenly that you almost stumble. Her hands shoot out, shoving you backward with a force that knocks the breath out of you.

You stumble, catching yourself. The shock of it leaves you frozen for a moment, your mind struggling to catch up with what just happened. Chisa has never done anything like this before. You’ve argued in the past, of course you have, but even in your worst moments, she never laid a hand on you. Not once.

She’s seething. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her fists clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles turn white. Her eyes, usually warm and filled with love or mischief, are blazing with an intensity that makes your stomach churn.

“Listen to what?” she spits, her voice rising. “To you defending that manwhore? To you justifying why you chose him over me?”

“I didn’t choose him over you!”

“Yes, you did! You sacrificed my career for him! For what? Did he fuck you too?”

The words hit you like a slap and your mouth opens but no sound comes out. Chisa’s eyes widen as she takes in your reaction, her expression shifting from anger to disgust.

“No way,” she whispers, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You sold me out for some dick? Were you that fucking desperate?”

Your chest tightens with indignation. “It’s not like that!” you snap, your voice rising to match hers. “My relationship with Heeseung has nothing to do with why I told him.”

Chisa stares at you as if you’ve grown another head, her voice dripping with disdain. “Relationship?” She lets out a humorless laugh. “For someone with a master’s degree in psychology, you’re one dumb bitch. He’s not capable of loving anyone. Not his ex, not Sakura, and definitely not you.”

You flinch at the mention of Sakura, your mind racing. “Sakura? What—”

Chisa cuts you off, turning on her heel and storming back into the living room. She grabs the remote and flicks on the TV, jabbing the buttons with trembling hands.

The screen flickers to life, and your stomach drops like a stone when the news anchor’s voice fills the room. Their tone is bright and celebratory.

“Breaking news! A fairytale ending for Lee Heeseung and Miyawaki Sakura.”

A photo of the two smiling together flashes on the screen, and your knees feel like they might give out.

Chisa crosses her arms, her glare burning into you as the broadcast loops back to commentary. “The announcement was made official two hours ago,” she says coldly, her voice cutting through the air.

Two hours ago.

You were sitting in Heeseung’s kitchen, eating pancakes while he talked about getting used to seeing you in his home. He had said he’d told Miss Min to postpone the announcement. He’d promised. Your mind spins, struggling to reconcile the timeline. Did Heeseung lie? Or did something else happen, something out of his control?

“He’s scum. All he cares about is sex. And for you to think he could be happy with you—” She shakes her head.

“That’s not true! Your source lied, Chisa. He didn’t force Karina to have an abortion! He’s not sneaking off to Jeju every weekend to sleep with someone new! It’s all rumors, and the press has it twisted. They’re making his life hell! I couldn’t let you publish that article. It would have ruined him.”

Chisa’s expression shifts, her glare turning into something almost unrecognizable. Hurt mingles with her anger, and her voice trembles as she fires back, “So what? It was better to ruin me?”

You snap.

“Not everything is about you, Chisa! He’s a person too, with real feelings! He’s been through so much and he doesn’t deserve this!” You take a shaky breath, your voice still trembling with emotion. “There will always be another article to write, another person to exploit but Heeseung doesn’t deserve it. Get over yourself.”

Chisa’s face falls, her eyes wide with disbelief but you don’t give her a chance to respond. You turn on your heel and storm to your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Your chest heaves as you lean against the door, your mind racing. This is not how things were supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to fight with Chisa—not like this.

You take a shaky breath and push off the door, fumbling to plug your phone into the charger. Impatience gnaws at you and you grab your laptop instead flipping it open and opening your messaging app.

Messages flood the screen. Texts from Chisa, Dani, even Miss Min.

7:25 pm | chiz🧸: where are you? game night started!!! 7:50 pm | chiz🧸: nvm yunho told me you can’t make it 10:49 pm | chiz🧸: im back home now where r u loser 12:15 am | chiz🧸: ? 

You close the tab, your chest tightening as guilt seeps in.

4:32 am | danielle: do you know why heeseung called the office to postpone the announcement???

You let out a sigh of relief. Heeseung hadn’t changed his mind. He tried to stop it. You make a mental note to respond to Dani later, opting to read Miss Min’s messages.

4:55 am | Boss: You need to meet with Heeseung and Sakura. Get them aligned again. 10:37 am | Boss: The announcement is moving forward. It’s what his parents want.

So that’s what happened. A new message pings on your screen, it’s from Heeseung.

12:08 pm | heeseung: just saw the news. i’m so sorry 12:08 pm | heeseung: i don’t know what happened but i’ll fix it. 12:08 pm | heeseung: i’m on my way to meet with sakura now.

You don’t respond, instead you fall against your bed frame overwhelmed. Tears threaten to spill but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. This can be fixed you try to reason, yeah. This can be fixed. Instead of wallowing in tears, you strip off your clothes and head into the bathroom. A hot shower…that’ll make everything better.

The water warms your skin, soothing your tense muscles as you try to wash away the sweat and grime from the night before. But your mind won’t stop racing. You think about Heeseung. About boundaries you’ll need to set with him. About Chisa—her hurt, her anger, the way she shoved you. The memory stings as do her words. You wonder if you’ll ever be okay again.

Steam fills the room, but it doesn’t clear the haze in your mind. All you can do is stand there, letting the water wash over you, hoping it’ll drown out your sadness. You spend over an hour in there, letting the water wash over you and your thoughts consume you.

When you exit the shower, the bathroom is silent save for the steady drip of water from the showerhead as you step out, your skin flushed from the heat. You grab a towel and wrap it around yourself, your hands moving on autopilot as you dry off. The warmth of the shower clings to your skin providing some comfort.

You pull on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized hoodie before padding back into your bedroom, you glance at your phone charging on the nightstand. Its screen lights up repeatedly, vibrating with an almost frantic urgency.

Frowning, you unplug it. The moment it’s in your hand, it buzzes again, a steady stream of notifications flooding the screen. Text after text appears, the sheer volume of them making your stomach churn.

Your sister’s name catches your eye, her message buried among others from Dani, Heeseung, and even Jaehyun.

Your breath hitches. Your sister hasn’t spoken to you in months. She claims to be too busy with her husband and kids but truthfully you think she just can’t stomach being around you knowing each conversation you’ll bring up your mother.

Why is she reaching out now?

Before you can open her messages, another text pops up at the top of the screen from Jaehyun.

12:12 pm | hyunie🐶: are you okay?

Your chest tightens. A gnawing sense of dread climbs up your spine as you respond

12:13 pm | you: ??? 12:13 pm | hyunie🐶: you haven’t seen? 12:14 pm | you: seen what?

The three dots indicating he’s typing appear and you hold your breath, dread pooling in your stomach. When the link comes through, you click it without thinking.

Your heart plummets as you read the headline: Heeseung’s Secret Romance: Scandal Behind the Engagement.

The article is a brutal exposé, detailing Heeseung’s past controversies, his relationship with Karina, the lies about the abortion then him trying to rebrand by leeching off of Sakura through an engagement and finally, the revelation of an affair. Chisa posted it anyway. She posted the exposé.

Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps as you skim the article. Chisa’s words are scathing, painting you as a homewrecker and Heeseung as a manipulative womanizer. She leaves you nameless but the implications are clear, this is her firing back at you.

Your phone buzzes again and you almost drop it. Jaehyun is calling.

You answer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hello?”

“Is it true?” 

“...Yes.”

“Shit. Okay. Look, stay off your phone. Don’t read any more of it, okay? Yunho and I are coming over.”

You nod instinctively forgetting he can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Just… don’t spiral. We’ll be there soon.”

The call ends but you don’t put your phone down. You can’t. The panic bubbling inside you demands an outlet and ignoring it feels impossible. Against Jaehyun’s advice, you open Twitter.

Your name is trending. So are Heeseung's and Sakura’s.

You click on the hashtag, your heart pounding as you scroll through the tweets. Each tweet feels like a slap to the face, but you can’t stop. You keep scrolling, the comments getting worse and worse.

A new post catches your eye, a link to a Naver article. The thumbnail is a picture of you and Heeseung walking out of the hotel bar after your one-on-one meeting. The title is even worse than Chisa’s: Lee Heeseung’s Mistress Revealed: The Marriage Counselor Who Betrayed the Nation’s Princess

The article is a gallery of photos and commentary, each image scrutinizing your every move. This one names you outright, detailing how you entered Heeseung’s life as a marriage counselor assigned to help him and Sakura navigate their engagement.

Instead of counseling the couple, sources claim ____ became romantically involved with Heeseung, undermining Sakura, a beloved actress and national icon. Photographic evidence further suggests a relationship that goes beyond professionalism.

Photographs accompany the text.

Him picking you up for dinner, his hand resting casually on the small of your back.

You walking into the restaurant on valentines holding the bouquet he gave you.

You entering his home late at night.

You leaving this morning, followed by a quick shot of him kissing you goodbye.

The captions are unsavory.

“Caught in the act: ____ leaving Lee Heeseung’s home after a cozy night in.”, “A romantic dinner for two—how long has this been going on?”

You scroll down to the comments, your vision blurring as you read them.

⤑ she’s disgusting. how dare she betray sakura like this? +1,102 ⤑ heeseung’s trash but she’s worse. she’s supposed to be a counselor? what a joke 💀 +874 ⤑ poor sakura. she deserves so much better (╥﹏╥) +2,347 ⤑ omo she’s so brazen 💀 +366

Your chest tightens painfully and your hands begin to shake. The more you scroll, the worse it gets.

⤑ she knew exactly what she was doing. she’s a homewrecker. +613 ⤑ imagine being this desperate. she’s ruined her career for what? a fling? ㅋㅋㅋㅋ +1,209 ⤑ sakura is the nation’s princess. this woman is a nobody. she doesn’t deserve him. +4,102

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as the room seems to shrink around you. Your phone trembles in your hands, and the screen darkens for a moment, forcing you to see your own reflection—tear-streaked and unrecognizable.

You sink to the floor, your back pressed against your bed, the phone slipping from your grasp. A loud creak breaks through the haze.

The door to your room opens slowly and you look up to see Chisa standing there, her expression is unreadable, somewhere between anger and exhaustion.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Your lips part to say something—anything—but the words catch in your throat.

Chisa steps farther into the room, her gaze sharp and accusing. “You’ve turned into him, you know.”

You blink, confused. “What?”

Her lips curl into a bitter smile but there’s no humor in it. “Your dad. You’ve turned into your father.”

“I…”

“You always hated him for what he did to your mom,” Chisa continues, her voice rising with every word. “Every time he cheated, every time he lied, every time your mom sat crying in the kitchen, you hated him. You swore you’d never be like him. That’s why you became a marriage counselor, isn’t it? To stop people like him from ruining their families.”

Your heart pounds as memories flood back—your mother’s tear-streaked face, Chisa’s arms wrapped around you as she whispered, It’s going to be okay, I've got you. But now…

Chisa’s voice drops, the anger giving way to something softer, sadder. “And yet, here you are. Sleeping with someone else’s fiancée. How do you think that makes me feel? Watching you become the very thing you hate most?”

You open your mouth to defend yourself but the truth lodges itself in your throat. The excuses you’ve told yourself—Heeseung and Sakura aren’t really in love, their relationship isn’t real, this is different—feel hollow without him here to hold you, to remind you that you aren’t a monster because even if the engagement wasn’t real, Sakura’s feelings for Heeseung are and you knew that, you knew and still went for it.

The thought grips you, your stomach twisting as guilt crashes over you like a tidal wave. You’re no better than your father.

“Chisa…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what? To hurt people? To betray the one person you were supposed to help? You think that makes it better?”

Tears blur your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Chisa shakes her head. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t undo what you’ve done. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re exactly like him.”

For a moment, you think she’s going to leave but she lingers in the doorway, her gaze softening just enough to twist the knife.

“He’s not a good person,” she says finally, her voice quiet but firm. “And neither are you, if you keep letting him drag you down.”

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. The room feels colder after Chisa leaves. Her words play on a loop in your head, relentless and unforgiving.

“You’ve turned into him.”

“You’re exactly like him.”

You press your palms to your eyes, trying to block out the memory but it’s no use. It claws at you.

Chisa had been there for all of it—every fight, every slammed door, every tear your mother cried. She’d been the one who stayed up with you in your room, distracting you with dumb jokes and snack runs when the shouting downstairs became too much. She was the one who held you when you sobbed after catching your father’s texts to another woman, promising you that you’d never have to deal with anything like that when you were older.

Not your sister.

She had her own way of dealing with it. When things got bad, she’d leave, disappearing for days at a time. Spending nights at friends’ houses, coming back only when she couldn’t avoid it anymore. Then she left altogether—first for college, then for her own life, far away from the wreckage of your family.

Chisa stayed.

She was more of a sister to you than your actual sister ever was. She sat through the storm with you soaked in the same despair and somehow managed to hold you together when you thought you might break apart.

And now, after everything, you’ve betrayed her.

The irony tastes bitter, twisting in your gut like a knife. You didn’t just become the thing you despised; you became the thing that broke your family.

Your phone buzzes again from where it lies abandoned on the floor. You glance at it, reluctant to pick it up but the notifications don’t stop. They come in rapid succession, each one a reminder of how far this has spiraled out of control.

Your hands shake as you reach for it, curiosity overriding the gnawing dread. The screen lights up, showing messages from people you haven’t spoken to in years—college acquaintances, coworkers, even distant family.

You clutch the phone tighter, staring at the screen without seeing it. it’s all too much. Finally, you set the phone aside and pull your knees to your chest.

You don’t cry.

Instead, you sit there in silence, replaying everything in your mind. The choice to be with Heeseung, your night spent tangled in his arms, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. You don’t regret any of it—not the moments you shared, not the feelings that grew despite everything stacked against you. What you feel for him is real and that’s something no headline or scandal can take away.

But you also can’t ignore the fallout. Your career lies in ruins, Chisa, your best friend—your sister in every sense of the word wants nothing to do with you and the trust you’d spent years building with her is gone. You’ve lost her and the weight of that is unbearable.

The word temptation floats to the surface of your mind. It’s what started all of this, isn’t it? The pull of something you can’t have, the magnetic force of wanting someone you weren’t meant to want. 

You don’t regret Heeseung but you do regret everything it’s cost you. Temptation led you here. Desire kept you here.

And for the first time, you’re not sure how to fix it.

➤ taglist: @adoredbyjay @acousarah @fancypeacepersona @lovingvoidgoatee @seungjiseyo @starry-eyed-bimbo @cloud-lyy @lprww @mitmit01 @cupiddolle @heestruck @sol3chu @xylatox  @planetmarlowe @M1kkso @clandestineself @yuniesluv @wonniesdoll @i03jae @aggarwaldrishti @jakesfurry @hanversace @right-person-wrong-time @missychief1404 @iamliacamila @jaems-left-toe @heesngmluv @ssanhwatto @itsyagirll @theothernads

[shaisuki]

POSITIVE TEST RESULTS

ft. gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, geto suguru

content warnings ─── pregnancy, babytrapping, noncon, dubious consent, stockholm syndrome, implied abuse, breeding kink, mentions of abortion, allusions to suicide. dead dove do not eat.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ a baby! the excitement and the incomprehensible joy they felt when they are expecting from you. a blessing or a curse? anyways, no matter what it is to keep you in place with them.

GOJO SATORU

the six eyes are everything. it can see the unknown and the forces that dwells that is invisible in the naked eye. satoru is grateful for the power he wield and it is the most useful in also keeping an eye on you. he knows it first before you can. the breath you take, the first step you make and the rhythm of your heartbeat. wether it was racing from the fear or the continuous pleasure he gives to you while he pumps his fingers into your tight hole.

there's nothing the six eyes he possess can't see and it's no different when he hears the first heartbeat of his child formed into your womb.

his child. he is having a child with you and satoru was over the moon when he found out.

long arms encased your soft form in his lap. your back in his chest while he hums a song. his lips ghosting on the expanse of your exposed shoulders. playfully nibbling on the skin when he hears the tiniest of whimper from you.

large palms drapes in your stomach. kneading the layered flesh like a cat making biscuits. satoru hums in delight. contented at this domestic bliss without too much fuss from you. you could be such a handful at times but it was fine to him. you were still adjusting to this life. a new environment for you and for him.

after numerous of escape attempts, he declares the staff and servants alike in the gojo household to be incompetent. it wouldn't happen if they were doing their job. he founds it useless and he took the matter in his own hand.

a penthouse to keep you. luxurious it was for one's taste. equipped with the latest security and glasses so thick that a bullet cannot dent it. money was no problem for it. gojo has an endless wealth to spend it especially for you. the safety and welfare of his wife always in the top of his priorities and it was worth every single penny of it. you cannot be bored taking the view of the city lights in the night time. overlooking the streets of tokyo.

pleasant it is but to you, beautiful the penthouse is but no matter how gilded it is, it is still a cage and you were the bird.

he breathes into your scent. it has been days since he touched you and satoru savors every second of it. your body a wonderland to him and he must be the only to explore it. satoru doesn't shy away from touching the parts that you didn't like. giving it the most of attention to prove it to you how much he loves it. particularly your stomach. lately, he's been obsessed with it. the talks of getting you pregnant and seeing you with child sparks the joy deep inside him.

satoru's patient. waiting for the result of the labor and love you both had poured in creating a life and he knows it is not that fast but he made sure you were properly bedded every chance he can get. now, all he had to do is wait. he may or may not been activating his technique to ensure you are with his child.

it happened in a blink of an eye when he first felt it. it was like an explosion of tiny molecules and forms into one. a dew rolling from a leaf and creating a ripple in calm waters. then he can hear the small “thump” of a heartbeat and you were rewarded by the sweetest of kiss and the next words he uttered were static in your ears.

“i'm not. it's my body. i'm the first one to know it.” you mutter. reasoning the most obvious truth and it was just a lie your ears want to hear.

“why would i lie to you, i can see and feel everything and that includes you, my wife.” he confidently counters to you. his voice never faltering in enthusiasm as he reveals the newfound joy to you.

your lashes are clumpy and the familiar stinging sensation makes way to your eyes. there is no way you will be carrying this man's child. you can't. you can't bear it. you can't carry this child. not with this man. you already feared the day it would come and now. you didn't realize the first drops of tears came cascading down you cheeks. placing your hand in your stomach and clutching the flesh like the fetus inside of you will magically disappear. this child wasn't even born yet and you're dreading you would become a mother to this one.

“don't cry, (y/n). i promised you didn't i? i will take care both of you.” he ever so sweetly convinced you to carry with this pregnancy and you felt manipulated again and then you were just a puppet.

“you've been a good wife to me. what's the difference of being a mother to our child.” he says, consoling you in his way that would only matter to him. you're carrying his child and as your husband and him being a father in the next months, you would be provided with the utmost care from him. starting on how he's going to worship this body of yours. pregnant and sensitive.

he's already kneeling in front of you. his blue eyes all of it's glory. staring at you with such adoration while he kisses the roundness of your stomach. pressing his cheek in the flesh. wanting to hear the faint thump of the heartbeat of his unborn child.

you tried to push him away. pressing your thighs together to avoid further ministrations from him but gojo effortlessly pried your thighs open. easily diving to get closer to you while his hands holds your wrist.

“satoru—ahhh” a moan accidentally slipping past your lips. his nose nudging the slit of your cunt before taking a lick from it. his hold on your wrist tighter as you tried to stop him.

“satoru, no—ahh” he chuckles. hearing you moan again and gojo takes pride of that. he ought to make you happy. furthermore increasing the success rate of you giving birth to a healthy son or maybe a daughter. frankly, he don't care. a child with you is better than none. a baby would eliminate all the problems he used to have with you and all the fuss will decrease.

such sweet cries for me, my adorable wife. he thought. your grip getting weaker the more his tongue laps up the slick coming out from your sweet cunt.

submit to him and let him do all the work. he did promise he will take care of you. for now, let him taste you. claim his reward for all the efforts.

you wouldn't deny him of his happiness, eh?

NANAMI KENTO

it's not everyday you can see a man with a built like nanami looms and searches from every rack of the pharmacy looking for a pregnancy test.

he's not getting his hopes up but rather ensuring that you are just fine and well though deep inside he's hoping that you are expecting. nanami had been dreaming of a domestic bliss lately. a child with you. hopefully one that looks and takes after you. he would be so happy.

nanami sighs, adjusting his glasses and shaking his thoughts of you being pregnant with his child. your welfare comes first before any others.

he's gone in the day before he comes home in the evening and the very first step he took in his home, he knew something was up.

the bathroom lights was on and there he sees your plush form kneeling in front of the toilet, spilling the contents of your stomach.

by the sound of his footsteps getting nearer he noticed how your body turned rigid.

“uhmmm.” flushing the toilet and standing up to turn on the faucet. letting the cold water run through the drain and wipe your mouth stained with vomit. trying to hide the evidence of you being sick.

“are you okay?” his stern voice cutting through the nervousness creeping up on you. large palms cupping your cheeks gently. you nod. “just a bit tired, actually. i'm going to bed.” you excused and with the furrows of your brows and that frown in your lips. nanami is sure what you're trying to hide.

he grabs a multiple of test kits. it's better to be sure before checking it out along with a few necessities for him to bring home.

when you see the pregnancy test kits being handed to you. you gave him a puzzled look. “i'm not. it's just the bug or something.” you reason to him. shielding yourself from the possibility of what he's implying.

“i know. better be sure than never, my love.” he managed to convince you and with that you took the test.

“why, ken? why would i be pregnant? i never missed taking the pills!” you asked him. sobs racking throughout your body as you look at the multiple pregnancy stick resting in the sink. all positive.

cruel and heartless and beyond him, nanami may or may not have tampered your pills. he never did intended to do this but lately you have been being stubborn than you are. his choices leading him to this unwanted pregnancy for you but to him he was happy. always wanted to be a good husband and a father to his child with you.

“accidents happen. we're in this together, okay?” it was never be fine with you. you can't be pregnant. “no—no!” your voice raising into a pitch. “i can't carry this child.” you could never. if kento was willing to shackle you with those cuffs, what's the difference it would be to your child. already chained to this man.

it took him a few minutes to fully calm you down. you're settled in the bed with him behind you. “i would be present throughout the duration of your pregnancy.” he assures you. bundling your hair in fist and putting it aside. kissing your nape and the gesture sending a shiver down your spine. “you are going to be a good mother.” peppering kisses to your shoulder blade and his other hand wanders until it reaches you belly. plump and squishy. in the next months it's going to be rounder and firmer. swollen with his child.

“i'm unfit to be a mother.” you whisper and nanami murmurs to your skin. “you're not.” pressing a tender kiss in the spot of your pulse in your neck. “i will harm this child.” you warned. “i will keep you confined to bed if needed then, but set aside those thoughts for me. i won't allow such things.” holding a firm hold to your jaw and then he whispers to you.

“allow me, my wife.” your body jolts in response. his index finger prodding your hole while rubbing your clit. “let me reward you for such wonderful news.” the gravel in his voice getting mellow. nanami won't allow you to harm yourself or the child you are carrying.

if it means of complete submission coming from you. nanami would not think twice of doing it over and over again. for now, he's happy you're gracing his home with a child. hopefully, it would take your mind off from the trivial things.

FUSHIGURO TOJI

it wasn't a surprise when toji received the news of you being pregnant. he did breed you well. mounting you every night like you were nothing but a fleshlight and his cumdump.

you were only given a raised brow and a cocky smirk coming from him. oh, how did he love the look on your face. scared and bothered of the reality of you being a mother to his child. toji wasn't that interested in becoming a father either but now it's a thrill. thinking of the ways he can control you without you resisting him.

“is that so?” he asks bored. disinterested even before breaking into a smirk. “now, you won't even think of opposing me.” patting your round belly in a degrading manner. once the spotlight for mockery and humiliation he used to hold you. “my brat spawning in to you. i did give you plenty of it.” he says amused.

a invisible leash wrapped around your neck for him to pull as he pleases. with the presence of the baby in your womb it looks like the future of yours is getting bleak with no hope for you along with the little one growing inside you.

it would curse you for being the mother and the father it will grow up with.

your body feels like lead. stuck in the mattress and every time you move, you sink deeper and maybe it was better until it swallows you whole. you wished it was that easy.

“spread your legs wider.”

you bite back a whimper. bile rising up in your throat as your body moves in autopilot. listening in what he orders to you. “geez, all those troubles i had to deal with and you're only this obedient when pregnant. maybe i'll just keep you pregnant all the time.” licking his lips before leaning closer to you. his breath in your ear.

there's a stinging sensation in your cunt while his cock slowly bullies inside you followed by a groan coming from him. his teeth nibbling in the shell of your ear and you bit your lip. silently taking him while he relishes on the feel of your tight hole spasming around his length.

“you're tight as ever. you don't mind me filling you up again, wife?” you remained silent. his power overwhelming you and toji chuckles. “then, don't mind me”

GETO SUGURU

there's been quite a commotion in his own little family and geto paid no mind to it. having a cult to run that requires his attention every now and then. seriously, stupid monkeys can't be trained without him and there's also those who can't keep their money running stable. quite trouble.

anyways he had to know what is causing those commotions that keeps everyone in high spirits. there he meet nanako and mimiko gushing over his chubby darling. seated in one of the chairs while the twins surrounds you. mimiko brushing your hair while the other twin, nanako holds your hand. soothing and assuring you of a situation he have yet to learn.

“geto-sama.” the twins greeted him. bowing their head a little before giggling a bit of the news they recently learned. “(y/n)-sama received news from the doctor earlier. they said she's expecting.” they broke to him and geto sees you in the corner of his eye uncomfortably shifts in your seat. “leave us.” he instructs the girls and they oblige. scurrying to leave the room in glee.

by the gods above, he worships you more. if only you knew that. it would be a weakness if he shows how much he adores you. he's in control. he's above you. you could never surpass that.

his lover on front of him shifts her gaze away from him and geto grasp your chin in his index and thumb finger. forcing you to meet his steely gaze in the purple abyss of his eyes. “i'm sorry.” you first speak up to him. biting your lower lip to hold a sob.

he can see you're scared. “what for?” he asks. searching for those gleaming eyes of yours, now misty. “for being pregnant.”

geto scoffs playfully at you. “there's nothing to be sorry. a wonderful news for us.” he assures you and you swallow the invisible lump in your throat. “is it?” you reply to him and he smiles. “it is.”

“i lay with you every night. made sure you are properly bedded by me.” no shame of that and there's a deep rumble of his laughter upon seeing your flustered expression. it's almost real how he looks so happy.

he is. when suguru decided to eradicate non-sorcerers he thought of how he's going to fill a country with sorcerers then you came to his life and he would be the creator of the new era. a bloodline. it would be his. yours and his. children that would carry his will and would be the part of a country where they are safe for him.

the news of you expecting. he can see the cogs being place to each of their respective places. already fulfilled.

his palms rough against your skin and yet it brings comfort to you. warmth. long gone he replaced the uneasiness in your heart with his and all the doubts you had of him. now, you're ready what he is about to make use of you. no questions. no qualms. all for him.

“you're mine.” he reminded you once again and you fall harder for him than the last time. “yours.” you whisper.

you were rewarded by a kiss. divinity touching you and warmth blooms all over you along with his hands wandering. to your round cheeks. squishing your chest and his palm in your round belly. imagining all the things he is already to do with your growing body with his child and geto is ecstatic.

his long and thick fingers finds the back of your obi and pulls the hem with no hesitation.

“mmm, suguru~” you mewl and geto smirks at how fast it takes for you to submit to him. “lay with me again tonight.” hands pinching to your supple flesh. fingers rubbing the spot between your legs and with a need. you grind your hips against them.

“as you wish.”

[sheltertoken]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley but he's your dad.

Warnings: neglect, attempted suicide, swearing, mild mention of abortion, anxiety. Simon being a shit father, essentially.

(edit: this is NOT incest use your brains <33)

(not proofread!)

You were an accident. He didn't want you. Why would he want to raise a child, after the childhood he had? Why would he risk becoming just like his father, a cruel, abusive, insane drunk?

His world turned upside down when your mother, a young woman he'd been sleeping with for quite some time, told him she was pregnant. He was 20, still a young soldier trying to overcome the scars of his past. She was a foreign student in Uni, one who did not plan to remain in the UK after she graduated. She didn't want the child. Didn't want to risk her future, her job prospects. Didn't want to be tied down in a country she did not want to be in by a small being, You.

She told him she couldn't have an abortion. She had to carry the child to term because of medical reasons that put her at greater risk of harm if she were to abort than if she gave birth to the child.

He was reluctant, dismissive, but he had no other choice but to keep you. She signed over all of her rights to him, before finishing university and moving away shortly after you were born.

You were mainly taken care of by a nanny for most of your childhood. Simon was often 'too busy' to properly care for you, to forge a fatherly bond with you. He left you feeling neglected, alone, yearning for his affection and attention which never came.

But ignorance was better than potential abuse, no? Or at least, that's how he saw it.

You're now a teenager. The years without your father's presence being a constant in your life have hardened you beyond belief, as did the bullying, the nightmares, the anxiety which seemed to plague your very soul, making your heart race and breathing quicken the moment you stepped outside, or thought too hard about life in the comfort of your own room.

You didn't smile. You didn't laugh, you didn't trust people. Didn't trust him. The world seemed to be your enemy, the simple act of living feeling like a chore. You wanted to die, yet feared death with the same intensity. You'd backed out of swallowing an entire bottle of your antidepressants multiple times, instead falling into the same cycle of panic, run downstairs to hug the family dog, Riley, before running up to your bedroom, sobbing as you tried to calm your breathing.

His heart shattered when he found you trying to take your own life at the age of sixteen.

He'd just returned home from being deployed for two months. The house seemed eerily quiet; normally, when he returned this late in the evening, you'd be sat downstairs in the living room, watching some crappy series on Netflix he never cared to actually look at, deeming it too 'modern' for a man like him. Then, when you notice he was home, you'd mumble a quiet 'hi' before slipping away to your room, acting like it was just another day.

But today was different. The silence, lack of movement, the dog sleeping on the couch, having been kicked out of your room just didn't sit right with him. Even though you'd had your fair share of differences and disagreements, you'd normally say something. Greet him, tell him to leave you alone, hell, you'd even poke your head out through your doorway to look at him and acknowledge his presence. There was none of that tonight, so he decided to check on you, like that odd, crippling, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him to.

And so he did. He opened the door to your room, slowly, carefully, to see if you were even home.

"..kid?" He speaks, before his eyes found you sat on the edge of your bed, most of the contents of your pill bottle in the palm of your trembling hand as you looked down at it with haunted eyes, your breaths shallow and quick. He'd never bolted to your side so quickly.

"[Y/N], what the fuck are you doing?!" He yells, his own heart clenching, shattering, seeing his teenage child trying to do what looks like taking their own life. His flesh. His blood. The child with whom there was never enough time, enough understanding to forge a bond.

You look at him, panic settling in your veins and being, rooting you to the spot. Then, you move. The pills haphazardly thrown onto the floor, forgotten, as you bolt at your father and bury your head deep within his chest, trying to get a grip on your emotions. To calm your fears, to feel like you're living, not just existing.

He hugs you back, and you cry. And cry. And you don't stop, as he moves you two to your bed, letting you soak his military uniform with the salty waterfall of your tears.

"I'm so fuckin' sorry, love," He says, his gruff voice wavering with emotion. "I promise, I'll be there for you from now on. Don't scare me like that, ever again."

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter fifty four. waiting for us wc. 2k a/n. name drop!!!! ok but that being said this is a VERY heavy chapter dealing with very sensitive topics. please read through the tw and be safe. tl;dr at the end. TW!!! negligent parents, brief mention of abortion, brief mention of religion, verbal abuse, domestic abuse, violent acts, mentions of self-harm and attempted suicide also i'm not entirely sure how I should tag this, but there is a part where yn has her clothes ripped off of her without consent, but it is not in a sexual way (?) or for the purpose of doing something sexual.

You stand just outside the door of 3RACHA’s (and hyunjin’s) apartment, and your quite certain that your heart is going to pound itself straight through your chest. Perhaps there is a brief moment where you consider just running for it but you think better of it. A half empty duffel bag sits on your shoulder and there’s a ratty backpack that hangs loosely off of you. Maybe you’d find it sad that your whole life could fit into two measly bags, but you couldn’t deny that it was just easier this way. You had left nothing behind, wiping your entire existence out of that place and you would not look back.

When you finally gather the courage to knock on the door, your knuckles barely make a sound while they rap against the wood. Yet the moment your hand makes contact with the door, it’s swinging open and Felix throws himself into your embrace. You almost lose your balance but Felix makes sure you don’t fall backwards, clinging almost painfully to you.

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay since you were later than you said you’d be, but the words die on his tongue at the sight of you. There’s nothing different from you besides the bright red mark decorating your cheek.

“YN? What happened? Who hurt you?” He questions, voice going almost impossibly deeper. The thought of someone putting their hands on you fills him with anger. You actually almost don’t know what he’s talking about before remembering the parting gift your mother had given you before you left.

“Oh. This. Don’t worry about it,” You mumble, acting rather nonchalant as you attempt to get past Felix and into the apartment but he doesn’t let you get too far, grasping gently at your wrist to pull you back.

“No seriously. Who hurt you yn? What’s up with the bags?” He fires out questions, now just realizing the two bags you had with you.

“I was hoping I could stay the night. Or a few. Or forever,”

The silence between you is deafening.

“Yn” You hate (love) the way you shudder at the way he says your name in that deep tone of his.

“I might have, um, run away from home?”

“WHAT?” He yells at that effectively alerting the rest of the boys of your presence.

“Lix? Is that YN? What’s going on?” Chan’s voice filters through the apartment, getting louder the closer he gets. You finally move past Felix, leaving your bags by the door for now.

“Lixie, I’ll explain everything ok? I don’t want to have to keep repeating myself over and over again,” You beg the boy with an almost desperate lilt to your voice, giving him big puppy eyes for added ammo just in case. He sighs and let’s it go for now, letting you drag him towards the couches.

But of course, even if Felix had dropped it, the other’s wouldn’t; immediately demanding to know who hit you as soon as they see your red cheeks. As much as you appreciate their concern, the swirl of emotions you’ve been feeling for hours already has you on edge and you’re so close to snapping.

“GUYS” You raise your voice and the effect is immediate, all of them quieting down and staring back at you. “It’s ok, I promise. I barely feel it. It was the first time my mom hit me anyway,” At that they all start asking questions again, talking over each other but one glare from you shuts them up again. “Please. I’m here to explain okay? So please, let me tell you everything before you guys start asking a million questions,” You plead, tired and scared of the can of worms you were potentially about to open. But you also know how much you need this. You just couldn’t keep it in anymore.

The boys all gather onto the couch and the seats next to it, with you sat in the middle next to Felix and Jisung, one on either side of you. Both of them are close enough that you can feel their thighs pressed to yours. It helps to keep you grounded while you try to take a deep breath but it just comes out shaky. Jisung slides his hand into yours, giving it a squeeze before giving you a reassuring nod.

“I was an accident. My mom somehow managed to get pregnant even though my dad had a vasectomy after they had my brother. Despite not wanting another child, they decided to have me anyway for whatever reason. We’re not religious or anything so she could have just gotten an abortion. I’ll never know why they decided to have me.

Growing up the abuse was mostly verbal. An insult here or there, mostly reminding me I wasn’t wanted or needed. My brother of course was the worst with his words but overall it really wasn’t that bad. For the most part they ignored my existence, which was honestly fine with me. It….only got worse after I turned 16. When I got my soulmark,” Your hands are shaking in Jisung’s firm grip while Felix scoots closer for comfort, nuzzling his cheek against your shoulder. You are so thankful for them.

“Both of my parents are blanks and so is my brother. So it was only natural that I assumed that I would be a blank as well. So imagine my surprise when it turns out I have 8 soulmates,” You let out a small snort, head shaking softly.

“I’m know you’re all probably thinking that I freaked out or panicked about having so many soulmates with how I reacted when we met, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” You make brief eye contact with Jeongin who has a confused expression on his fox-like face.

“For the first time, hope bloomed in my chest. My original plan was to leave when I turned 18, as soon as I could, but I didn’t really know what I would do. I would be all alone, no soulmate and experiencing the real world for the first time. But now, I finally felt like I had a purpose. To find my soulmates. I couldn’t believe that I would have 8 soulmates. 8 people who would love me. Who would want me” your voice cracks at those last words, tears burning in your eyes. Hyunjin looks like he’s not too far behind with his own tears threatening to fall.

“Of course I had lied to my parents about my soulmark, just saying I was a blank. It was easy since they didn’t really care but I had the suspicion that my brother didn’t believe me. I used to stand in front of my mirror staring at my soulmark, tracing over your names, dreaming about what life would be like with you guys,” Felix clings a little harder to you. “It was my only solace in that prison, that one day I would be where I belonged,”

“One day my brother…he caught me looking at my mark. He-“ Your eyes close in pain as the tears run down your cheeks. You squeeze at Jisung’s hands who haven’t lefts yours yet as you take in a deep breath. “He dragged me to the living room by my hair, yelling at my parents that I was a lying whore. That I was some kind of greedy slut for having so many soulmates. He pushed me to the ground and…he- he,” You choke on your tears before you feel someone patting your cheeks dry with tissues. You look up to see Minho, his eyes soft and sad as he continues to dry the tears leaking from your eyes. The other boys that were not on the couch have abandoned their seats in favor of being closer to you. Seungmin is on the floor, stroking at your calves soothingly, while Hyunjin does the same on your other side.

“He ripped my skirt off and…he….he took a lighter and….and-“ You can’t even finish the sentence before you throw yourself in Seungmin’s embrace, sobbing into his shoulder as he holds you. The rest of the boys try to comfort you as you feel hands along your back and hair, soft soothing words being said into your ears. It takes you a few minutes to pull yourself together.

“’M sorry-“ You say with a sniffle, letting Minho clean your face as he insists on doing it himself.

“Don’t say sorry. You’ve had horrific things done to you. You are so strong,” Changbin says in a soft voice, contrasting his normally loud demeanor. His hands smooth your hair down.

You can hear the sniffles from Felix and Jisung who have starting sobbing silently, their hearts breaking for you. You let out a sigh because you’re not even done.

“After that…the abuse…got worse. It turned physical as my brother would take his anger out on me. My parents didn’t care about what he did to me. I slowly…became a shell of myself. I started turning to self harm because everything hurt so much that I needed something else to hurt so I didn’t have to think about anything else. Even though he didn’t sever our soulmark, I felt like I had let you down- that I let someone else disfigure our beautiful connection. I though about my soulmates who would probably never want someone as broken as I was. I felt so lost. So….on graduation night I-“ You tuck your head down in shame. “I swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills,”

Everyone is deadly silent but you can hear Hyunjin and Jeongin joining in on the crying. Seungmin just holds you a little tighter.

“I had texted Minghao before I went through with it. Telling him that I was so grateful for his friendship and that him and Jun were the best friends I could ever ask for. Of course that man has some freaky 8th sense or something because I don’t think it took him more than five minutes to get to my house even though he lives twenty minutes away. He was yelling at me when he barged into my bathroom but I don’t remember much after that. I passed out and woke up in the hospital. Now that I was conscious Minghao throughly chewed my ass out though. The nurses had wanted to hospitalize me actually for mental health reasons but my parents refused and said something about how it was just an accident,”

“We thought you died,” Jeongin pipes up, his eyes red rimmed with tears as he sniffles.

“Your mark went gray and we all felt this sharp pain in our chests. That night we had mourned the loss of a soulmate that we thought we’d never get to meet. The relief we felt when your mark went back to black was unmatched. We had assumed you must have had an accident or something to have triggered the mark to react,”

The rest are eerily quiet, still waiting for you to continue your story.

“After I was discharged, my father had someone managed to score himself a promotion. Something about using a sob story about how his daughter was feeling lost being in a small town and needing to explore or some other bullshit. Either way we were suddenly packing and moving to seoul, not that my opinion mattered if I wanted to go or not.

My grades in school were actually pretty good. I really didn’t have anything better to do then study so It was surprisingly easy to get into seoul uni. And well….then I met Jeongin in Biology. Slowly the rest of you followed and wormed your way into my heart,” you smile fondly at the boys around you who smile back, even with tears stained cheeks.

“I really don’t care about the thread Yunjin posted, but my brother saw it and was not happy. He informed our parents and they let me have it. I just sat there taking it when I realized that I didn’t have to put up with this shit anymore. So I kinda just got up, grabbed my stuff and left…Figured you guys wouldn’t mind if I stayed,”

“Never ever. You do realize that now that you’re here we are never letting you go. Ever again,” Changbin whispers, squeezing you a little tighter. The boys are practically cutting off your oxygen but you can hardly care, feeling the love pouring out of them. You love them. You never want to be without them ever again.

“You have been so brave, so strong. We are so proud of you. Thank you. Thank you for waiting for us,”

tl;dr ! yn's parents find out about her soulmates via her brother who found out from the thread. while they chew her out, she realizes that she doesn't has to put up with this anymore and "runs" away (but not without her mother slapping her). she goes over to their apartment to tell them her story. yn was an "accident" and even though her parents didn't want another child, they went ahead with the birth anyway. they, along with her brother never let her forget that she was unwanted. both her parents and her brother are blanks and so she had assumed she would be too - but surprise, surpise. she has 8 soulmates. yn adored her mark and was excited for the day she would get to be with them. she'd spend time staring at her mark, memorizing their names. one day her brother catches her and gets so angry that he takes a lighter and burns her mark. after that yn falls into a deep depression and turns to self-harm in order to cope. still unable to take it and feeling like she let her soulmates down, she decides to take a bunch of sleeping pills. minghao is the one who finds her and saves her. the boys mention that they thought that she had died due to the mark reacting and turning grey. they were very happy when the mark went back to black. after her attempt, her father was able to get a promotion at work and moved their family to seoul, resulting in yn finally finding her soulmates.

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[apas-95]

the liberal 'actually, it's impossible to tell whats good and bad, so you should never have any authority over anything' approach is, principally, ridiculous, but is also just incredibly weak as a defence.

whether abortion is good or actually murder is a pretty important thing to address: it's good. whether hrt is good or actually delusional self-harm is a pretty important thing to address: it's good. whether being gay is good or actually a sign of a sexual predator is a pretty important thing to address: it's good. in all these cases, going 'yeah, maybe abortion is murder, but it's my inalienable right to bodily autonomy, either way' is laughable. it wins over nobody who doesn't already think abortion isn't murder, and is based on a premise that we should already know is wrong: there are no such thing as universal human rights. all rights are socially-situated and conditional, and in fact, there are good times when 'bodily autonomy' should not be respected - I mean, for god's sake, we intend to kill people with guns.

we have to actually make value judgements and weigh the positives against the negatives for real, specific cases, not just pre-emptively refuse the question out of a solipsism and appeals to universal truths. forcing someone to give blood to save lives at a mass casualty event is more emotionally impactful, despite being identical to, mandating vaccination and handwashing. both of the latter are 'violations of bodily autonomy' that are plainly agreeable on practical grounds. the position that finds no possible way of extricating 'stopping someone from committing suicide', an act generally thanked after the fact, from the abuses that take place in capitalist psychiatric institutions, is not one based on material analysis or an attempt to mitigate harm - it is a juvenile 'abolitionist' approach that refuses to consider class character, in favour of an idealistic condemnation of entire systems and related practices in the abstract.

ultimately, there is nothing incorrect that is not also harmful. a refusal to analyse the positives and negatives of behaviours, procedures, and acts, justified by 'it's impossible to know!' and 'doing anything would be authoritarian!' is not helpful, does not bring about correct behaviour in practice, it is the opposite - it is a cover for harmful behaviours, and promoting it to avoid the hard discussions over whether a given behaviour is harmful is wrong. it fails to defend correct things - like the fact that hrt is good - and works to defend incorrect things. any view that our positions should not be based on practical, material facts is corrosive.

[omensofatimelord]

The thing about testosterone being a controlled substance means that acess to it for hrt is restricted. While it makes access a significant issue for many people and an easy and effective way to prevent trans men and mascs from transitioning (as we've seen terfs campaign for and succeed at doing in Britain) it also means that is very easy for health care professionals to be able to take it away from trans men/mascs arbitrarily. This is most aborant in cases where trans men/mascs are forced to detransition to gain access to abortions after being raped. However, the first sign of an issues tangentially related to hormones a gp, without any training in trans people or hormones, can and will stop a person's testosterone. Apart from how stressful it is to know that for the rest of your life you'll be dependent on the goodwill of a random person, this has measurable negative consequences for a trans person subjected too it.

Going off t fucking sucks at the best of time, but being forced off t will most likely result in depression and worsening mental health for a trans man/masc, who are already one of the most likely groups to attempt suicide. It can also put a trans person at risk if they suddenly start being visibly trans again, especially if they're closeted in, say, a work place environment. Trans people, including trans men, are already one of the most targeted groups of harassment and violence and sexual assalt and forcibly reducing or stopping t can out people and risk their safety. And a gp won't see this or care about this, or attempt to treat a trans man/masc first or ask for their opinion or situation.

Ultimately, testosterone is seen as entirely optional and so the first resort when something goes wrong it to take it away, when it should be considered the last resort, and is considered the last resort for cis men. And as long as testosterone continues to be a controlled substance it will remain like this.

(edit for clarification: I am a kiwi, this post was intended as a general critique of accessing t through health care systems - based in my lived experience in NZ and what ive heard from international trans ppl; including but not limited to the USA)

[yllwjktscult]

(Un)lucky- a blessing or a curse? pt.2/?. A yellowjackets fanfic

!!!disclaimer- english is NOT my native language so there for sure will be grammar mistakes!!!

part one -> here

playlist for this story -> here

WC: 3,9k (short-ish chapter because i decided to cut it short so its not THAT heavy, however the next one is long AS FUCK, more from past and more interaction with yj (really sad interaction). And tbh, this part is little shitty:/ so im sorry if its not good, SWEAR next one will be better!!)

TW: abortion, teen pregnancy, unwanted sex, suicide attempt, psych ward, depression mentioned, once again, this ff is TW itself

tw for abortion and unwanted sex will be told in time, so you can skip that part 🫶🏻

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

Its been couple of weeks since Lottie visited you in psych ward.

It was shock to everyone that they in fact were alive as you were saying. But of course they would never admit they were wrong. In fact, you cant even blame them. They were just doing what they thought was the best for you.

You dont feel hate, you dont feel angry, you dont feel anything. Just emptiness.

For months you were "abused" to believe you are crazy and went thru a lot of procedures that are 100% illegal, but it helped you.

Did it ruined you completely? yes.

But on the other hand, you are free. You are free from emotions, you are numb.

A win is a win you guessed.

"Well.. how are you feeling today?" one of your therapists that you have been seeing for the last year asked you as you were sitting in front of him on a chair.

"The usual" you answered shortly not looking at him.

The therapist looked at you and then back into his files and cleared his throat "So.. nothing?" he asked and looked at you, fixing his glasses.

You just noded.

You werent lying, you truly felt nothing. You dont even have thoughts anymore, theres nothing in your head. You dont know if its because they fried your brain for weeks or from all those medication, but theres truly no thoughts in your head for months now, you assumed.

He just hummed.

"How do you feel about your friends being alive and back?" he asked gently, he knew theres a possibility of you being triggered.

But it didnt trigger you at all. Your friends are dead. You just continued staring at your lap "They are dead, they died in a plane crash a year ago" you simply said, you learned that phrase like a mantra, and frankly you believed that phrase.

He just hummed and wrote something.

"They survived you know? And one of them visited you two weeks ago, her name was Lottie"

For the first time since you sat there which was now 30 minutes you looked at him "N-no, Lottie wasnt there" you said confused before you continued "there WAS a woman, tall, skinny, dark haired and tanned woman... she liked my drawing of my friends" you finished and looked back at your lap "my Lottie died in a plane crash a year ago, shes gone, just like the rest of my friends" you mumbled quietly.

The therapist noded and was little surprised, this was the longest sentence you told him in months.

"How would you react if they were alive?" he asked as he leaned on his table to look at you better and watched your reactions.

You stared at your lap and played with your hands "They died in a plane crash a year ago. They are dead, they are not alive" you said like a mantra.

He just hummed again, resting his head on his clasped hands "Well, i think we are done today" as he said that, a guard walked in and you knew thats your cue to walk out so you did. Side by side with the guard.

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

Unknown to you, outside the psych ward. Your friends who are very much alive and are still struggling to put their mind onto the fact, that their beloved friend who was the sweetest, kindest and the most lovely person on earth ended up like that.

Lottie and Nat are now sitting in your parents house, talking with your parents. Well, technically just with your mom. Your father didnt take it well and he himself fell into solid depression and started drinking his guilt of not being able to protect his child away.

When Lottie and Nat knocked at your parents door, your mother looked at them as if she saw a ghost, trembled and hugged them tightly.

"I- i cant still believe it" your mother told them both as she looked at them, setting two cups of water in front of them.

She sobs and puts a hand over her mouth "Oh my poor baby-" she sobs looking at the roof "my beautiful child". You mother felt guilty, she felt like she didnt do enough to save you. She felt like she didnt do well to protect you.

Your mother looks at them with glossy eyes and smiles gently with love in her eyes.

"Look at you both, you look so mature".

Lottie and Nat shared a glance not knowing what to say. So they just smiled at your mom.

"Umh.. have you visited her recently?" asked Nat and your mothers eyes filled with more tears as she shakes her head.

"No.. no.... Last time i saw her was 2 months ago, when she finally started believing you are dead-" your mother felt a new rush of emotions go thru her "oh GOD- if she waited a little bit, she-" your mother cries "she could be here with us. She could have be herself" your mother says a quick apology as she went to bathroom to cry.

Both Nat and Lottie felt their sadness overtake them. Seeing your mom like that was heartbreaking to them, she was always so kind to them, just like you were, so seeing her this emotional was a bit hard for both of them.

Your mother walks back and looks at Lottie with sad yet curious gaze.

"How does she looks like?" she asked with sad eyes.

Lottie felt her heart break "She.." she bites her lip and sighs "Remember when her cat died? how she looked like back then? make it 10 times worse. She looked so broken, like an empty shell, her eyes were so sad and she lost weight, a lot. She-" Lottie looked up to stop the tears "She looked like lifeless body" Lottie whispered the last sentence.

Your mother just nodded and felt like the worse mother in the world. Her beautiful daughter was suffering and she could do nothing about it.

She lost her daughter the day the yellowjackets were proclaimed dead, and oh.. how she misses her child so much, her child who was the kindest, sweetest and purest soul. Who was all smiley, full of life, full of ideas and was positive despise all the negative things happening to her. You did suffer with depression before, but you had your supportive parents and supportive friends who made it easier to deal with it. Whenever you felt under water, your friends picked up on that and either were with you, or did something with you to keep your thoughts away from you. The same went for your parents.

She smiles at both of them "Im so glad you are both alive" she smiles as she wipes tears away and went to hug them "maybe one day i will get my babygirl back too".

At that, both girls felt their heart break again.

"If you want to, you can go to her room and take something from here. Shes not going back anytime soon.." your mother said sadly.

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

Both girls are now in your room.

Just as they remembered it from multiple visits before. Nat sometimes sneaked here in middle of the night when she didnt wanted to be home, and as well Lottie when she didnt want to be alone. They were always welcomed here by you and your parents. It was their second home after all. Your parents loved them as if they were their own children. Both were always welcomed here.

Both girls noticed the jacket that belonged to Nat and a hoodie that belonged to Lottie being on your chair. They shared a sad look as they both grabbed each clothing.

They both sat at your bed, each holding the piece of clothing that once belonged to them in their hands.

"H-how did that even happened?" asked Nat below a whisper in shaky voice "She was the strongest of us all and now s-shes... she cant even remember her favourite color?" she finished her voice full of disbelief and pain and felt emotions run thru her.

Lottie just stared at the clearly worn hoodie that once was hers in her fingers. Gently playing with the fabric.

"I dont know Nat.. its so unfair. All of it its so unfair. What WE went thru and what she went thru" Lottie said as her gaze went to one of your journals on the table.

Lottie standed up and walked to it, grabbing the black journal book in her slender fingers and looking at Nat. A silent communications between them. They didnt want to invade your privacy, but at the same time, their curiosity what went thru your mind while they were gone was stronger.

So thats what they are doing now, reading your journal from since they went first missing which was in may until your overdose in august.

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

May 17 1996

Its been a few days since their plane went missing. Everyone is saying that they are dead. They are saying the possibility of them being alive is beyond zero. I DONT believe it. I feel them. I feel their connection. I know they are alive, whenever they are. I know they are alive. I just know it..

June 20 1996

Its been a less than a week since they proclaimed them dead.. how can they say THAT? its been JUST a month. Why did they gave up so fast after just one stupid month? How can they say they are dead when they havent found the plane, or their bodies. How can they say that. They dont even know where they are. How they could say that... they are alive, i know it. I know it..

June 22 1996

I slept with another guy today.. i didnt even liked him nor did i even enjoy it. I hated it, i actually hated it. How did i even become like this? i always wanted to have my first time with someone i loved, cared about snd someone who knew me. Someone who brings me comfort snd makes me feel loved, not some stranger i barely knew his name at a collage party i snuck at a month ago when i was drunk out of my mind. How did i become like this? that allows this. When did i become a body for someone to get a release with. When did i started seeking comfort in strangers bed, strangers touch that reminds me THIS is a reality. Reality without my friends.

!TW: mention of unwanted sex!

July 5 1996

I did it again, i met with him again in exchange of buying me alcohol. So what if hes twice my age. So what if he hit me, what if he choked me to death and didnt use protection even when we agreed on a blowjob. So what if i told him to stop when he started taking my clothes off and he didnt listen to me and in fact he become even rougher and meaner. Slapping me hard across the cheek telling me if i wont shut up and be a good girl and listen he will make sure this is the last thing i ever see and feel.

I just closed my eyes and thought of my friends letting him do whatever he wanted to. Which made me feel even worse.

I deserved it. I deserve what he did to me.

I deserve to die.

I deserved everything he did to me.

I deserve even worse.

I dont deserve to be alive.

I dont deserve to live when they are not here.

!!end of tw!!

July 13 1996

I met again with the guy i talked with a year ago at one of the parties in the woods my friends dragged me to. His name is Damian, hes at college and hes actually very sweet and kind. He found me crying after another 'fun' time with the old guy.

Instead of taking advantages of me, Damian actually talked with me until morning. Taking his jacket off and pulling it over my shoulders. He listened to me, he didnt judge me and stayed with me until sunrise. He could be with anyone else, yet he stayed with me. Talking to me snd keeping me company.

He is really sweet, he reminds me so much of Lottie... He is tall, has a longer dark curly hair, beautiful big brown eyes, the sweetest and warmest smile and little moustache that actually suits him so much.

Hes the first guy i have felt this comfortable in my life.

July 20 1996

Damian tried to kiss me today.. it would have been a really sweet moment. if i wasnt so broken and so damaged. Thats what i told him, that hes too sweet and nice for me, i dont want to hurt him.. hes everything i wanted. maybe in another universe.. when im not me..

!TW: mention of abortion! :(

July 29 1996

Turns out im pregnant, theres a child growing inside me. Im only 17 i cant be a mother, not a mother of a child i didnt even wanted. A child i couldnt love. A child that wasnt made out of love.

Damian bought me abortion pill, no idea where he got it, but i coulndt thank him enough. I dont want anyone to know about this. Hes actually right now downstairs with my mom making us tea. He said he wants to be with me the whole time. He didnt want me to deal with this alone. He insisted.

I took it an hour ago and DEAR GOD, those cramps are killing me.

I wish they were there with me right now, held me and comforted me the way Damian does.. oh god how much i miss them.. life is so unfair. i miss them so much.. but atleast i have Damian now, im not completely alone..

!end of tw!

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

At this, both girls stoped reading and looked at eachother with wide glossy eyes.

"She was pregnant?!" Lottie asked above a whisper with a broken voice and Nat put a hand over her mouth.

"Oh god.." was all Nat could say, she felt sick after what she read from all those 3 months of period before you got hospitalised. Both wanted to cry. Both wanted to hug you so badly. They knew you went thru a lot, but they even in their worse nightmares did not expect you went thu all of that in just 3 months..

Not only did you became a person of your polar opposite of who you were before, not only did you overdosed, crashed out and fell into a psychosis, you were also carrying a child at some point. A child from a guy who forced himself at you.

Both girls felt emotional. They felt hopeless.

Their friend who they loved, adored and was their sunshine is now so broken and they finally understand why.

"We need to find Damian, they seemed pretty close" said Nat with tears in her eyes. Hugging her jackets that was now yours closer to her.

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

Lucky to them, they didnt have to look that hard, Damian came to your house the same time and day when they were here. In fact, meanwhile they were in your room, he came here. He even tho he didnt have to, visited your mom regularly. Just purely because he loved your mom and he cared about you, a lot.

He was there the whole time after he met you after that night that guy took advantages of you again, when you were slowly killing yourself with how you dealt with your mourning, when you aborted your child, when you overdosed and even when you went to psych ward. He visited you regularly with your mom, but unfortunately, he wasnt able to see you for the last 4 months due to your suicide attempt in here couple weeks before you started believing they are dead. Your parents were the only one allowed, well, your mom. Your father coulndt bring himself to face you, he felt like he failed as a father and couldnt protect his child as he was supposed to. So instead he drunk his sorrow in tons of alcohol. Thats why your mother was able to see you 2 months ago. She couldnt after that, because the psych crew told her you are in unstable state and they need to watch you until you get more stable. Unfortunately when you were getting stable-ish fate decide to test it by bringing your friends back after 19 months of missing and after 19 months of your misery.

"Oh my sweet boy" your mother held Damian cheek as she looked up to him with glossy eyes and he smiled down at her, bringing her into a hug.

Both girls saw this scene as they standed at the end of stair with shock and sadness written all over their faces as they hold the clothing that they lent you and became more yours than theirs in their hands.

"oh WOW- he DOES kinda look like you" Nat mumbles right next to Lottie as they both eyed Damian with wide shocked eyes who held you mom in his embrace. "he kinda does..." whispers Lottie to Nat as they both look at him.

"Dami, i want you to meet Natalie and Lottie" your mother held his upper arm as she turned around to face them.

Damian eyes gazed at them, his smile fading a little bit as he looked at them and sadness flashing all over him "Hi" he said sweetly and waved at them. He would hug them as a greeting, but he thought it would be weird. They dont know him, however he knows a lot about them, because you yapped his ear off about your friends, especially those two.

Both girls said a soft hi, still kind of in disbelief. Their mind going back into what they have read in your diary.

"I think you three have a lot of to talk about" your mom pats Damian chest gently as she looked between the tree of them with a sad smile.

"I will make you all tea" your mom finished as she walked to kitchen, preparing a tea.

"So.. you are Damian huh?" asked Nat, still eyeing him and still little dazed that he truly have resembles to the tall brunette next to her.

Damian just smiles at them politely and nods. Still not unsure how he should act near them.

"You were with her the whole time, when she.." Nat trails off not sure how to say it, but hoping he catches on that. And he did, you did tell him that Nat was the type to ask straightforward without beating around the bush.

"Oh yeah.." said Damian with a sigh "she was hurting herself in way more many ways that others could see. She was drinking, using drugs, self harming, not sleeping for days and sleeping with guys that were so horrible to her. I didnt know her as much as you guys did. But i know she deserved better than highschool burnouts or guys twice her age who are drug dealers" he said as he crossed his arms over his chest as he looked to a side "she was kinda getting better" he smiled softly but his smile fades as fast as it came "if that fucking old idiot didnt spike her drink-" he clenched his jaw at the memory "if only he didnt spike it with ketamine, she-" he sighs as he looks up to the roof and his hands leaves his chest, now being next to his sides "she could still be here, with us and we wouldnt meet under those circumstances" he smiles again, very gently in a nostalgic way "You know.. she talked about you a lot" he chuckles and looks at them both with a gentle gaze.

"I was the first person who let her talk freely, without judging her. I could see it in her eyes how much she wanted to talk about it and i was more than happy to listen" he says as his eyes softens "she really did love you so much" he chuckles "i have never met someone who loved their friends as much as she loved you".

Both girls felt soft upon hearing that. The love they had for you only grew and as well the sadness in their chest.

You mom went to them "The tea is ready" she smiles at all of them "cmon kids, lets talk"

And thats what they are doing now, all four of them, around a table and talking while sipping a tea your mom made for all of them. Damian telling both Lottie and Nat how it was and your mom with Damian by her side as well. Damian brings her some sort of comfort. A familiarity in the chaos.

The girls felt sad upon hearing all of that, knowing they will have to retell the whole thing to others. They asked about the diary and if your mom read it adn she admit she did. She felt heartbroken over the fact you felt scared to tell her you were carrying a child and how she was glad Damian was with you when you decided to not keep it.

Damian talked about how it was and how it hurt him to see you so hurt and how in that moment he decided to be there for you even as a replacement of your friends. He knew he could never reach the comfort of your friends, but he truly did care about you, after you told him, that you are too broken and too damaged for him after he tried to kiss you, he decided to push his feelings aside and be there for you as a friend, or as an older brother. He just wanted to be there for you. No matter what. He cared about you, and even if you saw yourself as a failure, too damaged, too broken and useless, he saw how strong you really are, you were still beautiful in his eyes. Even after everything.

Thank you all for reading❤️‍🩹

and special thanks to those amazing supportive people @theworldscalamity @mitzihold @zhivaxo 🫶🏻 hope are having a good day

(if you want to be add to the tagging lmk❤️‍🩹)

Damian 🌻 (just pretend he looks like Lottie)

[aidanchaser]

I'm not sure who the target audience is for this fic. But when the melponene bites, she really gets her teeth in there. sort of just started and couldn't stop.

This amelie graham de vanily centered fic is titled "A Miracle" but it was almost titled "My Body is a Haunted House And I Will Become a Ghost in its Walls" which, you know, now that I've written that out, maybe I ought to change it.

Title: A Miracle Summary: Amélie has never wanted to be pregnant, but she finds herself trapped in another unfortunate feature of her marriage. Word Count: 4K Rating: M Content Warnings: many. Find them in the cut below or in the tags on ao3

Content Warnings: Domestic Violence, Marital Rape, Unwanted Pregnancy, Attempted Abortion, Attempted Suicide

or, as I said on discord, "you know, normal Colt Fathom behavior"

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Eldritch horror/lovecraftian abomination x Female! reader:

Headcanons:

It would probably have a grotesque appearance that escapes our simple human understanding, so you will probably go crazy if you see it.

You would hear his voice in any language you speak and at all times, or he would speak to you in his own language, so that only you can hear and understand him.

Maybe he tortured you and then put your remains back together again and again.

He would appear to you in dreams, or rather nightmares.

He would also drive your friends and loved ones crazy, until they commit suicide out of madness.

He would pretend or disguise himself as someone you know, solely to deceive you.

If he has a cult following, he will have them kidnap you in his name and will not let you go at any cost.

Your loved ones would die in truly horrible ways.

He would probably demand that his cult sacrifice your loved ones in his honor, which may serve to invoke him on the earthly plane where you are.

Maybe he would abuse you, forcing you to submit to him to force you to have children while you are still kidnapped in the cult.

After that, if you get pregnant, he would take care of you himself or with the help of his followers.

His followers would keep an eye on you at all times, since a single mistake could condemn them to death.

He also wouldn't let you abort on purpose as he would mess up all your attempts one by one.

Remember: He knows what you say, what you do, what you did and said in the past and what you will do tomorrow at all times.

He would purposely make you survive the hard births; in one pregnancy after another, making you give birth to his minions and children, making you join him forever.

-The End.

[fall0utmind]

✨️FIC TEASER ✨️

A little section from ch1 of the medical leak fic I've been working on. I've barely checked this, so please forgive any mistakes. I will check properly before I put it all up. Feedback is very, very appreciated at this stage!! 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Divine intervention (WIP) - Title in Progesss

/Rosquez/

TW: mentions of mental health and suicide attempts (all very passive but heads up).

Marc is restless. They are ten minutes into the press conference and he feels like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He can tell the others have noticed. Pecco keeps shooting him little glances, and at one point Marc swears that he aborts a small movement towards Marc’s knee, which has been bouncing continuously since they sat down.

Usually, Marc doesn’t mind press conferences too much; he just shuts off his emotions and turns on his best PR face. Realistically, nothing could be as bad as the tumultuous media circus in the years that followed 2015. Even so, Marc can’t help but feel like he’s in shark-infested water.

He’s so stuck inside his head that he barely registers the question directed his way, his head jerking up at the sound of his name.

“Scusi?”

The reporter gives a slight laugh, eyes sharp and searching.

“What do you have to say about the rumours of your hospitalisation at the end of 2015? There are some suggestions that this was more than a biking injury?”

Marc’s heart gives a little stutter. Shit. He wasn’t expecting that so quickly, how the hell did they know that much? For the first time, Marc begins to question how much has actually been leaked.

“Ah, I say do not listen to everything you hear in the media”, he shoots the reporters a cheeky grin as a light chuckle goes around the room. He feels Pecco’s eyes burning into the side of his head but does not look back, simply nodding at the facilitator to continue.

The next question is directed to Jorge, asking him about his championship chances this year, with Jorge giving the usual spiel about the team and his bike, talking about the decent lap times he put in today. It had been a good practice session for all of them, with Pecco leading into tomorrow’s sessions, followed closely by Marc, dragging every inch out of the GP23, with Jorge and Enea rounding out the top four. Sunday promised to be an interesting race, with the four of them positing similar times throughout the weekend.

Distantly, Marc registers someone asking Enea about working with Pecco, as the current world champion, comparing his times to the other Italian rider, as if they haven’t been working together for a year already. Marc almost scoffs. Clearly, some journalists needed new material.

Marc’s attention is drawn to a small commotion in the corner of the room, nearest the exit. He watches as his brother enters the room, wide eyes brimming with concern. Fuck. That isn’t good, Alex must know now. Had something else happened? He has faith in his team to keep this on the down low and prevent it all from blowing up in Marc’s face, but it doesn’t stop the flash of concern shooting through him.

“And Marc another question for you”

Well, so much for that. His head whips around at the reporter's tone, searching the crowd to find the speaker. That tone is never a good thing. The same they use when they are going to ask a hurtful question about Valentino or his most recent crash on the track. He tenses in anticipation.

“Regarding the rumours of your 2015 hospital visits, there are now some reports that these visits were due to a so-called mental health crisis. Do you have anything to say about this?”

His heart stops beating. The room goes dead silent. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, his fellow riders watching in confusion. For Marc, it is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. He looks up and catches Alex’s wide-eyed stare. He's sweating, beads rolling down the side of his neck. Shit. Fucking shit. He’s starting to think he’s not going to make it out of this press conference in one piece, torn apart by the gnashing teeth of the media.

He mentally shakes himself, unwilling to let the others see his dismay. Instead, he schools his features, wills his mouth into a flat line, and answers with his best media-trained nonchalance.

“Ah, it is nothing. No comment. This is not talking about racing; let's move on.”

This seems to wake Pecco up from his trance, tearing his gaze away from Marc and turning his attention back to the reporters. God knows what he was staring at, maybe trying to figure out if this could help him beat Marc next year, if he’s taken anything from Rossi, it would be that.

“Ah, are you going to ask us about the weekend, I would also like to talk about racing”

Some low mutters travel around the room. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He doesn’t know how they have found out, but he does know all too well that the press are like fucking vultures, circling at any sign of a kill. Alex looks like he is about to cry now, doe eyes wide and glossy, his face slack with shock and horror. Marc thinks his face might be a perfect mirror. He still doesn’t really know what’s going on, but it’s clearly worse than he had originally been told.

“Marc, following on from the previous question, it has come to light that you were admitted to A&E several times in 2015 due to suicide attempts. Do you have anything to say about this? Was this anything to do with your infamous fight with Valentino Rossi?”

Oh god, Marc is going to be sick. They went for the kill and came round for a second blow He glances to his left. Pecco is looking at him in abject horror, his brain scrambling, trying to keep up with the carnage around him. Enea looks like his worst nightmare has come true, wide-eyed and scared, staring at Marc as if he has never seen him before. Jorge just looks confused, bafflement etched on every feature, mouth downturned

[chondrichthyes-x-mantodea]

I think one of the biggest infringements on a humans non-physical rights is the desecration of identity. Therefore, women are suffering tremendously. But you never hear about that. Even statistics will be skewed in order to prioritize males because God forbid one of those matted, stinking animals experiences anything negative. Of course, our job as women is to make sure NOTHING touches them. Wahhhhhhh, male suicide.... women attempt more. Men love stats until stats prove them wrong. One statistic says males commit more and it needs no further inspection, but stats show males commit more than half of violent crime, and it's not plausible. It's not my fault males own more firearms. Im tired of the male victim mindset.

Im tired of males taking feminist rhetoric and, in such male fashion, spinning our work to say its really MALES who are hurting. Im tired of walking on eggshells in front of males and their liberal feminist dick riders when it comes to this. People act like I'm Satan for not loving the same people who are taking our right to health, even my mental health, through refusal of medication. But no one cares to ask how this is impacting women's mental health.

It has always been a fact that in a heterosexual relationship, the dynamic has the woman serving the males' needs. Be it excusing a man lashing out at his wife who is battling cancer or a man telling his wife, of whom he is expecting a child with, that he won't "look down there" while shes in excruciating pain. A man who then refuses to touch his wife after their child is born. "He's probably stressed." "Men dont handle that stuff well." It has to have them at the center for it to be considered true emotion, and that is the irony.

I experience this with my father. He can't remember the simplest things about me, but he's "just not doing well mentally... Okay??? Me neither? That's why all of these studies surround shit like their inability to communicate and being lonely.

Their emotional well-being is not womens issue. They'll do studies on how men lose their emotional support... but what about women. How many women felt supported emotionally by husbands? Because last time I checked, men were asking wives for sex a day after enduring childbirth. Men were leaving wives bleeding after their fetus naturally aborted because they "were afraid of the blood." Men were still sitting watching football while their wife, who was 8 months pregnant, was cooking and cleaning dishes. Men have always made their happiness about their personal well-being. Women derived happiness from the people around them thriving

Men can't cry? Oh, poor babies. They can't cry or their manhood, their most precious manhood, will be threatened. Unfortunately, I can not cry either, or else I'm hysterical, but I understand how that's not as pressing as your ego. A mans pride is threatened by vulnerability in some rare cases, compared to a woman's sanity.

When a male cries in grief he is confronted with belief. Its made human and genuine. When a woman cries in grief, it's her animal maternal instincts pushing through, and people rush to infantilize her for 3 seconds before forgetting what she was even sad over. Losing my Peryite recently has made me really recognize this pattern

If you're a man and get offended over this, stop and think for one second. Did I invalidate your emotions, or did I call out the fact that you attach every sentient thought you have to being a male? Men can have issues, but not because they're males. I hope yall soon learn that something doesn't have to be designated "boys only" in order for it to be genuine, I know that's what you've been taught.

I know I said I'd do a deep dive into emotions, and I kinda did now. I was going to combine how media proves the male emotion craze bullshit wrong, but I kind of separated them into two posts.

[transmascpetewentz]

i meant wrapped not trapped, I do not blame you for misunderstanding me, thats entirely my fault

I think you seem to believe that my issue with transandrophobia as a label is the idea that trans men face oppression (which they do), when instead its the idea that the oppression transmasculine people face is something completely unique to them, instead of being the underlying current of tranphobia

I literally spent the first paragraph explaining my issues with the *concept* of it before segawaying into my issue with it as a conterpart to transmisogyny due to them not sharing an underlying ideological framework

And to touch on some of doberbutts points, trans women are also correctively raped and have suicide rates, and the issue of access to abortion is for every person with a vagina, not just trans men

A frustrating thing that he does there is that instead of giving a counterargument to one of my points (what i personally believe to be a misnomer about the purpose of the label of transmisogyny, were you (nonspecific) view it as a threat to the validity of the trauma we face, and not as a way to describe their own, and what others believe to be just attention seeking) is to bring up severe (often sexual) trauma as a way to put a landmine on that specific point, because any attempt to explain why they are wrong becomes a personal attack on the traumatized parties

this got quite long, so response under the cut. @doberbutts this is the same anon you responded to (by reblogging my post) earlier.

ok

no form of violence experienced under an oppressive system is truly "unique" in that i don't think there are any experiences of violence or oppression that apply to only one specific group, but the motivations behind the violence can differ depending on the demographic it's being done to. i do not think that any specific example of transandrophobia is something that no one who isn't transmasc has experienced, but transandrophobia is the oppression specifically targeting transmascs. i and doberbutts have already pointed out how this works, so i don't feel the need to reiterate that.

you do not understand the concept of transandrophobia, and you regularly demonstrate that your understanding is surface-level and comes from people who have an interest in making it seem less credible. instead of asking people who theorize about anti-transmasculinity (including me and doberbutts!!!) you immediately become hostile and make many incorrect assumptions about our beliefs. i find this highly disrespectful and encourage you to stop getting all of your information about transandrophobia from people who misrepresent it to argue against the concept of anti-transmasculinity.

yes, abortion access is something that everyone who can get pregnant has to deal with, but trans men face unique discrimination wrt abortion access and access to reproductive healthcare that trans women do not. this is because there is a fundamental misogyny component to anti-transmasculinity that you and others who deny it because "it's transmisogynistic!!!" seem to have a failure to grasp. transandrophobia is transphobia, misogyny, homophobia, and the specific modifier of maleness on this oppression all at once. i wish there was a better word for how maleness adds to and modifies oppression in an intersectional way that wasn't associated with mras, but alas there is none that i am aware of. also: anti-transmasculinity never says or implies that trans women don't face some of the issues that trans men do! you are treating this like a pissing contest for who has it worse and that is an attitude i'll need you to drop.

denying transandrophobia is a sentiment that is directly hostile to transmasc survivors of sexual assault, abuse, hate crimes and other things that arise from living under a patriarchy that systemically excludes you from both the male and female classes. the reason why we use this rhetoric is because these types of things arise from the specific intersection that trans men face, and how that can further intersect with sexuality. you are simply making up what we believe on the spot and not actually listening. if you want to come off anon and have a conversation in dms, i'd be willing.

talking to people like you is frustrating because you make these claims about what transandrophobia theory is as if we're a monolith or a homogenous group instead of hundreds of trans men on tumblr dot com all contributing to a larger conversation. no matter how much you claim to be in good faith, you continue to disregard actual transandrophobia theory in favor of some bastardized version you got from someone with "white tme/tma" in their bio. i hope you take this criticism and reflect on how you may be wrong.

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 15

Synopsis: At the end you are forced to fight, alone.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, moontea/abortions, suicide, mentions of rape (not to the reader), Plot twist at the end!

The war was over. Peace still alluded Westeros as fractions battled for Kings Landing. The grief of two years of war had ended. But now a new battle was about the begin. One that would utterly consume you, greater than any other. Running so fast you could barely breath, the walls were closing in. The world had fallen silent to your ears. A beating heart was all you were physically conscious of. Down the halls your ancestors grew up in you flew.

The flight of stairs felt too long. Ever step seemed to take a lifetime. Staggering to the last few flight you lunged for the door. Shoving the door opened you opened up on your son. He lay in the arms of Lady Jenna, surrounded by Cerilla and two guards. She did not even seem surprised to see you. "Y/n. I will send in a maester to you." Looking her in the eye, for the first time, you noticed the cold look in her eyes. Her jaw rigidly clenched together, like she was holding herself back. The calm look on her face was completely performative. Jenna Tyrell had maintained complete power over the Tyrells, and by extension you. Never before had you acknowledged it so clearly. Jenna stood here, terrible and powerful. There you stood, powerless and pitiful. All along you had been dancing in the palm of her hands. Everything had been planned out. From the moment she poisoned your father to this very moment.

You lunged for your son, laying in her arms surrounded by that hideous green fabric. A strangled cry between fright and rage left you cold lips. The guards seized you. Helplessly you tried to rescue your son. He lay there in the clutches of his grandfathers killer, his mothers jailer. "Calm her down. Y/n is simply exhausted from grief." And then she walked towards the door. Owen squirmed and reached out for you. "Please, my son." You begged. Jenna sighed and clutched Owen closer. "You have nothing to fear Y/n. Your son will be well taken care of." Struggling in the guards arms you continued the struggle. "Where is Dara? What have you done to her?!" Showing signs of annoyance Jenna replied; "Lady Dara is being sent home." Horrified you collapsed. The world spun before you. Owen cried out and you attempted to reached him. Unable to move, all you could do was watch Jenna walk out of the door with you son.

Everything seemed to flashed before your eyes. They said this happened before death, where you relived your life before joining the Gods. Jenna flitted in and out of them like a specter of death. Her hands seemed to be in every aspect of your life. The mattress sunk beneath your weight. Maesters loaded you with potions that brought you to the brink of oblivion. Not even your fingers could move and inch. Breathing felt heavy, like someone was pushing down on your lungs. Memories came and went with you helplessly watching. A hum of silence reverberated through your hears. You could feel it in your very bones as it grew in strength.

At some point you were able to sit up. Still very weak you tried to stand up. Legs failed and you fell back onto the seats. Each strain was a torment on your body. Reaching over with great effort you poured a drink. The taste of wine seemed to bring you back to your senses. Reality set in and the goblet fell from your hands. Owen. In a panic you stood up. Suddenly physical inability mattered not. Pulling on the door you realized it was locked. "Let me out!" Hammering against the door you cried out. No one answered your pleas for help. Hearing rustling outside you knew they could hear you. Guards most likely. Again you tried to pry the door opened but it was all hopeless. Stuck in this purgatory all you could do was beat against the door in a vain attempt to break free. This was fear such as you had never felt before. Trapped by those you knew and your son missing. When exhaustion finally became too overpowering, you slid to the ground.

That night you dreamed of Jaecerion. In that dream you lay in his arms. His silver hair shielded you for the outside. He swore, as he had in life, to always protect you. Strong arms held you close. Pink lips ghosted your hairline. Sweet things were whispered swearing a world of happiness and peace. He would save you from all those who would bring harm.

When next you came there was only pain and darkness. Your dreams had been of nothing. A great hole had been dug into your soul with the ferocity of a white hot knife. Waking brought no light. Clouds blocked the moon, and in turn you were eclipsed by greater forces. Nails dug into the delicate fabric of your green dress. Tilting your head back you reminisced on the situation. You wondered for how long you had been so weak. Perhaps from the very start. When had you ever been able to gain any measure of satisfaction? Ellyn and Rhaenyra had died, but not from your power. Cerilla remained at large and Jenna reigned victorious. What had you ever done to receive her ire? Was it simply to do down any rivals to Highgarden? But if that were the case what about Owen? "She plans to marry him to her granddaughter. She needs him." You convinced yourself.

When next you received company it was a maid. She quickly delivered food and left. "Where is Dara?" But she said nothing. It now occurred to you why Jenna stored you in a tower. There was truly no escape. Not unless she wished it.

At some point you went back to sleep. When next you woke it was morning. It brought you no light. This cold room was no place for one to flourish. Here you remained like a wilting rose. As a child you had walked through the gardens. One cold day you had treaded upon a wilting rose on the ground. Its once lovely pink petals were stained with mud and rot. On the ground it lingered, slowly being destroyed as people carelessly walked all over it. Even those who had not meant to banished the roses life. There it lay, weak, forced to endure the whims of others.

Whether roses felt anything one could not say. But you who were human undoubtedly felt as the rose might have. On weak feet you staggered. Anger pulsed through your veins. Everyone had abandoned you. Either dead or traitors. Your thoughts went to poor Jaecerion who had so suddenly died. So suddenly after you agreed to marry him. Where had Jenna gone? For a period of time she disappeared, where had Jenna gone? With a scream of anger you sent a cup and plate crashing to the ground. "Murderer!" Things went flying and breaking in your storm of rage. You cursed Jenna for everything. You hoped that a day would come when you would revenge yourself upon her. And when that day came she would die screaming in dreadful agony.

When next you slept you dreamed of killing them all. Visions of tearing apart Jenny, Ellyn and Cerilla reared their heads in the dark. It was not just them but others. Those who had mocked you at court. Those who fled from you in your hour of need. Aemond was writhing as your tore his heart out, blood running down your forearm. Dreams where you punished them in the most horrid ways. They begged for mercy and you granted none. When you woke there was a strange sense of calm. Adrenaline coursed through your veins like you had been running. Stretching out images of your revenge brought the vestiges of joy. "If I ever get the chance, I will make all of them suffer." Some were beyond your reach, Ellyn and Aemond were dead. Aemond was a difficult thought. Although you friendship was buried and dead you mourned him. Now if he were alive that might be a different matter.

Others were in your reach. However when the sobering realization that even the living were safe from your wrath. For the past two years you had felt so small. Insignificant. Tears rolled down your cheeks. Insignificant. Ellyn had mocked you when she married Aemond. Like a servant she treated you. That time just as this there had been nothing you could do. Both Jenna and yourself held the same position, dowagers and mother to an heir. How different you paths had been. She was all powerful. You were nothing. The reality stung, and yet it was reality.

For a time they left you totally alone. Every now and then a maid would some in to bring food. But no one had bothered to clean the mess you made. Too mentally to clean you simply let the artifacts remain. But eventually people came. A maester accompanied by guards arrived. Looking up from the place on your bed you met his eyes. "Where is my son." Uncomfortable, the maester replied; "He is well taken care of by Lady Jenna-" He was cut off by your laughter. Her shrunk back at who he considered a mad woman laughing. And you laughed and laughed. They either believed her or "Lady Y/n, please come with me." Sitting up, you asked; "Where to?" "I do not know my lady." Once more they sought to control you. But you were no child or servant to be lead. " Where to. I will not ask you again."

Guards surged forward. They seized you by the arms and up. Trashing around you screamed, with little affect. All they could do was force you out and down the stairs. By the gods you struggled in their grasp. Determined not to be taken you fought every step of the way. Had only you showed such resolve sooner.

Dragged outside you noticed onlookers. Their eyes seemed cold in your state of fear. Standing like the gallows was a carriage. The unfriendly glares Septas only served to fuel the storm of emotions. "Careful with my cousin." It was Gerald Tyrell, Jenna's only child. When he looked down at you there was stele in his eyes. What you had done to warrant such a look was unknown. His words curious enough, but they were just that, words. Hurried into the carriage the septa's seized you. "Sit." One of them ordered. Refusing you clawed at the door. Suddenly you were slapped. Despite her age the septa had strength. The scowl on her face said she would do it again. Tasting blood you still refused to sit. The other one seized you. Forced to sit, the septa said; "You shall sit or we will have you whipped." Chest heaving and anger mounting you shot them both a ferocious stare. Yet they were unfazed. And in truth why not? They had nothing to fear from you.

The truth of your situation banished any ability to move. Even a septa could scold you now. The carriage jerked and you looked out the window. Owen might still be in Highgarden, and you were being sent to who knows where. Your hands clutched at the window bars. Oh how you wished you possessed greater power. "That will do you no good." One of the septa's scoffed. In another state of mind you might have fought her. How you had been diminished. As Highgarden shrunk away you mournfully looked at where Owen may be.

Your wrists throbbed something fierce. Help expecting the skin to break you constantly looked down. The skin was smooth and clear. Wondering if it was poison you touched cold trembling lips. All the while both septa's said nothing, sitting in stony silence. Whenever the carriage stopped and you were laid to rest, one stayed in bed. One septa to sleep beside you, another to watch. Guards kept a watch at you at all times. The idea you would be able to flee was ridiculous. Even in times of stability you would easily be overcome. With the realm still in chaos there was even less hope.

At night you dreamed of parents long gone. Your mothers weeping face hovering above, fathers lips blue and horrid. Father had died of poison given by that bitch Jenna. Trying to recall mothers death, you remembered. She had fallen down a flight of stairs. And the lordship of House Tarley went to her cousin. Had it truly been an accident? Or was all it took a little push? Jenna may have had a hand in it, placing some lickspittle in the place of your mother. Rarely had you thought of your family. Regretting that, now you wondered who supported who. You knew so little about Highgarden and its politics. Deep down you had always known that Jenna ruled, but had never questioned it. Now you were paying for it.

Your thoughts went between Owen and the future. What was going to happen to you? Would she kill you? But if that was the case why wait? Perhaps this was a method of prolonging your agony. What you had ever done to incur her ire could not be said. If Jenna truly wanted to take over the lordship then why kill you? What threat were you to her now?

Owen was your son and heir. He was no threat to her son for Highgarden, inheritance did not pass though the female line. As Lord of Casterly Rock anyone who had control of your son held great power. Jenna may have no intentions of killing Owen and merely desired control. The thought comforted you to a degree. She might not kill him but Owen would always be controlled. The thought nearly sent you into a fit of hysteria. "No. Think of his safety. Him being alive is all that matters."

Passing through familiar woods you realized the destination. The hunting grounds had been ones you ventured through with long lost friends. Ghosts of the past flitted about, riding on horses and walking about the grounds. In those days your world had been so different. You spent your days in the alcove with Prince Aemond, walked the shores with Jaecerion, giggled and ate cakes with Flora, and was tucked into bed by Elinor. You had been a girl back then, basking in the summer light. Those days of summer was long past. Winter had come and you were stripped of everything.

You smelled Kings Landing before seeing the red towers. Last time you had been leaving for Casterly Rock. In all honesty you had not expected to come back. At least for a long time. Although only two years had passed it felt like a lifetime. The gates drew closer and finally you saw the place which was once home. Now you feared it would be a prison. The gates looked unchanged, except there were black and red banners in stead of green. The Hightowers were undone, just as you were. "Open the gate!" A great groan emanated as heavy metal was forced to give way. The carriage trundled through. You noticed it was eerily silent. Now you could clearly see the changes. Even though the window was small it was enough to see outward.

Men, women and children left ravished by war looked at you with hollow eyes. Smelling the air you realized there was a new smell. Flesh. Dead flesh left to rot. Eyes shut you tried to block everything out. Every rumbled of the carriage, the path was not smooth, set your insides trembling. There was animosity in the air. Although you had never ventured into the poorest parts of Kings Landing it could not have been this grim. And were there not more? Rhaenys had killed a fair few with Meraxes, Aegon others after his sons death, and others fell to war. If flesh was left out to rot the rest may very well fall to disease. The thought curdled your blood. All had suffered in this war, not just the highborn.

"Murderer!" Something hit the carriage window. It splattered the bars and send disgusting rooting fruit flying in. Alarmed you jerked back. What in the Seven had just happened? Then something else was thrown and thankfully it hit the door. Suddenly there were cries as who knows how many surrounded the carriage. They screamed, filled with bloodlust. You could hear "murderer" and other words best not repeating. In a torrent of confusion all you could do was shrink back and pray the guards would keep you safe. "Move! Out of the way!" Guards sent the crowd scattering. But never for long. Each time they were driven away another group would arrive, larger than the last.

The journey up to the Red Keep seemed to take a lifetime. All the time you sat there ridged. Confusion and fear were you companions. The septas were no help. They simply set there and looked at you with cold, unsympathetic eyes. You dared not ask them any questions, less all you receive was a slap or harsh words. You had your fill of those things. The screams only stopped when the Red Keeps towers loomed large overhead. And it would seem that as one trial ended, another begun. A guard flung the door open and ordered you to step out. Nervously you walked into the shadows. An unfriendly group awaited you. In their midst, for just a moment, a hooded figure was amongst them. But with a blink it was gone. You recognized several people. Ser Corlys Velaryon was bent over and looking far older than his years. Yet the moment he looked at you his eyes were alight with fury. He looked alarmingly, even in his age and state, like Vaeron. The dead prince whose execution you had urged had an unclear parentage. Had he truly been Rhaenyra's trueborn son? It mattered not now, he was dead like so many others. Flora, you one time friend, seemed unable to look at you. There was a sudden urge to leap and tear her hair out.

A man dressed in orange with three towers embossed in his doublet stepped forward. He was a Peake, although you knew nothing else. "Lady Y/n Tyrell. You are arrested for the deaths of Princess Ellyn Baratheon and Prince Vaeron Velaryon. You will be lead to your place of residence and await trial." Your blood ran cold. You looked around, beseeching someone to step in. When none did you stammered; "I-never..." Lord Peake showed no sympathy to your plight. But your protests fell on deaf ears as knights seized you by the arms. Their cold metallic grasps bit sensitive skin sending shivers of horror up your spine. Yanked forward they hauled your nearly limp form inside. The doors slammed shut, cutting you off from the outside.

You were just down the hall from Dowager Queen Alicent. Her wails could be heald from your room. Despite your rooms posesing a feather bed, rug and fireplace, Maegor's Holdfast held a feeling of doom. Many had died in this place. King Viserys, Helaena all of House Harroway. This was a grim place despite monarchs using it as a place of residence. When living at Kings Landing you had never lived here. Serving Dowager Queen (then Queen Consort) Alicent had you residing in more hospitable areas.

Looking through the only window you could see Kings Landing far bellow. Pacing up and down the room you recalled every memory of this place. For so long the Red Keep had been home. Your most clear memories were of growing and living here. In there days there had been life and laughter. Never were you alone or given reason to grieve. How different it was now. Laughably so if it were not so tragic. You wondered what your room was being used for now. Did anyone use the alcove a young boy and girl once spent many hours? Every place you had used was closer than it had been for two years. Days had been spent serving the Queen, sewing by her hearth, tea parties, racing into the gardens and laughing with friends and all gathering together to whisper secrets.

It was true the few weeks before leaving had been nothing short of miserable. "I will never forgive Ellyn Baratheon. Never." You promised yourself. "May she dwell in the deepest darkest part of the Seven Hells." What that meant for your own soul you did not consider. Ellyn had blighted your life in Kings Landing and not even her death, horrid as it was, diminished your hatred. It was so easy to dwell on all the wrong rendered on you when locked alone with only thoughts for company. You wouldn't forgive anyone, not ever.

They had accused you of murdering Ellyn. A dark part of you wished it was true. To cause her just a fraction of the pain she caused you. Her death did not sadden you, horrible as it was. The ones whose deaths you truly cared about, Jaecerion, Lady Reyne, those deaths haunted you. You wondered if Jaecerion had ever gotten your letters. it was a torment to think he never learned of your accepting his hand.

That night you lay in bed, arms around a pillow. Burying you face into the pillow you imagined it was Jaecerion.

You had no idea as to when your trial would be. Being left in your own room you could do nothing but think of a rebuttal to these claims. No before for your cause had been presented, to your knowledge. Pacing around the room your mind raced trying to grasp anything of help. Your green dress felt heavy. Stripping it off you remained in an under shift. The day dragged on with only a maid coming in twice. Ellyn's death was not of your doing. But how you could go about defending your innocents you could not say. It might have helped had they told you how they supposedly died by your hand. That only left Vaeron. Now left to dwell on his death you felt uneasy. You were completely blameless in the case of the former. Vaeron's death was another matter. Had you not encouraged Jason Lannister to execute him? You have never liked Vaeron. Even as children both of you were at odds. Despite that his death brought no joy. Remembering his screams sent shivers up your spine.

The only book they had allowed was the Seven Pointed Star. As a child you had read it frequently and practically knew it heart by heart. Now you dared not touch it, as if the leather bound book world burn. Lonely it sat there, unopened. For days you were left alone with only Dowager Queen Alicent's cries for company. Of course there may be ghosts in Maegor's holdfast. How King Jaehaerys allowed the tower bearing the name of his families slayer to stand you did not know. "In his place I would have torn it down." Once you had admired the Conciliators mercy, now you only saw weakness. What was the point of being the most powerful person in the land of one could not do down their enemies? "If I were Queen I would gladly watch the light fade from their eyes."

When the door opened next you expected to see a maid. Instead Flora stepped in. For a moment you were taken aback. Once the two of you had been friends. As girls the two of you waited on Dowager Queen Alicent and played with Helaena. Poor Helaena who lay dead and gone like so many others. She was still the same slender brown haired, wide eyed girl. But she looked so different. A grave look adorned her face. Lines that had not been there now marred once flawless skin. She wore a black down that trailed behind. Suddenly it struck you as odd she wore black. Once none in the Green Queen's court never would have dared wear the colour. Yet as the Whore Queen's son sullied the throne you supposed wearing black was the order of the day.

"Y/n." Flora looked around looking unsure. Sitting up you face her. Despite her forlorn appearance Flora looked better than you. A lack of care for weeks on end had made you look utterly wretched. And wretched was what you were. The loss of everything had made you lesser than you ever were. Seeing no chair Flora chose to stand before you. "I hope you are well." Yet her words were unsure. Her pale skin went red, she knew the words were foolish. "Who sent you." This was hardly a question. You doubted that Flora had come of her own accord. She had been one of the first when that bitch Ellyn had turned her wrath upon you. Gone was the friendship of young sweet maiden girls, broken women remained. Youth had been stripped from both. At only one and twenty the pair of you looked much older than your years.

"They have sent me to speak with you, one woman to another. They hope I will inspire regret for Princess Ellyn's death." The outrageousness of this made you laugh. Stark white, Flora stood back. Like Dowager Queen Alicent's noises, yours echoed off the walls horribly. Falling back onto the sheets the cackling finally died in your throat. Soon you lay there panting. Exhausted, it took everything to sit up. Flora looked ready to bolt. "Leave then, and that your silly proclamations with you." Flora seemed to steal herself. "We all knew there was no love between you and the Princess. And I understand that she was not always kind but-" Once you might have held back. But bubbling hate simmered and was threatening to overflow. "Ellyn was a nasty little bitch who was good for nothing but warming a bed. And it would seem that she was not good at even that." Flora clutched at her dress.

"Please Y/n, I beseech you. Do not make the situation worse." Clearly distressed Flora surged towards you. With a steadfast grip she seized your fingers within hers. "Y/n I beg of you! They may give you a lighter sentence if you proclaim your guilt!" "Guilt! My only crime is being in the way of Jenna Tyrell! That woman has you all dancing in the palm of her cold hand! Do you not find it odd that all who stand in her way end up dead? They died with blue of their lips! And as for Ellyn she was ill well before I arrived."

Flora only let go and shook her head. Those brown eyes held only pity, but that did not mean there was no deceit. For all you knew Flora may be as treacherous as Jenna. "I am sorry Y/n. But there is nothing more I can do." With tears in her eyes she departed and once more you were left alone."

They had informed you that the trial would be held shortly before the coronation of Aegon, who would become Aegon third of his name. It had all been for nothing. The Greens had lost. While history would say Aegon the Second defeated his sister it was her son who sat the throne. Helaena's poor little girl would have to settle for Queen Consort. Women must stand aside so that men could rule. As a child you had been relieved of the right to head House Tarley. Only the death of all its male heirs had given you the seat. And Rhaenyra had been unseated by her brother. "Shut up." You told yourself.

Bellow in Kings Landing you could see preparations for the upcoming coronation. That was the only clue you had as to when your trial would take place. Aegon's coronation had been far less splendid, with only the dead as decorations thanks to Rhaenys's dragon littering the sept.

Day by day you waited for your fate. Rage had dissipated leaving behind exhaustion. A trial held no hope for you. Despite your naivety you knew this would not be fair. Those who hated you would lead it. All you could hope was that Owen was left safe. Jenna had no reason to kill him, he was betrothed to her granddaughter. Years from now, what would your son think? He would hardly remember you, him being shy of a year old. You prayed Owen would think kindly upon his mother. It was from him alone you prayed. "I know I am damned but I beseech you to protect him." To six of the seven you prayed, but never The Stranger. He was best avoided.

The day they called for you was grey and cold. A cold winter wind heralded the grim day. Grim tidings, a grimmer fate. You had a feeling something would happen today. Not necessarily your trial, but something. As a little girl Helaena would sometimes awake with a stony look upon her face. Cold as ice she lay ridged and scared. That was you today. Although no seer you sensed foreboding riding on wind.

A septa came in, the one who had slapped you. Unsympathetically you ordered you to stand. "Today you shall be judged for your sins." "I am accused, not guilty. Or are septas not taught the difference." Striding forward she struck you. "Dress. Then we leave." You were washed for the first time in ages. The water was cold sending shivers racketing through you frail body. Hair roughly brushed and dressed in grey you were made ready. They did not bind you, at least that humiliation was set aside. With two guards of either side you were left out. Passing by Dowager Queen Alicent's room you looked in through the iron bars. She lay on her bed, all regality abandoned. A green dress lay shredded on the floor leaving the former queen in only a shift.

The path was long and seemed to take forever. Thus suited you just fine who wanted this to take forever. But life was rarely so kind and after the long trek you stood in front of those great doors. Having seen trials before you had never expected to be here as a proclaimed traitor. A call went up and you saw the great hall. Suddenly you were afraid. The great hall was full. Down the hall awaited Ser Corleys and Cregan Stark (you only knew this because of his grey and black attire). Sitting on the chair was Aegon the Third. King Viserys had sat on this chair in happier times. The Aegon the Second when times were worse. A stand had been erected for you to stand on. Like the buzzing of flies the audience whispered. "Don't look at them." You simply focused on getting to the destination.

The hastily erected wooden stairs creaked harshly upon your assent. It took everything in you to not bolt for fear. The only thing keeping you sane were thoughts of Owen. Shaking hands grasped the railings. When you dared to raised your head their eyes all bore down upon you. Now you looked. At this point you noticed there was another stand. "Is another condemned?" You hoped it was not Lady Dara.

A staff slammed on the ground, making you jump. "Silence!" The herald cried. The silence was worse than the whispers. Every breath made was painfully loud. You half expected to faint. "Ser Corleys stepped forth. "Lady Y/n Lannister, born Tyrell, daughter of Lord Paramount Owen Tyrell and his Lady wife Amelia Tarley, widow of Lord Jason of Casterly Rock and mother of Lord Owen Tyrell, stand accused of the murder of Princess Ellyn and Prince Vaeron." Shaking hands clasped each other. Ser Corleys's voice broke on mention of Vaeron. The boy had likely been of his own blood. But then why not proclaim him instead of Rhaenyra's eldest by Harwin Strong?

"How do you plead?" Coldly you looked up at him. "I deny it." Ser Corleys and the lords convened amongst one another. When they broke apart Ser Corleys's attention was back on you. A scribe was writing everything down. "So you deny your wrongdoing?" They had already made up their minds. "I never killed anyone. Those who say otherwise are liars." His lip twitched. "Don't think about Vaeron." You tried to think of the boy he had once been. Rude and a horrid bully.

"We will start with the case of your first victim, Princess Ellyn of House Baratheon." Victim, hah! As if. Ellyn's family were in the crowd. Ladies Cassandra and Maris waited in the crowd. ""Lady Y/n Lannister, angered over Prince Aemond's spurns, killed his lady wife the princess." Lord Cregan Stark stepped up. Ser Corleys hobbled back and sat down. Upon Lord Starks chest was a pin. Grey eyes looked at you in judgment. "What right have you, whose wife has killed so many innocents." You did not say that aloud. "You are accused of Princess Ellyn's murder. And you plead not guilty?" "Yes." Lord Cregan Stark held a piece of parchment and opened it. "Lady Flora, step forth. Pale and stumbling, Flora made her way up the stairs. She looked not better than last time.

"Lady Flora, you were a lady in service to Dowager Queen Alicent, were you not?" Flora's voice trembled when she responded "yes". "And what was the relationship between the two women?" Flora looked to her hands. "Princess Ellyn and Lady Y/n did not like each other. They were both jealous and often were harsh in words exchanged." You nearly spat. It was Ellyn who had the harsh words, not you. But you had a feeling Ellyn's true character would not matter in this trial. "Can you recall any interactions between the two?" Lord Stark's grey eyes were like a winter storm, cold and unyielding. Outside snow had started to fall. A cold breeze swept though the room. "When Lady Y/n was presented to the princess, she was unhappy. The princess I mean. It seemed Princess Ellyn had heard the rumors and questioned Lady Y/n on it. Lady Y/n denied any untoward knowledge of the prince. The princess took a ribbon given by the prince to Lady Y/n, and tore it." The scribe was frantically writing.

"Very well. Are there any others interactions you were privy to?" "Princess Ellyn often made comments about an affair in Lady Y/n's presence." Your belly sunk. She made it sound as if this affair was real, and not the imaginings of Ellyn. "And that is all?" Flora replied that "yes", that was all." Heart hammering in your hear, you though that Ellyn had not come off very well. Perhaps that would help your case. Lord Stark commanded Flora to sit before turning his cold eyes upon you. Even from this distance you could see the grey in them. It reminded you of the North, or rather pictures of it. In truth you had never been North and winter had only just come. Grey nights with only the howl of wind were foreign to you. But in that moment you wondered if Cregan Stark's eyes, which looked upon you with contempt, had brought a piece of the unfeeling North within them.

"Lady Y/n, do Lady Flora's account ring true?" "I...." It was a hard question to answer. What she said was true but the way in which she said it was less than desired. "Lady Y/n, I asked you a question." "Her words are true, but I feel my character had been besmirched." Cregan Stark raised an eye. "In what way?" "E-Princess Ellyn was in instigator. I provoked her in no way save my prior relationship with Prince Aemond." Cregan Stark let out something between a snort and sigh.

"Lady Y/n. We give you one final time to speak the truth. The Gods shall judge you, and so will we." You would find no pity here. Where was your defense? Who would speak for you? Only you could speak for yourself, and so you did. "My Lord, I swear upon both Gods Old and New that I speak only the truth." Lord Stark's fists clenched together. Despair clenched at your stomach. "On your head be it. Lady Tyshara of House Lannister, please step forth." You had not expected to see Tyshara again. Like her you had not but long since had your husbands eldest been cast from memory. Tyshara looked older now, golden hair cascading down her back. Lannister red hung her slender frame, familiar rubies glittering. For a moment the two of you looked at home another. Her cat like green eyes were no kinder than Stark's. Tyshara still held bitterness in her heart towards you.

"Lady Tyshara, you stand before this court and the Gods to bear witness against Lady Y/n. It is this courts understanding that you knew the lady when she was your stepmother." Tyshara nodded and then eagerly spoke. "Yes My Lord. Although I have no evidence that my stepmother killed the poor princess, I can attest to her hatred. She was very jealous of the princess and felt my father a poor replacement." Lucky that there was nothing in your path, or Tyshara may suffer from a case of flying object hitting head. You would add her to that list. "Can you sight any instances of Lady Y/n's displeasure?" Tyshara wasted no time in answering. "Yes My Lord. Shortly after her marriage to my father we went on a hunting trip. Us ladies went in a carriage. Princess Ellyn, Lady Y/n, my friend Katrina and myself were amongst them. I simply inquired as to their, that being Princess Ellyn and Lady Y/n's, relationship. Lady Y/n was wroth with the reminder and said unkind things about the princess."

"And what was the nature of these unkind things?" Cregan Stark's Hand of the King pin glimmering in the light. For the first time a look of anxiety crossed Tyshara's pretty face. Green eyes no longer dared look at you. "I admit that the princess could have used kinder words. But her heart was broken My Lord. She was hurt by Lady Y/n's flaunting of her relationship with the prince. She attempted to silence Y/n but exposing her lust in front of us good ladies. Then some servant of hers cursed Princess Ellyn-" It finally became too much to bear. When Tyshara mentioned Elinor's name it was like reopening an old wound. Tyshara dared not look your way. But you looked at her with no much hate it stung your eyes. "Her. Name. Was. Elinor! And I suggest you learn it, or did your mother not teach you common courtesy before she died." Now she looked at you. Guards suddenly seized their weapons. Tyshara made to move but Lord Stark called out "cease!" so loudly everyone went ridged. "Lady Y/n you will remain silent until it is your turn!"

There was a ringing in your hears. Down to the depths of your soul a heartbeat raged. Nails cracked upon hard wood, blood trickling through nailbeds. Shaking, it took all you had to remain silent. Tyshara stood there condemning you for crimes she knew full well you had not committed. If there was any justice in the world you prayed Tyshara would one day receive it.

"Lady Tyshara, please continue your tale, what happened after the commotion?" "Once over the woman was dismissed from Lady Y/n's service. Then Princess Ellyn fled Casterly Rock." You laughed aloud, not even the heralds cry of "silence!" caused you to cease. A guard behind seized you by the arm. Forcing you to stay standing they waited in petrified silence. It ended in a raspy chuckle, leaving you aching. Lord Stark looked thunderous. If he could you had no doubt Lord Stark would have struck you down then and there. "Lady Y/n, if you interrupt again we will continue this trial without your presence." He took your silence for obedience. "Lady Tyshara, do you have anything else to say?" Tyshara nodded. "I was not in person for these conversations. However my father shared with me his...misgivings." Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. "Lord Lannister shared his personal matters with his daughter." A sliver of doubt that brought a ray of hope to you crept in. "My father and I were always close. As his eldest he felt that I could be relied on." Lord Stark looked between the pair of you. For the first time you were hopeful. The Starks were honorable to a fault, they always said so.

"My stepmother not only showed a close infinity for Prince Aemond, but his elder brother Prince Jaecerion. We saw them walking together. At one point she threatened me with the Silent Sisters. Prince Jaecerion was hopelessly in love with her, or at least infatuated."

"I was unaware if this relationship. Only Prince Aemond was mentioned. How do I know this is the truth?" And then Tyshara was commanded to depart. Members of Casterly Rock came forward. Those who had once served now provided testimony as to the close relationship with Jaecerion. Even Clarissa's own mother who provided as a witness during your short stay with her. You wondered if she blamed you for her daughters death. Those who had been your friends in Kings Landing also provided proof of your close affiliation with Jaecerion. But where was this leading? Did they mean to accuse you of adultery?

Lord Stark then commanded you to speak. "Have you anything to say for yourself, Lady Y/n?" There was no way around it. You had been friends with Jaecerion. But how to convince them that no affair had happened? "I admit that Jaecerion and I were close. But as close as two who grew up together. I was close with the children of Queen Alicent. By all the Gods I swear I never strayed from my marriage bed, and Lord Owen is Lord Jasons son." "My Lady, there is no doubt that Lord Owen is Lord Jasons son. But that does not discredit an affair. Many provide evidence of your indiscretions. Tell me, was your relationship with Jaecerion always simply as friends?" This gave you pause. Although your intentions with Jaecerion only occurred after Jasons death they might not believe you. "It was only as friends betwen us." Coldy, Lord Stark looked at you. "I will hold you to that."

Next up was Lady Maris Baratheon, Ellyn's sister. Unlike Ellyn she was shorter and with slightly lighter hair. But the moment your eyes met, storm blue and angry, you saw the similarities. "Lady Maris of House Baratheon, you are asked to provide testimony for the death of your sister Princess Ellyn." Lady Maris flinched ever so slightly during the last part. Hands flinched, digging into fine yellow silk. "You were with Princess Ellyn when she passed." "Yes, My Lord." Lady Maris replied. "Do you recall Lady Y/n's behavior at the funeral?" "I do. Comforting my good brother, Lady Y/n was most unhappy. Although we never talked everyone knew she desired Prince Aemond. My Lord, it is my belief that my sister was poisoned by Lady Y/n." "Enough!" Lord Stark cut Lady Maris off. Lady Maris was afterwards dismissed, not even sparing you a glance.

Next, Maester Whells came up next. It seemed all of Harrenhal had been summoned for this sham of a trial. Slowly he hobbled up. "Maester Whells, you served Harrenhal during Lady Y/n's stay. Is this correct?" The man nodded his head doggedly. "I was." "And you tended the Princess Ellyn during her illness?" "Yes My Lord" "And what would you say the cause of death was?" "Poison." There was a gasp. All eyes were on you. Cold sweat ran down your back. "My Lord, may I speak?" You though Lord Stark might say no, but thankfully he gave his consent. "Ell-Princess Ellyn was ill before I arrived. Those in Harrenhal can attest to that." Lord Stark turned back to the maester. "What do you say to this?" Maester Whells scratched his chin. "It is true that Princess Ellyn showed signs ofillnes before the arrival of Lady Y/n. However her worst symptoms appeared once the lady arrived." Maester Whells drew a small vial. Black liquid oozed behind the glass, sluggish and murky. "This is called the Windows Tears. I found traces of it in Princess Ellyn."

They called in Ellyn's ladies, all who insisted you killed their mistress but were forced to admit that she was ill beforehand. Perhaps you would be found innocent after all. Maybe Lord Stark would think you were innocent after all.

"Bring the poisoner in!" The great door opened and an old decrepit man was forced in. They hauled him up the stairs, chains clattering. At least you had remained unbound. "Gerald, occupation, poisoner, you provided Prince Jaecerion with this very poison. Is that correct." It was not even a question. “Jaecerion procured poison? For what reason……oh Gods!” A terrible thought dawned on you. In truth you had never given much thought to the manner in which Ellen died. But puking out black bile was hardly natural, even you knew that. Could Jaecerion have poisoned Ellen? He certainly held no love for his brother’s wife. But hate her enough to kill? Jaecerion had loved you on the other hand? Had he slain her for your sake? “Oh “Jaecerion.”

“And for what reason did Jaecerion purchase this poison?” Maester Whells briefly looked at you. Dread sunk like a stone in your belly. “To poison the Princess Ellyn.” More than murmuring swept through court. With Ellyn died by Jaecerion’s hand you looked all the more guilty. “But they have to proof.” You thought in an attempt to comfort yourself. That thought quickly dissipated when it was remembered that your fate had already been decided. This trial was a sham, simply for show.

Lord Stark stepped closer, hard eyed examining the maester. “And for what reason would Prince Jaecerion have for murdering his good-sister?” Once more Maester Whells glanced at you. Lord Stark’s jaw clenched. “He misliked the way Princess Ellyn was treating the Lady Y/n.” “So he resorted to murder for women’s quarrels?” If you could you would have hit Lord Stark. What did he know of this matter?! Women’s quarrels indeed. “Do you happen to know if Lady Y/n was involved in any way?” Maester Whells shook his head. “If he did Prince Jaecerion never conveyed it to me.” With that Maester Whells was dismissed, banished from his order and to await further judgment.

“Lady Cerilla of House Florent.” You nearly collapsed. Why her?! Cerilla would do her best to trust the story against you. Unlike the previous witnesses Cerilla did not look somber or angry. While every move was measured you could see the unmistakable gleam in her eyes. Today she wore a deep rich green in the likeness of Jenna.

‘You know the Lady Y/n?’ ‘Yes My Lord. We both served under former Queen Alicent.’ ‘They say you two knew each other quite well. What gave you your say?’ Unlike Flora, Cerilla showed no hesitation or anxiety, but plunge right in for the attack. ‘I will admit that our relationship had always been cold. My elder sister married the Lord of Highgarden and Lady Y/n never forgave it.’ The outright audacity of her statement nearly knocked you senseless. The absolute audacity! ‘And what would you say the relationship between Lady Y/n and Princess Ellen was like?’ ‘Hostile, My Lord. Lady Y/n became close with the witch Alys Rivers at Harrenhal and taunted Princess Elly for her fertility struggles. As many know it caused her great pain, and Lady Y/n relished in that.’Your hands clenched. Of course she left out all the times Ellyn taunted you.

"Can you recall any conversations?" ‘Yes.’ And then Cerilla drew herself up to get full height, readying herself with the performance. “My Princess was distraught over Lady Y/n’s disrespect. Angered, Lady Y/n said….oh….. it was so horrible!” Fake tears flooded Cerilla’s eyes. They fool everyone, everyone except you.

Cerilla then quoted; ‘“I predict this, you envy and hatred will dry up your womb! For how can such a hateful woman as you ever give life.” And the poor princess was distraught. But Lady Y/n did not stop there. “I forget nothing and I will forgive nothing. The humiliation you dealt upon me. I pray that this is a curse from the Gods, and let me lay down one of my own. I pray to all the Gods that you, Ellyn Baratheon, will remain barren as you are now. Let the Gods strike you with every misery in this world, and let me witness it to my great satisfaction.”

The courtroom was eerily silent. One could hear a pin drop, if they listened hard enough. You yourself could hardly breathe. In truth you had meant those words. And even though Ellyn was well in the ground your hatred remained. Hatred that was your constant companion.

All eyes were on you. Even though your back was turned judgmental could be felt. Lord Stark turned to you once more. Somehow his gaze was colder and sharp like the famous blade his house owned. “Lady Y/n, what have you to say to these charges?” Speaking was becoming increasingly difficult. Trembling, you attempted to get every word out. ‘Ellyn Baratheon held no love for me, that is true. But she was always unkind and accused me of that which I am innocent of.’ ‘But did you say them?’ ‘Yes.’ It did not matter your reason. Either way you were condemned.

‘There is more.’ Cerilla was not done. Even with the sound of victory Cerilla’s hatred could not be quenched. After the death of Prince Vaeron, Princess Ellyn chastised Lady Y/n over the boys death. In retaliation my princess was threatened. ‘And what did she say?’ Finally Cerilla looked at you. There was hatred, joy , satisfaction and victory in her look. And when she spoke it was not to Lord Stark, but you. ‘“Have you wondered why you have never fallen with child? You allowed a woman you hated near you. Allowed me to handle your robes, drinks and cakes. I reigned freely over every morsel that entered your mouth. How easy it would have been to simply slip something in.’”

The room filled with a light buzzing. Then it increased in pitch and you heard yelling. Lady Baratheon collapsed to the floor. For what seemed like forever the world was shouting and screams. You cared not for what they said. A light buzz surrounded you. ‘Owen.’ You murmured. You would never see him again in this life. Of that you were now sure.

Cerilla was dismissed followed by various ladies. None of them you knew well, only that they served Ellyn and were companions of Cerilla. You recognized a few. Lady Swann whom you had chastised for spreading around news of Clarissa’s pregnancy, Lady Dondarrion whom had been her companion in spreading the information. And on and on it went. All your enemies, no friends.

You already knew the outcome. They would all believe that you killed Ellyn, in collusion with Jaecerion. Jaecerion being Ellyn’s killer gave you a mixed feeling. Oddly enough there was a warmth inside of you. Someone had loved you so much they killed. And you had never treated him with the same regard. On the other hand Jaecerion killing donrone sent a chill down your spine. Of course people died in war. But Ellyn had not been a hardened warrior. Then again you bore her only hatred.

You did not hear the verdict, even if you knew the outcome. They then moved on the the next if you “victims”. ‘Lady Y/n, you stand accused of encouraging the death of Prince Vaeron Velaryon. What have you to say about this?’ Nervously your hands clenched themselves. ‘My Lord, Prince Vaeron was at war. Every man places himself at that risk.’ Shaking, you attempted to maintain composure. ‘Prince Vaeron did not die in battle, did he? An unarmed prisoner it is said you ordered his death.’ A small flame of indignant anger leapt. ‘My husband was his own man.’ ‘And yet they say you convinced him to harm the prince. This was not war but murder.’ Suddenly eyes turned to Ser Corys. An old man, getting up looked agonizing. Yet there was fire in his eyes. He made his way to Lord Stark who seemed to find it prudent to step aside.

‘I urge the court to remember that my grandson did not go the way of fire and blood. He was cruelly slain like Lucerys Velaryon. And this woman in her malice was behind it!’ A shaking finger pointed at you. And then, grief stricken, Ser Corleys lumbered back to his chair. All the great lords and ladies watched him. In his day Ser Corleys was a thing of legend. Even when those golden days had passed he still consider admiration, even in enemies. Lord Stark, realizing he was done, ordered a maester to hand him a note. ‘Lady Y/n, your husband wrote to Lady Jenna after the deed.’ He had? Another thing that had been hidden from you. ‘He writes that it was you who put the idea into his head. What have you to say?’ Bringing up Jenna’s name had stirred something within you. ‘It was Lady Jenna who put these thoughts into my head. She said it was the only way I would be safe.’ ‘Do you have proof?’ Of course not, you had burned the letter destroying any decency that might save you. It at least condemn Jenna. Only you would take the blame.

They went back to the evidence on your and Jaecerions relationship. And Jaecerion; ‘oh Jaecerion’ you thought. Aching pierced your heart. He had lived you. Memories of him as a boy, safe and happy, were a torment and comfort. If only everything could have stayed that way.

‘Lady Cerilla.’ Again?! Remorseless she walked back up. Unlike you she’d had time to fresher up for her next battle. Or rather slaughter. ‘You are here to provide witness for the charges of murder. You were at Highgarden when Lady Y/n resided there.’ ‘Yes My Lord.’ ‘And would you say Prince Jaecerion and Lady Y/n were close?’ ‘Yes My Lord. They have been close since childhood and their relationship had grown stronger.’ ‘He was often in her presence?’ ‘When he not in meeting with Lady Jenna, yes.’ ‘Did you ever overhear a conversation between the two?’ ‘Only once My Lord. It was the day Y/n and Prince Jaecerion arrived. I had been sent up to assist her when I caught them in an embrace.’ Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. ‘What type of embrace?’ ‘The type only a man and woman enamored with each other could share. They looked alarmed and I quickly fled.’ Talking again. This time the spectators were more bold. Blocking out the noises you stared ahead. ‘It will be over soon.’ You thought.

‘Bring the letters.’ A small wooden box was brought out. Opened, Lord Stark pulled out a letter. In the light a familiar green stamp glimmered in the light. Where had he gotten that?! ‘Lady Y/n, you revived a letter from Prince Jaecerion after the death of Prince Aemond.’ You nodded. Where was this going? ‘He also mentions the disappearance of Prince Aemond’s whore Alys Rivers. An odd detail. Do you know why he put it in?’ You could not say. Everything was so confusing it sent your head spinning. ‘What was the nature of your relationship with Alys Rivers?’ You chose the response that might serve you best. ‘She showed me kindness during my pregnancy. Do you fault me for finding comfort during such a time?’ ‘No I do not. However we recon she did more than provide assistance for a pregnant woman.’ You did not know how to respond to this. What did he want you to say?

‘Lady Y/n, several months ago you accused Alys Rivers of witchcraft, causing her to flee. What transpired between the two of you?’ The memory was shameful. Even now you regretted it. So confused and frightened had you been. Alta’s help would have been greatly needed. And after all her help you related her poorly. Was she still mad? You would be in her situation. And her being with child made it worse. ‘It was so long I hardly remember. A disagreement.’ Lord Stark looked unfazed. ‘So you simply accused her of witchcraft for…?’ He was waiting for an answer that could not easily come. After stuttering and then falling into silence Lord Stark moved on. ‘So you agree that the pair of you were close?’ ‘Yes.’ The scribe was hurriedly scribbling so fast you thought his hand like to fall off.

‘Alys Rivers belongings were searched after her disappearance. Fortunately a few items still survive for investigation. Do you know what we found?’ A horrible sickening feeling swelled up. Had Alys been involved in Ellyn’s death? Lord Stark was handed a small vial filled with blue liquid. With a jolt you realized, or rather suspected, what this was. Jenna's poison. Not the same that had killed your parents, but poison never the less! Had she not indiced poison that had killed your parents, Lady Mari and Jaecerion. ‘That is not mine!’ Frantically you looked around the room. Perhaps it was to spot a friendly face. Or a plea for someone to believe you. None came. ‘It was Lady Jenna’s! She poisoned my parents and Lady Mari, she killed Jaecerion!’ Stunned into silence everyone just looked at you. Even Lord Stark seemed struck dumb.

The wood under your shaking, sweating palms was cold. Your jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. Every breath felt loud as a dragons roar. Klink….klink.

The scrubbed ink bottle had slipped down the stone stares. Startled, he immediately got up. In a moment it felt like a spell was lifted. Now you could hear everyone else breathe and it was terribly hot. ‘That….that is quite the accusation.’ Lord Stark had stopped glaring at you. Only plain shock was on his face. Then someone cleared their throat and Lord Stark found his senses. ‘Is there tree any evidence for this?’ ‘I remember my father dying in a similar manner, and both the prince and my lady died the same way.’ Even if what you said made no sense you had to get it out. It was like vomiting, expelling deep rancid contents all over the floor. And its stench revolted anyone. Lord Stark looked at if a madwoman were speaking. ‘We will have no more of this. The evidence speaks for itself. Lady Y/n this poison was found in Alys Rivers positions. It is confirmed that Princess Ellyn died this way. Send for the rest.’ The box was once more brought out.

The unfairness of it all made you want to scream. Here you were at trial while Jenna got away. You wondered how long she had been planning this. Every step you took had benefited her. Then again those were not truly your steps, rather Jenna pushing you along the path. You would go the same way as your parents, unavenged. Was Jenna here? If you had a knife you would like to rip her right open with it. And watching her crimson blood flood to the floor you would have laughed.

‘Your next letter says “Please return to my side soon”, what gave you your say to this?’ ‘Only that I missed him greatly.’ You replied truthfully. Lord Stark placed the letter aside. It then occurred to you ‘why did he have the letter?’. ‘Was marriage ever spoken of between you two?’ Anxiously you dithered, this was a trap. While admitting wanting to marry the prince was not guilty in itself it could easily be twisted into something sinister. ‘It was discussed. But I swear that was it.’ Lord Stark observed the letter. ‘“I hope when the false queen is dead you will return to me, and think of my proposition.” What sort of proposition?’ ‘Marriage, My Lord.’ ‘But why the wait? It sounds as if you did not immediately accept. Unless this proposition was something other than marriage?’ There it was again, another attempt to make you look guilty. Then an idea suddenly hit you. ‘My Lord, are there any other letters?’ But when Lord Stark curtly replied ‘no’ your heart sank. The final letter you sent to Jaecerion not only mentioned marriage, but Jenna. If Jenna’s name was found amongst your plans then just maybe they would think her guilty too.

But luck was never on your side. Lord Stark summoned the lords together. Everyone else sat, anticipating what may happen next. With bated breath your hands clenched wood with so much strength it could have cracked.

Finally, the lords broke apart and with a grim look Lord Stark faced you. Even before the words were said you knew the outcome. ‘Lady Y/n Tyrell, you are herby found guilty of the deaths of Princess Ellyn Baratheon and Prince Vaeron Velaryon. You will be taken to the place of imprisonment and dwell there till the end of your days.’

Notes: We are nearly at the end of part one. After this there will be one more chapter and then an epilogue. I am already working on part two.

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[ozimagines]

Oswald Psychiatric Hospital, West Wing

Uncooperative (1/?)

They had to sedate him in the ambulance. When he’d been Baker Acted, as it had been come to be known, he went into a full blown panic attack. He was labeled ‘uncooperative’, thrashing away from the medical personnel and law enforcement that had been called to abort his attempt on his life. If you asked Miguel, he wasn’t trying to die. If you asked Miguel what he was trying to do, he wouldn’t have had an answer for you. That’s probably what got him taken away. He should have come up with an excuse for the mouthful of pills before they got there. In his defense, he didn’t know the suicide hotline could contact law enforcement, and furthermore, he didn’t know law enforcement had the power to Baker Act. Miguel was unable to focus his eyes, even his toes going numb as his heart pounded the sense out of him. He turned to his side to see the paramedic next to him. Grace.

“Hey… Grace…” he slurred as the sedatives took over his system, his eyes still blurry. “I’m feeling much better now… you don’t have to take me to the hospital anymore…”

Grace the paramedic rolled her eyes, knowing that his lame attempts at escape were all for naught. Miguel tried to get up as if he wasn’t strapped down. Grace tutted.

“They told us you were uncooperative. Stop fighting it, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

‘worse for yourself’ burned a hole in Miguel’s head. How could things be worse? He was getting put away. No one knew how to help him anymore, so they were locking him up. Miguel tried to escape verbally a few more times during processing, the actual process taking hours. These hours provided plenty of time for Miguel to panic. He panicked so much they had to strap him to his bed in the hospital and keep him sedated until he was through processing; through those big, heavy doors with mystery on the other side.

“I’m not a nutcase though.” Miguel reasoned with the intake nurse. “I don’t really have to be here.”

“Mr. Alvarez-“

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” The intake nurse said with a kind of harshness. It helped to hear him first name. He felt so much like a number the other way. Miguel read the name tag; Eugene Rivera. “You’re exactly where you belong. You tried to commit suicide not twelve hours ago. Here you’ll be safe.”

“Mr. Rivera… can I call you Eugene?”

Rivera nodded tersely and continued to fill out forms.

“Look, imma level with you, I can’t be here.” Miguel pleaded with him, trying to keep as level a head as possible. When you’re mentally ill, any big reaction is categorized as an overreaction. “See, I’ll lose my job. I can’t afford to pay the copay for being here. The ambulance ride alone-”

“Miguel, I’m going to level with you.” Rivera looked him straight in the eyes. “Debt is the least of your worries. You can’t pay anything back to anyone if you’re dead.”

Miguel tensed up, his eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t try to kill myself.”

Rivera nodded, but made a face that showed that he didn’t believe it for even a second. He started working on the forms again, when someone entered the room from the only door out, being let in by some security. Miguel instantly shivered.

“Hello,” the man checked his clipboard. “Miguel, right?”

“…yeah.”

The man in the suit smiled, as genuinely as he was able. Creeped Miguel out a little.

“I’m Tim. This is Sean. We work on the West Wing of the Oswald Psychiatric Hospital. Why don’t you tell us why you’re here-“

“I didn’t try to kill myself.” Miguel snapped, losing his cool for a second. That Tim guy kept smiling. The Sean guy didn’t smile once.

“Wanna explain the mouthful of pills you had when the paramedics arrived?”

Miguel went to answer and then hesitated. He side eyed Eugene for a second, who was writing everything down.

“Does he have to be here?” Miguel asked, lamely.

“Yes.” Rivera said without looking up, making more notes. Alvarez craned his neck to see what he was transcribing, but Eugene moved his notes away.

“I wasn’t feeling good, that’s all.”

“So you took enough antidepressants to tranq an elephant?” Tim responded, swirling his iced coffee in his cup for a second. Alvarez wanted to deck him. “Okay, so you didn’t try to kill yourself, but you came awfully close to doing it anyway.”

“I didn’t swallow the pills.”

“Why’d you tell the 988 that you did?”

Miguel hesitated again, casting another glance at Rivera.

“Look, the bitch was giving me the same runaround I get from everyone. I’m depressed, so I called for someone to talk to me -just talk- until I calmed down. She kept asking questions. ‘Do you have a plan?’ and ‘have you executed a plan?’ And I’m just trying to tell her how I feel.”

“Uh huh, so then you took the pills.”

“I told her I just needed to talk. Just calm down and she kept trying to figure me out and if I was trying to die-“

“That’s pretty standard for a Crisis Line.”

Miguel took a deep breath, that vein in his forehead starting to bulge. They weren’t listening.

“No, I just needed someone to talk to me, like a person, just for fifteen minutes to feel like a person again. Fifteen minutes. She kept asking me if I had a plan so I told her about the antidepressants, that I was in pain and didn’t want to be in pain anymore.”

“And then you took the pills?”

Miguel slammed his hands down on the desk, and the security guy -Sean- put himself between Tim and Miguel, Eugene jumping back a little. Miguel curled into himself immediately.

“I’m sorry. No, I just… I didn’t put the pills in my mouth until I heard the paramedics. I got scared. I just told her I did so she would try and talk to me like a human being, but she’d already called the cops and I got picked up.”

Tim nodded his head.

“So you never actually took anything?”

Miguel sighed in relief.

“No… I never took any of the pills.”

He’d expected Tim to slap his forehead and release Miguel, apologizing for them being so silly. He didn’t, though.

“Unfortunately, Miguel, the paramedics showed up at your place and you had a mouth full of at least 6,000 milligrams of sertraline, so the cops weren’t gonna take your word that you weren’t intending to swallow them.”

Miguel’s heart sank.

“Why’d you even ask?”

“To assess your thought process at the time. Most non-suicidal people don’t call 988 and try to down a month’s supply of their antidepressants, just a note.” Tim took a sip from his coffee and Miguel wanted to hit him all over again. “So this is a no lose situation; we’re not gonna chance sending you home. You have a 72 hour psych hold right now with the possibility of extension if the 72 hours aren’t deemed sufficient.”

“Who deems it sufficient?”

“The doctor.”

“Can I see the doctor now?”

“Dr. Nathan will check in with you once every day, and assess the hold, but it will be at least 72 hours before you’re considered for release.”

Miguel’s heart raced again. He wasn’t good with small spaces; wasn’t good with being captive to anyone.

“What happens if they don’t deem the 72 hours sufficient? Can I sign myself out against medical advice?”

“No, you can go before a judge and contest the doctor’s decisions, but then you’d have to wait for a court date.”

Miguel’s heart beat even faster. Tim must have seen the look of panic in his eyes.

“Miguel,” he waved Sean to the side and sat down in the chair next to him. “You’re here because you need to be here.”

“It wasn’t a real attempt.” He pleaded, threading his fingers and rocking himself back and forth. Tim smiled sadly and patted his knee.

“All attempts are real attempts, Miguel. People don’t do what you did in a normal state of mind, even if you weren’t intending to die.” He put on his best dad face. “In time, you’ll see this for what it is; help. We’re not the enemy, Miguel.”

“You’re not exactly an ally.” Miguel grumbled, leaning back in his chair anxiously. He saw one word on the chart in front of Rivera.

Uncooperative.

He tried to calm himself down, but no one was listening to him. No one gave a shit. They didn’t ask him why he’d called the hotline. Why he was on the antidepressants in the first place. What had him sad enough to call a crisis line. No, they just wanted to ask about the damn pills. The pills were a symptom, not a cause.

Still, he knew enough at this point to understand that being marked ‘uncooperative’ wouldn’t get him out of there any faster. So he swallowed his pride and let them lead him to the West Wing. The involuntary, complicated, uncooperative ward.

First thing he noticed was that there were paintings on the wall, but not in frames like normal paintings, literally painted to the smooth, beige wall. The one closest to him was a palm tree and an ocean view. He thought it was cruel, painting lovely vistas in a place people weren’t free to leave. He saw an outline of something in marker drawn on the wall. He focused his eyes to see what it was. Someone had taken a faint orange marker and drew a hard dick halfway down the palm tree. He smiled against his better judgement.

Miguel took in the common area, filled with men just like him who had been deemed to be a threat to themselves or others. The involuntarily held. The uncooperative. Tim touched his arm and led him to a black man in a wheelchair.

“This is Augustus, and he’ll help you adjust to life in Oz- that’s what the patients call it. Oz.” He smiled a little. “Nice, right? Like the Wizard of.”

“Wasn’t the Wicked Witch from the West?” Miguel said, heatedly. And he heard an unhinged laugh behind him. He turned to see a large black man and a skinny white man laughing their asses off, listening to the conversation. Tim rolled his eyes.

“Ryan, Simon, please, be cordial.”

“Sorry, sir,” Ryan remarked sarcastically. “I thought we were being cordial by laughing at the new guy’s joke. Right, Adebisi?”

“Oh, yeah,” he smiled unkindly. “Very cordial.”

Tim turned to Miguel.

“They’re the resident jokesters.” He explained away and that only sent Ryan and Adebisi into further hysterics. They seemed to laugh at anything and everything. He scanned the room again. There were two older men sitting at a table, playing cards. A curly, black haired man sitting by the window and staring off into nothing. There was a tall, thin black man who looked like he was tweaking coming straight towards them. Shit.

“McManus, my man, you got any more o’ that clonaze-whatever? Feelin’ a little shaky right now…” he droned on, and Tim took a deep breath before answering.

“No more clonazepam, Omar, it’s a controlled substance. We told you if you tested positive, your controlled substances would be stopped and not restarted.”

“Okay, yeah, but, see, I can’t not take the clonazepam, ‘cause, like, I’ll go fuckin’ crazy without it, like I’m talkin’ loco, my man…” he went to put his arm on McManus’s shoulder and Sean shut him down, pushing his hand away.

“No, Omar. You already took your Hydroxicine dose for the next two hours. You’ll just have to make do until then.”

“Yeah, McManus, but you see-“

“No, Omar.” McManus said resolutely and Sean stepped between them again.

“Ok, White, back up.”

“Woo! Murphy!” O’Reily cheered, patting Simon on the shoulder, both laughing.

“Get ‘em, baby!” Simon jeered. Omar was escorted away and to his room by other orderlies. Miguel was sufficiently stressed out, hand on his head and starting to feel the room spin. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t belong there. He wasn’t crazy like these people.

Augustus must have known what he was thinking.

“Nobody thinks they belong here, man.” He advises Miguel. “It’s like how the saying goes that prison is filled with innocent men; wards are filled with sane people.”

“Yeah, we’re fuckin’ innocent, dog.” Ryan tormented from the table, laughing wildly at the glare thrown his way by both men.

“What’s their problem?” Miguel asked Augustus, who gestured for them to go down the hall. The West Wing was shaped like a U, the base of which was the common area with large see-through cells along the walls.

“Adebisi’s easy; he was caught being disorderly and violent so he said he wanted to kill himself to end up here instead of in jail.”

“Does that work?”

“Sometimes. But you’d have to be somewhat crazy to do what he was doing. Lotsa public indecency and shit. They say he has delusions of grandeur.”

“And Ryan?”

“Went on a bender after his brother died. Drank himself nearly to death. BP to the motherfucking D. It’s unclear how much of reality he understands.” Augustus shook his head. Miguel nodded his head towards the man with the curly black hair and a vacant expression.

“And him?”

“Peter. Doesn’t talk much. PTSD. Only says he’s here because his parents croaked, but he gets dailies from Dr. Peter Marie.”

“Why’s that important?”

“Dr. Pete specializes in sexual trauma.”

“Oh.” The realization made Miguel double take Peter in the hallway, who didn’t even acknowledge his existence.

“The tweaker was Omar. Used so much coke he went and gave himself bipolar with psychosis. Get high enough and you never come down.” Augustus rolled his wheelchair down the hallway, explaining the various states of all of its inhabitants.

“Him?”

“Kenny. Our youngest in the ward. Only turned 18 a week before they locked him up. Like the song goes; buys a gun, stole a car, tries to run, but he don’t get far.”

“Him?”

“Good Ol’ Robson. Big tough guy but gets regulars from Dr. Pete as well. Wouldn’t go mentioning that to him though.”

“Him?”

“Bobby Rebadow; got committed at the ripe age of 32… then had so much ECT his brain turned to mashed potatoes. He doesn’t speak but when he does, he tells us what God’s telling him.”

“And you?”

Augustus stopped rolling, looking up at Miguel very seriously.

“My theory or the official reason?”

“Both I guess.”

“I think it’s ‘cause I know too much. I got their numbers, so they gotta keep me locked up before I blow the whole operation.”

“…and the official reason?” Miguel asked, eying Augustus uneasily. Augustus smiled.

“Paranoid schizophrenia.” He laughed as he rolled himself away, cackling into the distance.

Miguel just watched him, taking his paper bag of toiletries to his room. Some of the architecture was odd until you thought about it for three seconds. The door handles were smooth and oblong triangle shaped. So were the rails in the bathroom. Took Miguel a moment before he realized they were hang proof. No window blinds either, just these movable wooden slats that filtered in the sunlight. He checked his toiletries. All non-toxic lest they be swallowed. Barely a few ounces of shampoo and conditioner, with a little bar of soap. No razor. Made sense.

He crumpled up the brown bag and started arranging his toiletries. He looked down at his shirt and pants. Since he’d been wearing pants with strings and a hoodie with the same, he’d been moved into hospital gown shirt and pants. It was damn near see through, but as his last outfit was not deemed safe, they said they’d get him some safe clothes when he was through processing. They’d yet to get him actual clothes. He felt so exposed in those gowns.

“Hey.”

Miguel jumped a little at the new and unexpected presence of yet another member of the whimsical ward of wonders. The man had waves of jet black hair pressing against caramel skin, and one eye that didn’t seem to be following its twin. It was nearly painful how handsome he was, Miguel thought with an odd amount of shame afterwards. He couldn’t believe that was his first thought upon meeting his new roommate, but he’ll be honest, he kinda thought wards were all crazy people zombified by meds. It was hard to see someone so vibrant in a place like this.

“H-hey, I’m Miguel.” Miguel went to put out his hand to the roommate, who didn’t take it, just eyed him suspiciously. Miguel retracted his hand a second later. “We bunking together?”

“Seems so.” The new man said with a raised brow. “Tu eres Latino?”

“Sì.” Miguel answered instinctively. The other man instantly warmed up, putting his hand out this time. Miguel shook it, but the other man guy yanked him forward so they were an inch apart. Miguel immediately revolted, trying to move away from the other man as his arms held him close.

“Get undressed.” He breathed, splitting into an insane smile where both of his eyes lit up. Miguel found his strength and pushed the man back, until he hit the side of the bed and grunted, holding his hip. “Pendejo…”

“Pendejo yo? Tu eres pendejo.” Miguel got into a fighting stance, ready to call for guards and remove his would be abuser. The man just kept rubbing his hip.

“Undress, fuckhead, I was gonna lend you some clothes.” He hissed in pain again. That bedframe hurt like a motherfucker.

“What? Why?” Miguel found himself asking, heart rate self soothing.

“First time in one of these hellholes?” The man asked, sitting in his bed with his legs crossed underneath him, bouncing a little with a playfulness that seemed way out of place.

“Yeah…” Miguel confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking out into the hall to see if he needed to get any help.

“Well, they ain’t exactly quick about giving us shit. Taking shit, they’ll do in an instant, but giving shit? They take their damn time.” He bounded up and went into his own brown paper bag and fished out some clothes. Just an old pair of pants, no strings, and a baggy shirt. Man even fished out a clean pair of briefs and tossed them over to his roommate’s bed.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why are you doing this?”

“Eventually you’re gonna start to stink in those things. You can’t wash ‘em, so every time you get clean you gotta put them dirty things back on. I’m just saving both of our noses.” He laughed, and Miguel felt his face heat up a little in embarrassment.

“What’s your problem?” The man asked suddenly, taking Miguel a little off guard, if not for the goofy fucking smile that remained.

“My problem?”

“Sure, you don’t get set up in a palace like this ‘less you got a problem. Tell me your die-agnosis, my child, and I’ll absolve you.” He made the cross with his fingers on his chest, still laughing to himself.

“I’m here because of a misunderstanding. I didn’t try to kill myself.” Miguel asserted as if there were video cameras waiting to hear him admit otherwise. Shit, there probably were. The other man let loose a boisterous laugh.

“What a fuckin’ coinky-dink. I’m here ‘cause I didn’t try to kill myself too!” He kept laughing on his bed for so long that it made Miguel uncomfortable. He felt like the man was mocking him, so he reacted as such.

“Fuck you, cabron.” Miguel shot, angrily. The man instantly sat up, still smiling, and wagged a finger at him.

“Ooooh, careful, baby, you don’t want the orderlies to have you sedated. See, that’s what happens whenever we get agitated, man. A little too wily coyote for their roadrunners.”

“Uncooperative.” Miguel echoed, and the other man touched the tip of his nose and pointed.

“Bingo.” He laughed again to himself and reached for something under his bed. It was a soft, thin journal with a packet of thin markers.

“They give you your coloring pages yet?”

“Coloring pages? How old do they think we are?”

“No, no, Miguel, it’s how bored do they think we are? And the answer is; bored enough to color their damn My Littlest Petshop coloring pages.” He reached into the book and pulled out a page of a cartoon turtle, showing it off proudly. It was fairly well colored in, except Chico had made one addition; the turtle had a massive, hard cock sticking out from under it, and a voice bubble that said ‘What do you call a turtle with a hard on? A slow poke!’. Miguel thought to the palm tree painting outside.

“You do that little number on the palm tree painting too, Picasso?”

He laughed again and nodded big.

“So you’re familiar with my work?”

“You certainly have a style.” Miguel chuckled, already feeling more at ease. He stepped into the bathroom to change, and it was nice ditching the hospital gown. He suddenly got very self conscious. He looked up and the man was standing in the bathroom doorway, looking straight at Miguel’s dick.

“Jesus, man, personal space just isn’t a thing for you, is it?”

“Nah, kinda got numb to all that bullshit ages ago. Everybody sees everybody sees everything here.” He picked at his nails, eyes still going between the dirty digits and the prick of his new roommate.

“You didn’t tell me your name, man.”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you, cowboy?” He snorted as Miguel hiked up the pants to take away the show. The man gave him a face that said; ‘party pooper’. “It’s Carmen, but if you say that name, ain’t nobody gonna answer, ya dig? It’s Chico to everyone who ain’t an orderly or a doc.”

“Chico?”

“Chico.” He smiled, made a little finger gun, and winked as he clicked it. Miguel couldn’t help the little laugh that followed.

There was a little knock on the doorframe, and both men turned, Miguel assessing the situation and Chico smiling that eternal, everloving, goofy ass smile. There was another Latino standing there. Tall, with a scruffy head of hair and beard.

“Chico, it’s chow time.” The man regarded Miguel with the barest form of recognition; a head nod, before he turned away and went into the common area.

“That’s Carlos. Don’t let his rudeness confuse you; he’s ten times worse once you get to know him.” Chico cackled again at his own wit, and Miguel shook his head, still smiling. Honestly, the situation could be worse.

That’s what Miguel thought until he saw what was for dinner; cold pasta with mayo, carrots, and cheddar cheese. He could have fucking vomited.

He collected his tray and Chico called him over to his table, full with people. That Carlos guy. Ryan and Adebisi. Another fluffy haired, younger Latino who had a blank stare in his eyes. That Augustus guy. A heavyset black man stood at the precipice of another table, calling out poetic phrases into the air;

“Tried to die / I did that / In another person’s body / Not too far from here / I wrote a note / I did that / To explain why / You won’t be seeing me anymore / I opened the pills / I did that / Hoping my pain would stop / When I saw the bottom of the bottle / They call us worriers / We’re just warriors / That haven’t died yet /To claim that honor…”

“What’s that from?” Miguel asked Chico as they sat down. Chico shrugged, still grinning.

“His own fucked up brain, I guess. That’s Poet. He’s one of the few entertainments we get in here. We only get music therapy every week or so and the TV’s been busted for some time now.”

“How long you been in here?” Miguel asked, and Ryan let loose a sharp laugh. Chico’s eyes shifted but he never lost that insane smile.

“Just as long as everyone else, man, too long.”

Miguel gestured to Chico’s food; he had chicken nuggets instead. Miguel asked how you get that instead of the shitty casserole.

“You try and stab your wrists with the plastic fork, ma, that’s how.” Ryan informed, licking his spoon ravenously after dipping it into the salad dressing. “You get the finger food diet from then on, right, Chico, my man?”

Chico kept his head down, eating his food, not acknowledging the topic but a brief smile in Miguel’s general direction. Miguel’s eyes were drawn down to a faint scar on his wrist. It turned his stomach if he was honest. Chico must have noticed, because he nodded his head to Ryan.

“Don’t pay him too much mind, yo, he’s been on the holy trinity for some time now.” At Miguel’s confused expression, he elaborated; “Lamotrigine for moods, risperdal for psychosis, and sertraline for depression. Mood, ups, and downs; the holy trinity.”

He made that cross gesture with his hand again. Ryan didn’t mind; he held out his arms as if to say ‘you know it’.

“What can I say, homie, I applied myself. Gotta cover all them bases.”

“That reminds me, I usually take my… my meds at 9ish.” Miguel kept it vague, not as comfortable with everyone knowing his shit as some of the others. “Do they need my med regimen or what?”

“Med regimen, dig him.” Ryan remarked and Adebisi laughed.

“They got your file, Miguel.” Augustus informed him, rolling his eyes at the idiots he was forced to be friends with. “Any meds you need, they got for you. We take ‘em after dinner, after breakfast, and after lunch if they’re thrice dailies. Plus they’re gonna give you new ones.”

“New meds?” Miguel shook his head. “I don’t need new meds.”

Everyone at the table laughed.

“Yeah, your meds are working super, chocha, that’s why you tried to kick the bucket.” Carlos stated, meanly. Miguel turned bright red and stared at his shoes. Chico noticed. Everyone did but Chico gave a shit. He nudged Miguel’s shoulder.

“Carlos is just pissy ‘cause his cariprazine makes him constipated.”

Miguel snorted, and Ryan sent a couple of ‘ooohs’ Carlos’ way, who lifted his hand up and smacked a middle finger against his palm.

“Fuck you.”

“Name the time and the place.” Chico fake kissed in Carlos’ direction, who rolled his eyes and stood to throw his food away.

Miguel was thankful that Chico took the spotlight off of him for a second. He sent an appreciative glance his way, before feeling like it was too much affection, and looking away. Chico clocked it before he stopped, smiling a little into his food.

“Keep the juice you don’t drink and the dessert you don’t eat, we bet those playing cards later. That and the little grippy socks they give you. Shit gets cold in here sometimes.” Chico advised before going to throw his food away. Miguel nodded, and followed in suit, not being extremely hungry for the cuisine. The 72 hours would be somewhat bearable. There was always the creeping thought that it wouldn’t end at 72 hours. That the doc would say he was loco and keep him there, forever in the worst of cases. He could be like that Rebadow guy who barely remembered his own name. Poet kept reciting off to the side.

“I went to the hospital / I did that / Where they give you clothes / Made of paper / And if they rip, you’re exposed / Like a nerve ending / Or a vein / Once shielded / Now open to all / To poke and prod / And try to put me back together again / I told the doctors how I felt / I did that / Only to hear / That this is life my dear / And it will never ever end / I cried alone in my room / I did that / Because their words of comfort / Reach me like knives / Driving deeper with each syllable…”

It came time for bedtime and the lights in the main area were turned out, people trudging to their beds and doors being shut. Miguel and Chico got into their respective beds, settling in for the night.

“I’m no good at sleeping away from home”. Miguel admitted into the darkness.

“You get used to it.” Chico responded, turning over.

“I’m no good at sleeping in silence either.”

“Clearly.” Chico snorted. Miguel smiled softly and turned over, closing his eyes and trying to get himself to sleep. The silence was deafening. He still couldn’t shake this creepy feeling all over him. He turned his body towards Chico, and came face to face with the man who had apparently moved out of bed.

“Wh-?” Miguel started to ask before he felt Chico’s lips crash into his, hand on the back of his head, lips moving rhythmically together. He felt something push into his mouth on Chico’s tongue and go down his throat. Chico kept kissing him for another minute or so, rubbing his thumb along the side of Miguel’s head. Miguel’s heart went from racing to lub dubbing peacefully under his roommate’s touch. Chico pulled back and pecked his lips again, softly, smirking at him dickishly. Miguel gave him a puzzled, questioning look. Chico just puckered his lips and winked.

“Diazepam… you’ll sleep like a fucking baby.” He got up and stroked Miguel’s head once more before he went to his bed. “Nighty night, precioso.”

Miguel panicked a little at taking meds that weren’t his own, before his heart started beating slower, and a weight was lifted off his shoulders, the room sort of stopping spinning but melting away underneath him. It was an out of body experience, taking valium for the first time. It felt as if someone were sitting on him, like a weighted blanket, going shh shhh shhhh until he drifted off to sleep. He was able to breathe again for the first time in a long ass time. It cradled him as he went to sleep, letting those bad feelings from only 18 hours prior be forgotten. Everything was forgotten. It was only Miguel and his bed and that glorious son of a bitch Chico snoring away next to him.

Miguel, for the first time in a long time, was cooperative.